You're Not the Type of Fag Who Has One Night Stands...

...anymore. Or at least this is the bullshit that actually comes out of your mouth during your daily boy update with your Gal Pal. For some reason you just feel like you're over one night stands. Perhaps you've gotten *gasp* too old, or perhaps you've learned that these hook-ups never seem to turn into anything worthwhile. Lately you've been pretty clear headed about finding someone substantial, and you decide that this elusive species of gay boys are probably looking for someone substantial themselves. Although you like to believe that, deep down beneath your shallowness, you, too, are substantial, you can't help but wonder whether you've been hiding this lesser known trait to the world? Or instead of being substantial, have you just been acting a bit substandard? It's not like you have anything against a one night stand. Hell, some of your best friends have come out of these situations. Well, best acquaintances. Whose names you never seem to remember. But you digress. It's not a moral issue, more like a whore-al issue. How do you expect to find the man of your dreams if you keep acting like a hooker? Let's face it honey, you're not Julia Roberts and this ain't no Pretty Woman.

Later that afternoon, during Happy Hour if you must be exact, you get a text from your BFF telling you to meet him at XES for a Gay Cocktail, and although his misspellings don't initially cause any misgivings, when you arrive at Happy Hour you quickly realize that your BFF is already quite Happy. This is audibly evident thanks to his tongue ring which seems to get heavier with each drink, and ultimately works like a breathalyzer for discerning how many cocktails he's had. Considering that he can no longer produce the letter R without chipping a tooth, you can quickly surmise that your BFF is on his fourth Tanqueray and Tonic. This, of course, means only one thing to you. You better catch up. And quick!

It's a gorgeous night, and after the XES Happy Hour ends, you both decide to go to a place with an outdoor space. Although it is typically not your scene, now that you are sporting a bushy new beard, you uncharacteristically suggest going to The Eagle. Your BFF thinks this is a grand idea, mostly because he lives a block away from the bar, but partly so you can drop off your backpacks at his place, and, of course, mix yourselves a free cocktail. You ask if you can trade in your bright red preppy-ass Lacoste for something a bit more butch, and you are pleased as punch with a form fitting Graphic Tee sporting a '60s muscle car. Unfortunately, the bouncer at The Eagle is less than pleased with your new outfit and tells you that you aren't allowed inside with the T-shirt. Apparently, the Fashion Dicktator, who is donning nothing more than Leather Chaps and Nipple Rings, thinks your cute T-Shirt is too, get this, busy. So you stand there, dumbfounded, until he says you can come in if you take it off. Now, it's not like you don't go to the gym four or five times a week, but it's also not like you feel comfortable being half naked in public. But your BFF (who's wearing a much more acceptable stained Wife-Beater) says, "Just take it off" as he pushes past you and Anna Winwhore on the way to the bar.

Although you worry about what a brown shirt hanging out of your back pocket might mean amongst the Leather Crowd, you put it there anyway. You hesitantly make your way up the stairs, however, once you set foot on the massive deck, your confidence goes through the non-existent roof! Between the Flat Ass wearing nothing but a jock strap, and the hairy Chia-Pet wearing nothing but sneakers, you've never felt so good about your body before! You briefly consider donating your entire ensemble to the worthy cause of clothing these Gents, but, unfortunately, your Cub-Sized clothing wouldn't cover too much of these Bare Bears. This is when your BFF turns to you and says, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." And you ask, "Don't you mean Ken's Ass?"

You're instantly struck by a cowering boy who is sitting down beneath a four watt light bulb, in the middle of the roof deck bar, getting his, get this, haircut by a man whose pupils are so dilated that you begin to be convinced that the dim bulb might actually be giving off enough light for a decent cut. But when a Crooked Mohawk is shaved onto the twenty-two year old, you wonder whether you should help out by flashing your cell phone upon the poor boy's head. That's when, out of nowhere, an extremely sexy, in shape, surprisingly hairless boy walks up to you and practically penetrates you with his piercing blue eyes as he asks, "Do you have a profile on Connexion?" to which you happily answer, "Yes." And when he begins to rattle off your stats and details from memory, "You're a writer, right?" The two of you fall quickly into a conversation so your BFF disappears and returns with beers for everyone as he informs you that he has decided to get a free haircut.

You are torn. Although you would really enjoy the freudenschade entertainment of watching your BFF make a terrible decision, you decide that you must be a good friend and beg him not to. But you're practically Talking To The Hand as he sits down in the moon-lit chair and attempts to tell the Cracked Out Barber about the type of free make-over he'd like to receive. You and Bald Boy wind up giggling and flirting your way through your BFF's entire denigrating hair-removal process. At one point you worry whether the Cracked Out Barber might have actually scalded off some hair with his dangling cigar, but you are having too much fun watching your BFF getting his free haircut. That's when Bald Boy begins giving you some free kisses. And the delicious kisses tend to be more successful under such low-lighting. Bald Boy's fantastic kisses quickly pull your attention away from all things hairy. The next thing you know, your BFF interrupts you with a tap on the shoulder and informs you, "I'm going home. Everybody's ugly." You attempt not to laugh at the yarmulke that has been recently shaved onto the top of his head as you say your goodbyes. And then, after a beer or two, you find yourself hailing a cab back to Bald Boy's apartment, for what you expect to turn out to be a substantial one night stand. Anyway...