Two beautiful men were in my bed the other night. Unfortunately, I was sitting in a chair 5 feet away from them. The boys were also gay, but a woman can get around that if she's determined, can't she?
What do I love about gay men? I love their vanity. I love how they work out obsessively and show off the results. My two friends, Chan and Mike, are worse than women in many ways. They exercise, they groom, they diet. They don't drink caffeine and they snack on celery sticks.
Seeing them lounging on my bed, I wanted so much for them to strip and get it on. But these two boys aren't wild—at least not any more. They went through their wild phases several years ago—and unfortunately, I missed out. Chan, who used to work for a talent agency in New York, went to all these decadent parties in mansions where all the beautiful people were doped up or doing lines; everyone was a model or an actor. Anonymous sex was everywhere. In boozy dance clubs, men would come up to him in the dark and unzip his pants. Someone would offer a blow job before offering his name.
But now Chan's not doing any of that. He hasn't had a drink for over a year, and he has a serious boyfriend. It's like Seattle's hypnotized him into being all natural and goody-goody. He even does yoga.
Sigh. Chan is a lovely friend, but he breaks my heart. On Valentine's Day, he gave me a little kiss on the lips. A peck. I wanted more, and puckered up again, but he just chuckled, and said I looked like a Pokemon in my hooded yellow sweater. Great. I was going for cute sex kitten, but I'm really a round pancake monster.
Maybe I need to join a group, like Gayaholics Anonymous. I could just see some of the twelve steps already.
Step number one: Do not go to a club that is predominantly gay or gay-friendly. While these clubs are undeniably more fun and their patrons infinitely better dressed, the single girl must accept her lot and go to a straight club. Sure, no one will be dancing, and the men will have bad haircuts, but at least you know that they might just want to fuck you later that night.
Step number two: Accept who you are. You think that you're so sophisticated and urban, hanging out with these sleek gay men, but you're just deluding yourself, like a horse that's been blinkered and starved. You are a straight woman. You must go to straight men. You must want to be with them, even if most of them repulse you. Even if they smell. And even if they wear short-sleeved plaid shirts and pleated, relaxed-fit khakis. Repeat after me: Straight men have what you want: a penis. Go to penis. Go to straight man's penis.
Step number three: Do not be the third wheel to a gay couple. No matter how good you think you look, you are ultimately a fag hag when the boys sit together and share a salad. They clink their forks while you push your spoonful of risotto aimlessly around the plate. You are with the boys, but you are alone. You live alone, and you die alone. You are also a voyeur alone.
Step number four: Do not go to pretty boy. Most likely he is gay or just waiting to come out of the closet. Go to average-looking man. He might be nice and successful. He just doesn't know how to dress or style his hair. You can change that. Average man has penis. Average man wants to share penis. Good Average man.
Step number five: Do not share your steamiest sex stories with Average man. All your stories of three-ways, doing two guys in one night, and seducing your bf's brother are fun topics for your gay friends, but not for your regular breeder. Instead, talk about how much you love indie rock, how the idea of a three-way with another woman sounds intriguing, and how your kinkiest fantasy is for a man to tie you up and shave your legs. Always remember that just like your mother, men have fragile egos; proceed with caution.