You're Not One of Those Lying Fags...

...but you don't have a problem stretching the truth to spare somebody else's feelings. You're just a nice guy in that lying sort of way. Although you tend to be a bit naive when it comes to other people lying to you for similar reasons. However, when you're left feeling confused by something a boy told you, you're usually pretty confident that the truth has been stretched to accommodate your volatile emotions. This is what you're thinking about as you make your way over to meet the Massssculine Man for a date. Why on earth did he just disappear after a bathroom break when you were having such a good conversation? You're a bit wary that he'll dole out some bullshit when you ask him this question, but the fact that he invited you out to dinner after his post-bathroom Houdini act at Low Tea leaves you feeling more than a bit confused. However, you decided that drinks would be a bit more casual, so you joked about how you'd somehow break out of Betty Ford to come meet him at Eastern Bloc for a cocktail. And now, surprise-surprise, you're running late and your iPhone is ringing and even though you're 99% positive that it's the Massssculine Man calling, you have a strict policy of not answering numbers that you don't recognize, so instead of picking up the call, you just pick up the pace and ban the foreign number to voicemail.

You, of course, immediately check the message and a massive sense of relief takes over when you realize that the message is, indeed, not from the Massssculine Man, yet from the hairy Chia Pet you met on Fire Island. Although you feel like you've dodged a bullet that was doused in Rogaine, his message is actually extremely sweet and complimentary and exactly the kind of message that you'd love to receive from the right guy. The Chia Pet was definitely the wrong guy. And not because he was too hairy. There are lasers to deal with hairy. However, not feeling any passion at all? Not so much. That particular laser has yet to be invented.

When you finally get to Eastern Bloc the place is completely dead. The Massssculine Man is sitting at the bar chatting it up with the bartender and when you walk inside they both turn toward you and a big toothy smile takes over the Massssculine Man's face. Which is really nice. You walk over and say hello, and since he's already drinking a Jack & Ginger you turn to the bartender to order yourself a cocktail to catch up. Only the bartender is way too busy yapping to the Massssculine Man. Actually the two of them are all wrapped up in some conversation that seems to be so engaging that you begin to wonder if you're intruding? They obviously know each other, really, really well, and you begin to wonder how often the Massssculine Man hangs out at Eastern Bloc? Eventually during a lull in their conversation and you finally get your order in which, thankfully, has the fringe benefit of sending the bartender away to make your drink.

When your conversation eventually segues into Fire Guyland, you immediately begin to tease him about disappearing after he went to the bathroom during Low Tea. You even go as far as to tell him how you waited and waited in the same exact spot for his return. But ultimately you assumed that he wasn't interested. And then you brace yourself for a big fat lie. The Massssculine Man is actually very confused. He informs you that when he did return that you were surrounded by a group of friends and he didn't want to interrupt. You are actually shocked by his excuse. If he is telling the truth (and you're pretty sure that he is), then he must be so insanely timid that he'd rather ditch you than risk a moment of minimal awkwardness? Images of Blonde Beard start shyly dancing through your head (in the shadows of course). You begin to wonder how a man can live on this earth for over thirty years and yet still somehow be so uncomfortable in his own skin that he's scared to interrupt some dumb drunken conversation? And this, my friend, is your first red flag.

Your second red flag is actually a deep Soviet red, complete with a hammer and sickle. It arrives in the form of the Eastern Bloc bartender who plows you with so much free vodka that you get hammered and begin to worry that you might actually feel a little bit sick(le). Ordinarily this would be a good thing, but things are beginning to get a bit messy. And somehow, given all the free drinks, the Massssculine Man still doesn't seem the least bit intoxicated. When you slur about how you haven't had dinner yet, the Massssculine Man actually informs you that he never has dinner! Ever! Which definitely explains his 8-pack abs, yet does nothing but leave you wondering if this boy might have a bit of a drinking problem? And you, my friend, don't want to get mixed up in that kind of a situation. The last thing you want to be is someone else's sober driver!

Suddenly a boy who went to school with the Massssculine Man interrupts your conversation to say hi. They start talking about a recent evening on Fire Guyland where the friend was all "cracked out" and waited an hour and a half in the rain for a Water Taxi to the Grove. Not just a shy alcoholic, you think to yourself. But a crackhead to boot. But you're jumping ahead of yourself. It's not like you have to marry this boy, but it might be nice to get a kiss before he disappears into the bathroom, never to be heard from again. And somehow when you look at your watch it is now 1am so you inform the Massssculine Man that you really must get going. You walk to the corner of First & 1st together, but it ends up being one of those lingering goodbyes where eventually you get so frustrated that you wind up pushing him up against the brick building to make-out with him. The kisses are actually verrrry nice, and you're extremely turned on until your front teeth end up clinking and ruin the mood. For some reason it's the sexual equivalent of fingernails down the chalkboard and you absolutely hate it. So you readjust your boys and say goodnight before heading home.

However, before you go to bed you notice the Chia Pet's business card on your nightstand and, since you know that you don't want to go out with him again, you decide to send him a quick email instead of suffering through a phone call. "glad you survived the pines. i am always so exhausted after spending the weekend out there that i feel like i need a vacation! anyway, although i really enjoyed hanging out with you i'm actually just coming out of a mini-relationship thing (okay, fine, i was dumped...) and am kind of steering clear of the whole dating scene for a while until i get my head clear. i hope you understand. and honestly, that's why i didn't want to spend the night." And although there ain't nothing all that honest about it, it somehow seems nicer than responding to his super sweet phone call with something as blunt as, "Sorry, I'm just not that into you." Anyway...