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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.
12/04/2005
26 lies about 26 men.
C is for Carlos.
�
Carlos lay on the bed half uncovered.� It had taken some effort to get that perfect arrangement of loose limbs creating an illusion of lying down for a quick nap after a lazy Sunday morning shower.� It had not been easy getting situated just so, so that when his lover Henry walked into the bedroom, the first thing he would see was Carlos�s half covered rump aimed directly at him, inviting, and ready to be conquered with a stroke of a hand, or a lick of the tongue.� Either would �wake � Carlos up, and they would spend the next few hours making slow love.
�
He lay there trying not to move until the pinpricks of his right arm falling asleep was too much to bear.� After freeing his arm, while managing to keep his ass aimed at the bedroom door, Carlos stared at the headboard thinking that Henry had better get there soon.
�
He woke up buried under pillows and sheets, confused because he did not remember falling asleep.� This was when Henry walked into the bedroom humming an old Smiths song to himself.� Picking up the mystery novel he had been reading off the nightstand, Henry smiled and called Carlos a sleepy head, then walked out of the room, still humming, still chipper.
Carlos closed his eyes again, slowly counted to ten, and said out loud that it was not a problem that yet another attempt at setting up a situation for Henry to seduce him had failed.� Not. A. Problem.� After a few minutes of this he got up so that he could get something accomplished before the entire day was wasted.