You're not one of those Dirty Gay Boys...

...well, not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway. But when it comes to certain grooming regimens, for example, shaving (see fagnote #1, below) you can definitely be a lazy gay boy. However a week of scruff coupled with your new short haircut has seemingly opened up your dating options to an entirely new, previously under-appreciated demographic.

Let's face it. Your whole life you've pretty much had that All-American-Gay-Boy-Next-Door thing going on. Not that you're knocking it, because for the most part it works in your favor. But after you posted a cute new photo with 11 o'clock shadow to your dating profile, you were shocked by the all the sudden new attention from Men. Not boys, definitely Men (see fagnote #2, below). Well perhaps a few Cubs but the idea of being someone's Daddy is so beyond upsetting that you have already deleted all their letters of inquiry. After all, you want to be the young cute one! You don't even like being someone's older brother. But that has more to do with your particular poor-excuse for a brother than with your pervasive vanity.

But you digress. Your hairy new photo catches the attention of a hot blonde bearded guy, and you write back and forth all day, and it's easy because Blonde Beard gives good email. He says all the right things to the point where you wonder if he's got some electronic Cyrano program typing his emails for him. Anyway. You meet for coffee at Jack's which is good because your over-worked liver could really use a Personal Day. When you arrive, right on time, you are instantly pleased as punch because Blonde Beard is even cuter in person. You talk, and talk, and talk, but the whole time you're yapping you are busy imagining doing other things with your mouth. Dirty things. You imagine what it feels like to be kissing Blonde Beard and his fuzzy cheeks. You stare at his lips. At his slightly crooked teeth. At the tuft of hair popping from the neck of his perfect-fitting t-shirt. At his piercing blue eyes. You really have no trouble looking Blonde Beard in the eye. In fact, you could stare all night long if it weren't for the damn Coffee Sluggers who begin (not so subtly) to close down the place because they're probably sick of watching hairy gay boys make google eyes at each other. Eventually the locomotive-like noise of cleaning Espresso machines (see fagnote #3, below) sends you boys to the curb where you have an awkward, yet satisfyingly long goodbye that ends in a firm handshake (your #2 online dating rule: no kissing on internet dates.)

The thought of Blonde Beard's whiskers and all the dirty things you want to do with them dance in your head like Sugarplums as the F train pulls into the West 4th Street Station. In fact, you're in such a good mood when you get home that you're not even bothered by the six flights of stairs that lead to the hovel you share with your dirty roommate (and that would be dirty in the traditional, mold-collecting sense of the word). You ignore his dirty dishes which overflow from the kitchen sink, and make your way into the living room where, as usual, the Hobosexual is lying on the couch, watching Sex and the City, instead of having it. Yet this time, instead of ignoring each other with a cordial grunt on your way through the living room, the Hobosexual actually sits up and engages you with the dirtiest thing you never wanted to hear, "We have Bedbugs," (see fagnote #4, below). Anyway...