You're Not One of Those Fags Who Hearts Tina...

...but after hearing enough horror stories of friends whose lives have been decimated by a love affair with Crystal Meth, you definitely agree with Ms. Turner, "What's Love Got to Do With It?" (see fagnote #1, below.) Luckily for you, you're just a functioning alcoholic who's much more comfortable waking up in Brooklyn on a Queens Bound G train (when the last thing you remember is, ironically, ordering a Manhattan in Chelsea at G Bar) than you are hosting some P-N-P Bareback Orgy-in-your-Ass after 72 sleepless hours of scouring craigslist for similar social gatherings. But, as usual, you digress.

You are soooooo excited for your date with Blonde Beard that you even break your steadfast rule of not working (out) on Sunday since it's your official Gay Day of Rest. But you want to be pumped up when you see him in order to give him unrealistic expectations. You do, however, take note of all the hot heathen boys that actually work out on the Sabbath, yet you're confused as to why they're not at home nursing hangovers like you usually are? Anyway. Afterward the gym you race to the movie theater to meet Blonde Beard for an early showing of Juno (which you've been dying to see), and as you're maneuvering yourself through throngs of irritating, slow-moving tourists on 42nd Street (see fagnote #2, below), you peer down the block and instantly lock eyes with your sexy date who's sooooo far away yet somehow still manages to catch your attention from half a block away. Your heart skips, and your legs would too, only there's too many people clogging the sidewalk.

The movie is amazing, but that probably has more to do with the fact that you're both holding hands and rubbing legs and sharing popcorn in that lovey-dovey way that usually makes you want to kick the chair of a similarly irritating couple in front of you. Blonde Beard's touch makes you crave more. At one point you can't seem to stop yourself from turning away from the screen just because you'd rather be looking at him. Towards the end, Juno yanks on your sentimentally prone heart strings and you start crying inappropriately like a little girl, sniffling, wiping your eyes, etc. (See fagnote #3, below.) It's definitely bad date behavior, especially since you want to get laid, but Blonde Beard rubs your arm in a way that seems to soothe rather than mock you.

After the movie, you take the subway down to the Village to grab an Early Bird dinner at Miracle Grill. The conversation continues to flow as do your lengthy, wistful stares, and before you know it you are paying the bill and heading back to his apartment. It is important, however, to note that you paid the bill. Cheap ol' you decided to pick up the tab since he bought the movie tickets. Definitely not a even exchange, especially since several rounds of Frozen Margaritas were involved. The important thing to take away from your gesture is that you obviously really like this guy. (See fagnote #4, below.)

You meet Blonde Beard's roommate back at his apartment and you are friendly even though you you just heard the whole story over dinner about how they initially met during a random Eagle hookup about a year ago. But there doesn't seem to be any overly apparent jealousy as the two of you quickly retire to the bedroom under the guise of watching 300 on DVD. His room is one of those tiny West Village bedrooms that would barely suffice for a coat closet in the suburbs. But it's cozy. And clean. And his bed is made to boot. You turn your cell off because you definitely don't want to be bothered.

The horizontal makeout session begins and it gets better and better as the winter layers begin to hit the floor. Blonde Beard's body is amazing, and the chemistry between you is even moreso. At one point Blonde Beard actually says, "You have the perfect combination of passion and tenderness," which kind of sends you into a sexual frenzy (mostly so you don't blurt out something ridiculously inappropriate like, "I want to marry you in Massachusetts!"), and then one thing leads to another, yadda, yadda, yadda, and the next thing you know Blonde Beard is wiping himself down with a conveniently located small white hand towel. Oh come on, did you really think you were the kind of fag who'd kiss and tell? (See fagnote #5, below.)

But something changes after the dirty towel gets thrown in the hamper. You both lie there, naked, not wanting to do a walk of shame past the Roommate in the Living Room and have some chit-chat on the way to the bathroom. But there's not a lot of cuddling going on. At all. You try, but it's not readily returned. After such an intense physical experience you are definitely feeling the emotional retreat. You kind of already know that you won't be invited to spend the night, but at this point you don't really want to. Eventually Blonde Beard gets dressed and makes his way to the bathroom. You get dressed while he's gone and when he comes back he asks you if you'd like something to drink. Blonde Beard gasps as you enter his tiny kitchen and it startles you. You look around, expecting to find a rodent or a cockroach, or possibly even his Jealous Roommate waving a butcher's knife around, but you see absolutely nothing beyond an extremely clean kitchen with a bunch of newly washed dishes. You ask, "What's wrong?" And Blonde Beard says, "Oh nothing. I just thought I saw a Crystal Pipe in the dish drainer."

A fucking Crystal Pipe? You look into the dish drainer mostly because you have absolutely no idea what a crystal pipe would look like. Blonde Beard points out a mini glass bowl, probably meant to hold Kosher salt or Soy Sauce, as you ask, "Is a crystal pipe really in the realm of possibility?" Blonde Beard kind of laughs it off as you inform him, "I wouldn't even know what one looks like." There's an awkward silence as Blonde Beard pours you a glass of water. Eventually you ask, "Have you ever done Crystal?" to which he answers an honest and simple, "Yes. But a long time ago." Unfortunately now you have a million more questions that you refrain from asking. You want to know what exactly constitutes a long time ago? You want to know why he's so alarmed by the thought of a Crystal Pipe? Does it act as a Pavlovian trigger for him? Or did he have a bad experience with an ex-crackhead-boyfriend? You know you're a bit of a Pollyanna when it comes to highly addictive drugs, but they scare the shit out of you. You've been a bit drug shy ever since your high school graduation when you got all coked up and ended up, get this, licking your parents' Honda Accord in search of coke dust. You knew right then and there, while eagerly blotting your tongue against the filthy floormats, that cocaine would ruin your life. So you never did it again. And now you can't even begin to imagine what you'd end up licking if you ever tried Crystal. (See fagnote #6, below.)

It gets really awkward with Blonde Beard even though you're sure that you're the one who's making it awkward. So you finish your water and give him an awkward kiss goodbye after making plans to see him again on Wednesday. You turn on your phone when you hit the street and it instantly beeps with a message. You smile because you assume it's Blonde Beard texting you with some barfable Sweet Nothing which would help alleviate any weirdness that you have obviously created entirely in your own crystal-clear head. But the text is not from Blonde Beard, however it definitely seems like it's from some cryptic crackhead as it says, "I have very important information for [You]. Contact me under screen name BLACKM**ALE (just a screen name) ASAP..."

Your first thought is that you're being blackmailed for some unfortunate photo taken of you during that drunken striptease you lost at Ass Circus last week, but then you remember your stolen laptop. So you go home, put the the Creepy Crackhead on your Buddy List and wait for the Ex-Con to sign on. Anyway...