You're Not One of Those Fags Who Fucks Over His Friends Without a Condom...

...but when you wake up on Friday morning and begin receiving overly inquisitive IM's from Jet Blew about your interest in the Jackson Heights Co-Op, you begin to wonder if, at the very least, he's going to supply you with some lube as he fucks you over:

JetBlew: what are you thinking about the apts?
You: morning! i really liked it! how about you?

Then there's this really long pregnant pause which is weird since he's the one who IM'd you first. Eventually he writes:

JetBlew: yeah... are u seriously considereing?

It was bizarre that you ran into JetBlew at the Wednesday Open House, but suddenly you realize that he's not just doing a friendly follow up after your coincidental meeting because suddenly you have a sinking feeling that your friend is fishing for information in order to beat you to the punch of buying the apartment. You decide to play it cool and make him work to get the information out of you.

You: yeah, i think i'm gonna head back over today to take some pics

There's another really long, very pregnant pause before Jet Blew gives birth to his ulterior motives...

JewBlew: which apt are u leaning towards
You: i dunno. probably A
JetBlew: K
You: ok? or you like K? is that the big one?
JetBlew: thats H
You: this conversation is worse than "who's on first." are you serious about the apt, too?
JetBlew: yeah
You: about H?
JetBlew: about H and A. getting mortgage rates now.

With that you realize that you better get your gay ass in gear because you want this apartment, whereas Jet Blew was just dragged along to the Open House by one of his Flight Attendant Friends during an extended Lay Over! And now he wants the same exact two apartments that you are interested in! So you immediately get on the horn and call Daddy Warbucks to discuss the possibility of him sharing his good credit to help his Number One Gay Son get a good Thirty Year Fixed Rate smack in the middle of a fucking mortgage crisis. Since you've tip-toed around this conversation before, you don't expect it to go very well, but either Daddy Warbucks has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's or your Mommie Dearest has started brow beating him into submission with Wire Hangers down in Florida, because, get this, your retired father agrees to sharing his good credit, his good name and his illegible signature on your mortgage deed. You are in such shock that you'd probably start to cry if you weren't already too busy racing to Queens on the F train in order to forge Daddy Warbucks signature on the dotted line so you can get enough Honey Roasted Peanuts (at a fixed 5.75% rate) before Jet Blew even finishes his Beverage Service and returns his seatback to the upright position. Although Jet Blew definitley picked the wrong fag to fuck with, may the best fag win!

Your head is spinning when the painfully slow-talking, extremely Whiny Real Estate Agent (who is one Co-Op Board Approval away from the Annette Benning character in American Beauty) puts you on the phone with the Monopoly Banker in order to get Pre-Approved by someone who has absolutely no interest in how cute you look in your form fitting G-Star T and your new Se7en Jeans (which you seriously consider returning to Loehmann's since you obviously can't afford them any longer). However, when the Monopoly Banker informs you that you have passed Go! and are pre-approved to collect $200, you almost faint.

You begin to hyperventilate over going into thirty years of debt in order to live in Queens (thank God it's the Queeny Gay Latino Barrio), but when Annette Weining's Assistant interrupts your panic attack to inform her slow-talking boss that Jet Blew is on the phone, your hand immediately starts writing down a number so big that your head can't even count that high. Annette Weining looks at the number and a smile takes over her face as she winks at you and informs her assistant, "Take a message. I'll have to call him back after we've finished this deal."

On the subway ride back to your Home Sweet Hovel your inner-Martha can't think of anything but plush fabric swatches, crown molding accent colors and whether or not your big ideas for your tiny apartment are following the basic principles Feng Shui? Or perhaps they're just plain old Faag Gai? Meanwhile, you are running late for your date with Blonde Beard, but you are excited to tell him all about the Co-Op that you just *gasp* bought. Only when you get to his place, Blonde Beard immediately pops open a bottle of Cabernet and hands you a Solid Dark Chocolate Easter Bunny that he spent a small fortune on at Li-Lac. And even though you are slightly pissed because you know your fat ass is going to eat the damn thing in one fell swoop (probably without bothering to swallow) you are touched by his adorable gesture which is almost as sweet as the Bunny's deliciously pointy ears. Then Blonde Beard tells you his good news about getting a pay raise at his brand new job, so the two of you decide to go out and celebrate on an expensive dinner which he can now afford even though you no longer can.

But it's early and your BFF is out having Happy Hour Cocktails with a few of your *gasp* Straight Friends, so you butch it up and navigate your way through the Fratty NYU neighborhood to The Dove Parlor where you order a nice big glass of wine that even comes with it's own little extra carafe because, get this, the glass isn't big enough! Even though the place is straight, they definitely know how to put the Happy in Happy Hour. As you toast Blonde Beard you realize that you have stumbled upon a momentous occasion as this is the first time that he is meeting your BFF. You, of course, are chatting it up about your new Co-Op with whoever is sucker enough to listen to you. Out of the corner of your eye you notice your BFF as he goes in for the kill and begins to interrogate Blonde Beard, who, you are noticing for the first time, is painfully shy. Even though you just asked the Straight Couple who recently relocated from L.A. a million probing questions, you begin to ignore them because you are dying to eavesdrop on the first round of BFF vs. Blonde Beard. Since you have to pretend that you're interested in what The La's have to say about La La Land, you only get to hear a few highlights of the amusing dialog: like when Blonde Beard tells your BFF that you guys are celebrating tonight because you've both had great days and your BFF (who texted you incessantly about his shitty day) literally says, "I'm so happy for you," while he puts his index finger into his mouth and feigns an impressively realistic gagging reflex as if he were a seasoned, seventeen year old Bulimic cheerleader.

After you leave and begin to wander aimlessly and equally reservation-lessly through the West Village in search of a nice restaurant without a long wait *ha!*, you kind of laugh when Blonde Beard tells you that he thought your BFF was a little mean. "He's a lot mean!" you chuckle, "That's why we get along so well!" And then you tell Blonde Beard about your BFF's shitty day and that he was just teasing and most likely a bit jealous. Eventually after circling the neighborhood, twice, and giving your name on the wait-list of every restaurant you pass, you both decide to go back to your first choice, Market Table, because your hour wait is already practically half over. You wind up killing the remaining thirty minutes having another delicious glass of celebratory wine next door at BarFry. Perhaps it's all the wine, or maybe it's your good fortune, or even your extremely attractive dinner date, but the Braised Lamb Shank with Gouda Gratin is honestly the most delicious meal you've had in over two years. Afterwards, as if you were wondering whether Blonde Beard was indeed the man for you, all your questions are answered when he decides to forgo dessert and order, get this, a delicious side of delectable French Fries. And as if that wasn't good enough, Blonde Beard ends up paying for the entire meal and poo-poos you was you try to hand over your ailing Visa card. Your day is now officially perfect. And you haven't even had sex yet.

Your Literary Lot of friends calls while you're waiting for the waiter to return with change asking if you guys want to hook up. But after a quick conversation you realize that, ultimately, you boys are not willing to travel East of Sixth Avenue and since the Lit Lot isn't offering to travel West of The Bowery, the four long blocks dividing your improbable rendezvous seem even more impassable than Fifth Avenue during the Gay Pride Parade. Meanwhile, you're not losing any sleep over it because you've got a nice little buzz going and there is lots of dirty gay sex to be had with Blonde Beard!

As usual, being naked with your Bearded Boy is amazing and you get lost in his kisses as he holds you tightly and whispers things into your ear that you can't comprehend because he's got you in one of your frenzies. And you want more. You want to be closer. To kiss more intensely. To feel his heartbeat through the salty perspiration of his soft chest hair. You want to be much closer than is physically possible. The intensity of the moment takes you away. The perfectness of this amazing day has your guard down. Your desperate need to be closer to this man who bought you a Dark Chocolate Easter Bunny takes you to a place that you haven't been in a very long time. A place that is so insanely intimate, yet equally terrifying. And when you find yourself in the eye of your sensual storm, it is the undeniable calm that ultimately produces your panic. Because that is when you realize that Blonde Beard is inside of you without a condom. It is a sensation you haven't experienced since your Endless Relationship ended over three and a half years ago. You both attempt to enjoy the awkward moment, for it lasts no longer than it takes Blonde Beard to reach across the bed for an easily accessible condom, only once you are separated by a layer of latex as well as both a physical as well as an emotional layer of fear, you attempt, unsuccessfully, to deny it. Even though it only lasted a moment, you weren't ready for this to happen yet. And now you have been fucked, however briefly, literally and figuratively, without a condom. Needless to say, you are freaked. You feel like an idiot because you're not even really drunk. And you're not exactly sixteen. You know better and yet it still happened. How did that happen? Anyway...