FAG FORWARD! You're Not One of Those Fags Who Plays the Lottery...

...but you figure that the odds will eventually be in your favor with all the silly boys you date. Eventually you'll meet some worthy Mister... Right? Although it becomes obvious that the Daytripping Freeloader is not The One, yet just One Among the Many, you are happy that you followed through and schlepped up to Boston if only to figure out that he was definitely not The One that Got Away. Anyway.

You take the train to Providence, Rhode Island and find yourself staying in the most beautiful historic home that you've ever stepped foot into. And get this, your High School friend owns it! This summer's Bolter Reunion is a smash success, mostly because you all seem to pick right up where you left off. Hell, you've known each other since you were in the 8th Grade at Eastern Junior High School.

It's a beautiful day so you and the girls decide to do your cocktailing at the club. There's only one problem. You forgot your bathing suit. Unfortunately your friend's husband is more Straight Fat than Gay Fat, so borrowing from him is not an option. Your friend even suggests lending you her seven year old son's bathing suit, but you're not that Gay Thin either. Luckily you remember that your Speedo is packed away in your gym bag for those non-hungover days when you decide to swim laps. Let's just say that you make quite a splash amongst the Country Club Kids. Anyway.

After a lame Irish brunch in downtown Providence, the Bolters drop you off at the Greyhound bus station which ends up being a huge ordeal since you canceled the first leg of your Providence trip in order to get some nookie in Boston. After yelling through a thick piece of glass at a man who is so unqualified at his job that he doesn't even know how to use his push-to-talk microphone, you eventually get your ticket and board. This bus, however, is no Bolt Bus. You sit in traffic for hours and at 5:30pm the driver pulls over in New Haven (which is when you are supposed to arrive at Port Authority) and informs you that he has worked too much overtime this month and has called to find us another driver to complete the trip. Then he actually says that he has no idea when this new driver will arrive, nor has he received confirmation that a new driver is even coming! Luckily he has parked in the New Haven train station so you just hop off and race to catch the next MetroNorth train, vowing never to take the bus again. Anyway.

A few days later, the biggest day of your homeless life is finally here: Closing Day! Unfortunately, as with everything in life, they don't make it easy for you. You have to schlep out to Long Island on the train and walk two miles through the ominous Pineview Cemetery. You traipse along a highway with no sidewalks until you get to the lawyers office which is in the middle of absolutely nowhere. You have absolutely no idea why people refer to these god-forsaken places as Buttfuck, because one thing's for sure. There ain't no butt fucking going on out here. Ugh. You hate leaving the city. However, even given all these suburban obstacles, for the first time in your life you are somehow actually on time. But since no good deed goes unpunished, nobody else has arrived. So you take your time freshening up in the air conditioned bathroom, and then you wait. And wait. And wait. Your lawyer shows up fifteen minutes later. Annette Weining, your Real Estate Agent, shows up a half hour after that. But you all end up waiting for the Sponsor's Agent who shows up, get this, an hour and a half late! You, of course, give her the fish eye and refuse to speak or accept her apology when she offers you one. The only kind of offerings you'd consider at this point are financial. Or perhaps you'd consider discussing mortgage points.

Anyway. The amount of mistakes on the bank documents is mind boggling, but after signing your life away at least four thousand and nineteen times, after signing so many checks that you want to vomit from the Carpal Tunnel, you are now the proud owner of a room. In Queens. And although your friends have done nothing but teased you about your new less-desirable borough of Queens, you, my friend, feel like a Queen who just won fucking Lotto! Anyway...

FAG FORWARD! You're Not One of Those Fags Who Glosses Over Everything...

...but you are ridiculously behind in your Blah-Blah-Blog and it's just completely unacceptable. So buckle your seat belt boys, 'cause the next few entries are gonna be a little bit bumpy. Anyway...

You had a few therapeutic beers at Therapy with Rice Queen before schlepping over to the Yaz reunion concert! It was packed but you were not about to watch Ms. Moyet from the back of the boat. So you dragged Rice Queen through the crowd saying lies like, "I don't see them. Where did they say they'd be standing?" And you work your way to the front center of the stage. The show is phenomenal although the people around you (who you'll never see again) are annoyed.

Afterwards you and Rice Queen head to G and run into a few of the Daytripping Freeloader's housemates who are actually very nice even though you previously felt like they were born in a barn. You tell them that you've been chatting with the DF almost every day and that you're planning a visit to Boston soon. You also run into the San Francisco Treat who offers your homeless ass free range of his Greenwich Village apartment as he's leaving for California in the morning. You are ecstatic! But you are also drunk, because when you finally get back to Fat Albert's apartment (your current homo home) you spend over five minutes trying to unlock his door. Anyway...

A few days later you're about to fall asleep in front of your laptop late in the afternoon when suddenly you get a text that Wakes You Up Before You Go Go! Your new blog buddy, the Non-Party-Boy Party-Boy actually invites you last minute to the George Michael concert! You race home to shower and change and then meet NPBPB at his gorgeous Chelsea apartment where you all drink copious amounts of vodka before walking over to Madison Square Garden. Since NPBPB is verrrrry connected, you actually get to watch the show from a VIP Booth (courtesy of Rupert Murdoch) which is stocked with free liquor and delicious food! Afterwards your little group returns to the riff-raff reality and as you are exiting NPBPB's boyfriend spots a chubby George Michael look-a-like and NPBPB is so enamored that he actually races over and asks George Munch-All if he can touch his touched-up hair! Anyway...

You've had plans for months for a mini-High School Reunion with The Bolters in Providence, RI, but you amend your plan and take the internet-enabled Bolt Bus up to Boston the night before so you can see the Daytripping Freeloader. When you get there it's pouring rain and the Daytripping Freeloader greets you with a pop of his trunk which doesn't seem like the most chivalrous of acts.

He drives you back to his house which is huge and new and on the outskirts of the city. It feels like one of those model homes that nobody lives in and everything you say is echoed throughout his overly air-conditioned abode. You talk about getting dinner but the Daytripping Freeloader practically rapes you, which is fine, but when the poppers make their inevitable appearance, this time you pass on them as well as the inevitable migraine that will quickly follow. But after a few sniffs, the DF wants to have sex in the mirror, and honestly, you're feeling a bit Gay Fat. You agree, and end up making a big boy mess all over the bathroom floor (the DF never makes a mess. Actually, to this day he has never made a mess even though he claims that he loves to have sex. Apparently he just doesn't like to finish.) When you go to clean up after yourself he just throws a wash cloth over the dirty DNA as if it's a dead body and then pulls you into the shower. With his glasses on.

You get sushi take-out but he never takes it out of the Styrofoam containers, and then he starts telling you about how he has slept with 35 guys in the past six months in an attempt to fuck his way to happiness. He also tells you that he hasn't checked his ex's Manhunt emails in 53 days. What he doesn't tell you (but is glaringly "where-did-I-leave-my-sunglasses" obvious) is that he is rebounding like a super ball dipped in Flubber.

Eventually you go to bed and you're surprised when Mr. Twice-A-Day doesn't want to have sex, especially since he never got off. However, after hours of trying to fall asleep in the strange bed with your strange bedfellow, the Daytripping Freeloader wakes you up in the middle of the night with a serious of irritating gropes which you ignore for at least a half-hour before you finally have to whine, "I'm sooooooo tired." Luckily he gets up early to go to work and you get to bounce without having to have some drawn out, glossy goodbye with the rebounder. Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who Disappears Without a Trace...

...GPS is never even required because usually there's just a sloppy trail of martini olives that end up giving away your current location. However, today is another beautiful beach day on Fire Guyland so your olive trail ends smack in the middle of Beach Hill. You're sitting in the most ridiculous contraption that looks more like a sex sling than a beach chair only it's less comfortable. Luckily you get a very sweet, yet very misspelled text message from the Daytripping Freeloader which takes your mind off of your beach sling, "Thnx for an icredible evening. I miss your kisses and eyes already." The two of you end up texting back and forth about meeting one last time before he hops on the Fairy Ferry to head back to Boston, but you are tired and a bit cranky after sharing a twin sized bed with a grown man who snored, and the idea of rushing off the gorgeous beach is not your number one choice. But you agree to meet your new pothead friend at (ironically) 4:20 so you can have some quality time before the 5pm ferry.

All of your housemates, the entire Kinsey 8, are leaving the island today also so they can head back to civilization. Unfortunately, you are between apartments so you need to stay the entire week, which, quite honestly, is creating havoc on your liver. You're definitely ready to vote yourself off the island, but you'd much rather be homeless in The Pines than in The Rambles.

When your stomach needs something more nourishing than the lime garnishing your Corona Light, you run home to make sandwiches for everybody. However, your vegetarian friend, Fat Albert, places a special order and informs you that he'd like a grilled cheese. You stare at him for an incredulous moment before saying, "I'm not cooking." But he goes on to explain how simple it would be to find some Gruyere and lightly butter two halves of some French bread and lightly fry it, not too much though, because Fat Albert doesn't want his sandwich to be burnt. You are like, "What part of 'I'm not cooking' did you not understand?" and then you head back to the house. Even though there's nothing left-over but kitchen scraps, somehow you pull a Jesus on the Mount and miraculously turn the water into wine, and make enough turkey and cheese sandwiches for everybody but the vegetarian. However, since there's no bread left, you decide to bring Fat Albert some delicious left-over fish casserole which he made last night, and you head back to the beach.

You dole out the sandwiches and Fat Albert is not happy. Although you thought you were being extremely clear, for some reason he really actually thought you were really actually going to cook him up a grilled cheese. Really actually! Fat Albert seems so upset that he doesn't even eat the fish casserole and ends up giving you the silent treatment until it's time for you to leave to meet the Daytripping Freeloader at the Bay Bar. Needless to say, you don't mind excusing yourself from the awkward situation at this point.

You find the Daytripping Freeloader standing on the dock with his luggage and his street clothes and you give him a big kiss hello before your hungover ass grabs a table and orders *gasp* a soda water. It's has an odd taste without the vodka, yet somehow you're able to gag it down. The Daytripping Freeloader immediately gets down to business and catches you off guard with, "Where is this going to go?" and by 'this' he actually means 'relationship.' His question is as equally refreshing as it is off-putting. Seriously. How are you supposed to answer a question like that? You can't predict the future. But you can tell the truth. And you fear that you have met your match as you say, "I really have no idea. But I have two concerns. Number one, we live in different cities. And number two, you are six months out of a seven year relationship." You let your words sit there on the steel-mesh table as you wonder whether the Daytripping Freeloader's great intensity for you seems to be screaming "rebound," which has the direct effect of making your intensity much lower and much more wary.

However, the Daytripping Freeloader doesn't seem to be particularly concerned with either of your issues and he easily dismisses them with a simple, "This can go wherever we want it to go." But then he adds, "Unless you're going to be one of those guys who just disappears." You just sit there stunned, sipping your vodka-less soda while you wonder if you have actually met the one guy in the gay YOUniverse who happens to be even more conversationally direct than you? You immediately promise that you won't disappear, and you mean it. It's not like you haven't ever done the vanishing act before, but regardless of where this situation is headed, it suddenly seems worthy of truthful explanations.

That's when the Fairy Ferry arrives and the Daytripping Freeloader gathers his things together and asks for a kiss. Although you're not typically a big fan of P.D.A.'s (especially sober ones), you lean in toward his scruffy face and he kisses you so well that you actually lose yourself for a moment. The kiss is so damn good that, if you were standing your knees would give out. When he pulls away you end up pulling him right back into another kiss. You want more. You want that damn ferry to go away. You want everything to just stop so you can lose yourself in another kiss. The only thing that you are absolutely sure of at this very moment is that you will definitely see him again. Eventually you walk the Daytripping Freeloader over to the loading dock and watch him as he gets onto the boat. You end up staying and watch the ferry until it disappears into the horizon on it's way back to civilization. Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Good With Numbers...

...but you definitely have faith in the Law of Averages. With all these silly boys you date, eventually one of them's got to be boyfriend material. Right? Anyway. You wake up on Fire Guyland feeling pretty fantastic after receiving a sweet text from the Day Tripping Freeloader, "Good morning handsome. Hope you slept well. send me a text and let me know when you are free." After last night's extremely romantic evening, you really can't wait to see him later! However, you're happy to have something to look forward to while enjoying a gorgeous beach day with the Boy Luck Club. But today is actually the Boy Luck Club plus one, as Fat Albert's Parisian boyfriend has flown in for the weekend. Ooh la la!

Although he's older than you, somehow you feel like you've become his unpaid babysitter because Le Boy gets off on teasing you and pushing you to the brink. For example, Le Boy begs you to go swimming with him, and when you politely decline he eventually comes back and shakes the water off his body in such a way that it sprays all over you. You ignore it even though this happens several times, but the last time Le Boy returns from a salt water swim he actually spits a mouth full of the Atlantic all over you. You jump up off your beach chair and Le Boy races down the beach like a seven year old straight boy. You let Le Boy get a nice lead before you grab his book of light summer reading, "Risk Management," and head toward l'atlantique to see if it can swim. Your friends cheer you on while you decide exactly what to do. You wind up propping the dry book in by the edge of the wet sand, letting Le Boy decide what's more important: saving his book from an approaching wave, or dragging your dry ass into the ocean. Of course Le Boy takes the risk and leaves his Risk Management book while chasing you down the beach. But eventually Fat Albert screams out to his Le Boyfriend and points out a giant approaching wave. Le Boy races back to save his beach book, and somehow he actually beats the wave by a split second. Only when he reaches down to whisk it away, he accidentally kicks the book with his big ol' adolescent pied, and Risk Management goes flying through the muggy air, landing smack in the middle of a wave. You feel a bit bad. But not too much. Anyway.

Although your cell signal seems to come and go like the tide, you and the Daytripping Freeloader text back and forth trying to make a plan for later. Somehow the day gets away from you, but you decide to invite your Boston Boy over for some pretoxication cocktails before Low Tea. Although you imagine your little Long Island Iced Tea Party to be a civilized sunset thing around the pool, it actually ends up being a lame Q&A around the dining room table as all your housemates are more interested in manhunting on their laptops than in the extremely flattering light outside. Everybody has loads of questions for the Daytripping Freeloader. Rice Queen is especially interested in his work, but you are horrified when you get a glimpse of his laptop while going to refill your empty glass. Rice Queen is actually googling the Daytripping Freeloader's keywords in the form of an unbelievably rude internet background check! But when the dialog turns back to the numbers conversation from last night, you are simultaneously curious and horrified when your housemates ask your guest about how many people he has slept with? And without a beat, the Daytripping Freeloader joins the highest ranks as he nonchalantly offers, "Over two hundred fifty," which, honestly, is not what you ever needed to hear.

You get one drink at Low Tea and can't help but notice the Daytripping Freeloader's roving eye, which is irritating, but easily remedied by a romantic walk down the pier to watch the sunset. He lays down on the boardwalk and you rub his hairy belly while yapping about nothing in particular. You do, however, learn that he is six months out of a seven year relationship and suddenly his roving eyes make complete sense. Can you say, "Rebound"? Regardless, time seems to slip away into the sunset, and since the Daytripping Freeloader has to go back to his place to cook dinner, he invites you back with him and you happily RSVP with an emphatic, "Yes!"

He ends up being an incredibly confident cook, and you, being a good sous chef, enjoy taking his explicit directions. The shrimp scampi turns out to be delicious, however the Daytripping Freeloader's roommates don't seem to be the least bit appreciative. Not only do the two of you end up cooking the entire meal, but you also end up setting the table, serving the dinner, clearing the table and doing the dishes! Were these gay boys born in a barn? Half of them seem to have cleaned their plates before you even take your first bite! Even though you helped cook, you are the only one who compliments the Daytripping Freeloader's delicious dinner, mostly because you are horrified by his vagabond housemates' behavior.

Afterwards, the Daytripping Freeloader asks if you want to get stoned and since you're pretty happy with your cocktail you politely decline. But then he adds, "Would you mind if I did?" To which you say, "Not at all," even though you think it's a bit odd that he'd want to get stoned alone on what is technically your first date. Does he find you to be so unbearable that simply being drunk is just not enough? Or is he just a big ol' pot head? Anyway.

Later on, you wind up back at your place in an empty bedroom with twin beds and walls that are tragically mirrored, but you quickly get over yourself and give into the tacky design as the two of you become extremely tactile. It gets pretty hot and everything goes swimmingly until the Daytripping Freeloader suddenly stops everything and asks you if you'd like to do poppers? Although you could take it or leave it, you accept his popper offer mostly because he's inhaling them like an smog ridden Angeleno at his first oxygen bar. Initially you're into the rush, but it quickly ends up being a grave mistake as you find yourself jumping from the bed and racing your naked ass to the veranda to get some fresh air for your spinning head. Luckily, you pull through and you and your headache head back to watch yourself contort into positions you've never even dreamed of in the mirrors which thankfully happen to be slimming.

The next morning your Kinsey 8 housemates are having breakfast around the table when you emerge down the stairs. You happily report that your "How many people you've slept with " number has increased by one, but Rice Queen needs you to be a bit more specific. "Which category? Fooling around or penetration?" You smile and simply say, "Both," as your dimples blush their way to the surface. Anyway...

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

...but when the DJ at Low Tea plays "What I Like About You" by The Romantics you can't help but race your way to the dance floor. Although you're a bit wary about running into Aussie Bum, you're actually more worried about cooking Sunday supper for the Kinsey 8 tonight, even though it's just hamburgers. Plus an Ahi Tuna steak for Fat Albert who is perpetually on a diet even though he weighs the same in pounds as you do in kilograms. Half-Share has vowed to help out so you figure you can enjoy a few cocktails at the Low Tea Meat Market before heading home to burn some much less delectable meat. However, when Low Tea comes to an end, Half-Share gives you a hard time and practically twists your arm to get you to go High Tea when he says nonchalantly, "Wanna grab another drink at High Tea?" to which you respond with an extremely reluctant, "Sure!"

You order the best value on the Island, a Planters Punch, and you've just begun to sip it when you notice a really sexy, scruffy guy across the bar who is so attractive that you forget to swallow. Almost. He looks over at you and it's one of those moments where you lock eyes and don't feel uncomfortable. At all. You give him a big toothy smile because you are suddenly very happy. Mostly because he's smiling back. And his look lingers, which gives you butterflies as well as confidence. This boy's got skinny little glasses and looks like a Jewish Doctor in desperate need of a WASPy dimpled Shiksa from Connecticut. Suddenly you don't want to leave to go home and cook. In fact, screw the food! This boy is so cute that you may have just started a new starvation diet. You tell your housemates that you refuse to leave before meeting this blue-eyed boy and when you turn around to look for him, he's standing right in front of you. He actually came over to meet you!

You introduce yourself and chit-chat about simple things that seem to take on a much deeper level, mostly due to your intense attraction that seems extremely mutual. Your blue-eyed Jewish doctor turns out to be an Italian salesman visiting from the South Side of Boston. He’s staying with friends who are renting a house for the week. Although you don’t want to leave High Tea, you explain to the Daytripping Freeloader that it is, unfortunately, your turn to cook tonight, and you must race back to prep for dinner. But that’s exactly when the DJ puts on an obscure mix of "Just Can’t Get Enough" which seems extremely appropriate since you Just Can’t Get Enough of the Daytripping Freeloader. When the extended remix unfortunately comes to an end, the Daytripping Freeloader asks for your number so you, of course, give it to him along with a kiss, which, just like Depeche Mode, you Just Can’t Get Enough. However, you’re a bit surprised when you are saying goodbye and the Daytripping Freeloader whispers, “What do you like to do in bed?” Although you’re never one to kiss n’ tell (kiss n’ blog, perhaps) you smile at the Sexy South Sider and say, “I'm sure you’ll find out later.”

Thank God you didn’t skip High Tea is all you can think as you race home to cook! Dinner, however, turns out to be a debacle. You practically asphyxiate yourself trying to start the grill, until Half-Share comes home and realizes that the starter is broken and you need a match. Then, considering how flammable of a flamer you are after a day’s worth of cocktails, you practically singe away any future need for manscaping. You’re husking corn when your cell flutters on the counter top as you receive a vibrating text from the husky-voiced Daytripping Freeloader. But it’s your heart that flutters when you finally read his message, “Those eyes are captivating I hope I get to see them again. Good luck with dinner.” Thanks to a few of your Kinsey 8 housemates who are much more skilled in the kitchen department than you are, dinner actually turns out to be almost edible and surprisingly nobody gets poisoned by your food. The frozen margaritas you make, however, should probably be served with a skull and cross bones on the glass.

During dessert the Kinsey 8 collectively decides to play a little “Get to know you better” game called, “How many people have you had sex with?” Luckily, you get to go last as this is not a game that you’re dying to play. You pour yourself a glass of wine but almost end up spitting it out when Rice Queen announces that his number is somewhere between 250 and 500! Although he’s older than you, he’s not that much older! You had no idea there were even that many gay Asian twinks in New York City! But you digress. As the game continues it’s way around the table, everybody’s numbers are very big (except for the San Francisco Treat who ended up marrying the first boy who put some Rice in his Roni), but when it comes to your turn you really think about it and come up with the number 50+. But then you make an amendment to the game and make everybody go another round. This time you want to know the penetration number. Enough of this Bill Clinton Blow-Job Bullshit. This time around the numbers drop considerably, and basically everybody's initial number is cut in half (except for the San Francisco Treat, of course) and you offer up a respectable 25, which seems rather reasonable considering fourteen of your thirtysomething years were spent in a relationship. And with that, you quickly change your t-shirt and race over to Slip N' Hurl hoping to increase your recently divulged player stats by one--specifically with the Daytripping Freeloader.

Only when you arrive at the bar it has somehow become 12:45 and after two complete loops your Boston Boy is nowhere to be found. Even though you know it's a bit ridiculous, you find yourself extremely disappointed until you remember that you have his phone number from when he texted you earlier. You quickly tap off a short note: "Are you out? I'm @ sip n' twirl but can't find you." Almost instantaneously you get a response that informs you to "Stay put. I'll be there in five." And luckily for you, the Daytripping Freeloader is a man of his word. When he arrives he looks just as good as you remember as smiles take over both of your faces and the rest of the boys in the bar quickly fade away from your concerns.

It doesn't take long before the two of you decide to take off and get away from the crowd. It also doesn't take long before you both realize that, due to unfortunate roommate situations, neither of you have a private place to go. You wind up back at the Freeloader's house (which is gorgeous) and start to make out on an uncomfortable concrete bench in his lush garden. His kisses are like buttah, and after the crappy dinner you made, you could use some nourishment! Honestly, even though it's buggy and you're being eaten alive by mosquitoes (and most likely, deer ticks), you really can't get enough of the Daytripping Freeloader's kisses and you continue to devour him until his housemates come home and turn on the outside lights. Embarrassed, you quickly jump off the bench and re-button your blouse and fix your lipstick in order to be introduced to his posse.

Moments later, you've already forgotten all their names as the two of you head down the boardwalk to go to the beach. You sit down at the edge of the beach and listen to the waves crash into the moonlit darkness as you get to know each other better. It's one of the most romantic evenings you've ever had on Fire Guyland, and you are perfectly elated, hours later, when you eventually find yourself walking home, alone, with your 50:25 ratio perfectly in tact, as well as plans to meet up with the Daytripping Freeloader tomorrow. Anyway...