Three for Three, Or One. Or Whatever.

In the early days of May I often, after a day of actively participating in class, decided to treat myself to a beer, or a Rum and Coke, I feel like Rum and Coke is the perfect drink to order at a gay bar, its technically a cocktail, I decided. But it is also a sort of manly drink I feel.

So as I was drinking my Rum and Coke manly drank, and reading my copy of "Summer in The City"I felt someone right behind me. It wasn't really like I wasn't in the mood for flirting but, having someone breathing down my neck wasn't exactly my cup of rum. So I say, "Can I help you?"
Without changing positions, the person behind, who I learned was a man, said, "The problem with Kindles is you can't tell what book a persons reading, and you can always tell a lot about the person based on the book they read."
"So your logical reasoning is to stand behind them?"
"Yes."

His name was Steve Mariano. Born and raised in New Jersey and was now a playwright and screen writer who lived in Brooklyn, a very original idea, I know. But I being a sucker for artist like myself, felt completely endeared.
And I make talk a big game about how I love sex and I'll hook up with mostly anyone (always be safe kids) but, when there are things I haven't tried, there are things I haven't tried.
Steve and I talked for almost two hours, drink after drink after drink, he even bought me two of them. Before I knew it it was almost 10 o'clock and I tend to be quite the prude on weeknights. So as I told him that it was time for me to leave, we exchanged number. Before I went in for the hug goodnight he stopped me.
"Sean I think I should tell you that I have a boyfriend."
Thankfully, years of improvisation had led me to quickly brush it off. I said it was fine! So we said goodbye and I thought: he isn't going to text me and I am not going to text that fucker. I figured he just wanted new friends, or just a flirt to see if he still got it or whatever men in relationships think when they've been in one for really long. But the next morning, I got a text

Mariano:

Hey :]

I was so confused. I didn't know what he was doing. Was he looking to cheat on his boyfriend, and if so did he think I was that type of person, did talking last night make him think like that? Was he in an "open relationship"? Because that actually seems disgusting. Was Mariano trying to hide his texts? Would he be deleting them after sending them? We kept texting through out the entire day and then after officially being friends for 24 hours I asked him, "What the fuck is this about?"

He seemed so casual about it, "Me and my boyfriends love doing freeways."

If I Said I Was Done

So lately, I have been thinking about Lady Gaga. She wrote a song to her father once, I don't know if you've heard it. But anyway, she wrote this song because her dad was really really sick, like you are. And needed a surgery. He didn't want the surgery but he needed it to live a healthy life. Like she wanted him to. Like I would want you to.
There is a slight difference between Lady Gaga and me. Well, a lot of differences but, one in particular, she couldn't believe the words her father told her. She couldn't grasp that he would openly say that he didn't want the operation done, it hurt her and she couldn't believe it. I can. I can believe every single word you've ever said to me. Every word you've said to my brother, to my father, to your own mother. I can believe them because I knew, very deep inside of me I knew that there was this need to explode and that it was only a matter of time until you did.
Well, Lady Gaga sang that song to her dad, and the end she said that she would never sing a song again. She would give it all up if he died, if he didn't have that surgery.
What if I said I never sang a song again?
If I said I wouldn't love again?
That I would rather not set foot on a stage again, my biggest love in the world, than see you drink another drink?
I'm sure I would be left with that promise standing. I'm sure you wouldn't prove me wrong. I am perfectly sure that you are selfish enough to see your child sacrifice the one thing that he holds near his heart.
So me and Lady Gaga don't have a lot in common.
And I wish I could write something along the lines of her song, but I love the stage too much and you love your vodka equal amounts.

Backdoor Rapping

“He rapped me.”, Shay said.

I dropped his fork. “Excuse me?”

“Well, not really”

I rolled his eyes and kept working around my moshoo pork. “You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to toss that word around so lightly.”

“Well, he did, but its still felt good so whatever.”

Shay had been obsessed with this so called Enrique. I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting this Enrique, but neither did I have the time nor wished to meet him judging by the way he treated Shay. The moment Shay came out of the closet, it was Enrique who helped him edge his way out, and once Shay was apparently in love with him, Enrique goes, “Just kidding! You’re too intense for me.”

So poor Shay, his heart was broken and he was head over heals in love. 

This was a year ago

Shay now, had not only managed to have sex with half the men in San Francisco, but he had also tried and was able to get over Enrique...or so he thought. 

Shay had landed an great job at Popular Mechanics, he could test drive the most modern cars inside and outside the city, this meant great road trips, staying at fancy hotels and all under his boss’ credit card. Shay was beside himself when he got the job and this not only meant for him a great sea of men to which he could no take advantage of but it means that he could now hang out with his best friend, which happened to be me!

As it turns out, San Francisco was the stepping stone to New York City for a lot of his colleagues, most of them ended up moving there too, among this comrades was Enrique. Great. Now Shay, always the gentleman, invited Enrique to go to Boston and back for a weekend with the new Porsche model. They partied, they drove, they laughed. But when it came to going to bed the silence was quite noticeable. They stood next to each other for almost a whole minute. Just looking at the bed that could either fit on whole person comfortably or two, cuddling. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”, Shay said. 

“Sure?”, Enrique looked at him longingly

“Yes”, adamant on his decision, Shay wasn’t going to allow himself to back into a vicious cycle, he had left California for a reason and well, Enrique was a friend, but square one was not an option. They were both very drunk and everyone knows how that story goes. He fell asleep very effortlessly and as his thoughts meandered from horses to clouds to black balloons he suddenly woke up to something...something very hard. It was Enrique, rapping at his backdoor, quite literally. They got it on, and Simon had finally gotten the one that got away. But after Enrique was done Shay turned around and said, “You know you basically just rapped me right?”

Enrique looked at him and said, “Just go back to sleep.”

He climbed back into bed.

Shay refused to cry right in front of him, but instead he promptly put his cellphone on vibrate, he woke up an hour earlier than they had both agreed, quietly snuck out of the room, packed the car, shut himself in it and began to drive. As the city view dwindled down he raised the volume on the radio. And, what he didn’t tell anyone,, was that he cried, almost all the way back to the city. 

“Well...wow.”, I sighed out.

“Yeah.”, said Shay trying to scarf the rest of his pudding. 

I looked at Simon for a long time, the he brushed he should, “Are you okay? If you’re not I can beat the little bastard I’m serious.”

“Honestly Sean, I liked it. I did but he didn’t ask me and he didn’t remember that I was really really in love with way back when. It’s just fucked up.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a particular thing about gay men. Was it okay to just go off on another guy like that?  Because I knew that if he were to try that one on a girl, she would not only sue him but be prompt to make sure every other woman in his vicinity knew what a scumbag I was. 

“Why are acting so cavalier about it? I think I would have kicked his ass.”

“I know Sean, but, I can’t really say I wasn’t for it. It just isn’t the type of thing ‘we’ complain about.”, Shay shrugged. 

Liam knew that by ‘we’ Shay was referring to the homos. 

Was it true? Was taking it up the backdoor different? Did losing your virginity the gay way mean less than the other way? I didn’t really know, I had only had sex with girls and only had messed around with boys, unfortunately Shay was not aware of Liam’s curiosity for men, so I had to keep these thoughts to myself. 

There are close to nine million people in the city of New York. There are the jews, the african americans, the chinese, the koreans, the gays, the latinos, and the ever infamous Parson student. We have the jocks and prom queens at Columbia, the Ivy Leagues coulda-shoulda-wouldas at NYU and the rich New York babies who were dropped off at The New School, a long with the ever spectacle at Hunter.

It is clear from here on out that New York city has the biggest selection of attractive men and women this world has to offer. New York opens its doors for a lot of people but Miss Liberty is very selective, regardless. There are very few who make it here, but as the saying goes, make it here and you can move to L.A. That's how it goes right?

My name is Sean. Well, it's not actually Sean but I have decided to keep some anonymity. You can't really walk down the path of self discovery with your friends and post loves breathing down your every blog post.

But for all purposes here I shall be known as Sean Shapiro, of 20 years of age, beautiful blue eyes and an amazing physique. I am an actor, and as such I have to know and accept where my abilities can be found. On me it can be found in my body.

I have recently come to terms that I am not all that straight. And have begun to dabble with the male element in this city as well as the ever beautiful female selection.
So ala Carrie Bradshaw crossed between Chelsea Handler, here is where all my sexual exploits will begin to rekindle.

I am that gorgeous stranger that you see on the L train. And I am that guy that wears tight-ass pants to see whose gaze follows my behind. I am the one who comes into bars smiling as if he knows something the whole world missed out on.
So if you see me strutting down your street, well, you won't really know its me. But say hello and you just might become one of my stories here, in The Big Real Deal.