Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.

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Lorenzo is a prick. I should know, I�ve been his boyfriend for the past five years, or least I had been. The asshole.

I know I seem bitter, but I have a right to be. What is wrong with the man? He is 39, has a good career, a good apartment, a long-term boyfriend, and then for absolutely no reason at all decides to toss it all away for a 20-year-old twink. Twenty! And from Bakersfield! The boy is so fresh off the farm he�s still got hayseed in his hair, or whatever the hell it is they grow down there.

I could have easily dealt with one of his usual quick flings. Those were normal and to be expected. We never promised each other fidelity, hell, we�ve entertained more than a few �thirds� in our bedroom in our time, but to dump me for a child? Lorenzo must be going through a mid life crises. That�s the only reasonable explanation for his recent behavior. It�s as if he has become a totally different person.

When we were together, he loathed going to bars, now he and his boy toy spend nearly every night making the party bar circuit. He used to regularly dismiss the Castro as a homosexual ghetto filled with men too afraid to live openly in the real world, now he and his boy toy are looking for an apartment there. It is just so damn annoying.

When he dumped me, Lorenzo gave a long winded and over rehearsed speech about how we had grown apart and were at different places in our lives, and as if that weren�t enough bull to make me nauseous, he praised his boy toy as being exceptionally mature and spiritual for someone that age. He then went on about how it felt as if they had known each other their entire lives, and how their relationship was allowing Lorenzo to discover his heritage.

I managed not to say anything too disparaging, though I certainly could have. I�m glad the boy is mature for his age, because Lorenzo certainly needs some maturity at the moment, but spirituality? I blame Madonna. Not satisfied with merely ruining my life enough with her music, she also had to go and make wearing a red string bracelet a sign of enlightenment.

If I had said anything, the cheapest and most obvious thing would have been to comment on their �knowing� each other their entire lives when Lorenzo is more than old enough to be the child�s father, but, well the less said about that the better, and the part about discovering his heritage? Despite his name and perpetually tan skin Lorenzo is without doubt the whitest man I�ve ever met. He�s whiter than I am, and my bare ass can blind people at night. The only Spanish he ever managed to learn was �Si,� �No,� and �Esperanza por favor lavas the sheets today.�

He hates Mexican food, thinks rampant immigration is going to ruin the country, and has always had white boyfriends. Whenever one of my students is asinine enough to claim that Mexican immigrants refuse to assimilate, I think of Lorenzo and laugh.

While on a purely hypothetical level, I can understand a sudden need on his part to explore his ignored Hispanic roots by having a Latin lover, on a more practical level I just do not understand exactly what it is he and the boy have in common. I realize that it is terribly classist of me, but Lorenzo grew up in a stuffy upper class household playing tennis at the local country club, while from what I understand the boy is a first generation immigrant from a rather poor family of farmers and laborers who in general speak limited English.

The truth is that if they really had known each other their entire lives, it would have been because the boys mother would have been Lorenzo�s family maid, although that doesn�t quite work out as Lorenzo would have already been at Stanford by the time the child was born.

While wallowing in classism, I might as well continue on into crassness by wondering just what it is they manage to do in bed together. I know that when people looked at us, they would automatically assume that Lorenzo must be the top of the relationship.

After all, relatively tall, Latino, full set of hair, he must be a top, right? Well, no as matter of fact he�s not. He refuses to label himself as such, but when it comes to sex Lorenzo is a total and absolute bottom. The man can�t even successfully masturbate without aid of a dildo rammed up his ass. Well, I did say crass, anyway his preference for keeping his legs in the air was never a problem. In spite of being relatively shorter, Jewish, and rapidly balding, I manage quite well as a top. Lorenzo never had any complaints, or at least he used to never have any complaints.

The only point in bringing this up is that while it is conceivable that the boy is a hugely hung top, I rather doubt it. Looks can be deceiving true, but in this case looks consist of a lithe body, floppy wrists, and a penchant for brightly colored woolen scarves. Hell, the boy even lisps. Yes, lisps. The child is Quentin Crisp reincarnated as a queer Guatemalan boi.

I honestly have a hard time imagining them doing anything together. The one time Lorenzo attempted to fuck me, he disliked it so much he couldn�t even stay hard, and tying to picture that little wisp of a boy pounding away at him just seems ludicrous.

My entire life is ludicrous right now. Without Lorenzo, I won�t be able to afford the rent on our apartment for much longer. I�ll either have to move or get a roommate, and frankly neither prospect seems appealing.

I�ve no idea what the future will bring, or what I should do. Do I wait for Lorenzo to regain his senses and realize that it�s idiotic to end a perfectly good relationship over a boy who wasn�t even alive when Molly Ringwald was Pouty in Pink, or do I forget about him and find a little trollop of my own?

Agh! I hate this!

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