When gay boys fall in love, the heavens open up and reveal a most magnificent rainbow. Then Madonna magically appears from the heavens and sings “Lucky Star” in the middle of Ninth Avenue. All roads leading into gay landia turn into the yellow brick road. Is this a myth? No idea, since I’ve never actually fallen in love before.
However, I have toyed around with online dating. At one time, I had even paid $20 a month for the chance to meet a most splendid fellow. Instead, I was paying $20 a month to get rejected. Naturally, I opted for the free dating websites. One evening, I flipped through the profiles of New York’s most eligible and gay bachelors. Beards, muscles and witty bio profile summaries overwhelmed my gay senses.
I stumbled upon a profile, which caught my interest. Mr. Hell’s Kitchen enjoys travel, works in finance and prefers a beer at a dive bar to a clubby lounge. “Oh this could be fun. He seems quite straight laced.” I thought to myself. His profile evoked a gay version of Barefoot in the Park. It’s one of favorite Neil Simon plays.
Certainly, I would be the free-spirited & creative type in the play. Mr. Hell’s Kitchen would be the straight-laced, more conservative type. It sounded too marvelous to let go. I messaged him. Surprisingly, he messaged back. Talking online, he seemed so level headed and together. ” I suggested we go on a leisurely date with the following message, ” I am not into the whole romance thing, let’s just grab a beer and hang out.” He agreed. We made plans to meet up for beers in Hell’s Kitchen.
We met and had a cold brew. Before long, his drunken friend made a cameo appearance. Being a rather straightforward lad, I told him, ” This is awkward.” However, the drunken friend somehow tagged along with us. We ended up at speak easy on 46th Street. Mr. Hell’s Kitchen had a few drinks in him and his true colors came out. It wasn’t in the happy unicorn flying out of rainbow kind of way.
“I want to psycho analyze you,” he said to me. I raised my eyebrow and grew some balls. ” Oh really? Well, I am out of here.” In shock, he responded ” But why, I thought we were having a good time?” I chuckled ” You’re so analytical. You figure it out.”
Walking into 46th street, I headed toward Eighth Avenue to catch a cab home. As the cab drove past the doorman buildings of Central Park West, I called my dad. ” I went on a bad date. He was an asshole, but I told him off.” My dad replied ” that’s my boy, not taking shit from anyone.” His words made me feel better.
I came back to my studio in Harlem. Everything was peaceful. That night, I went to bed with the sounds of Seventh Avenue colliding with my air conditioner. Cigarettes & chocolate milk by Rufus Wainwright played on my iPod. Quickly, I drifted into the land of dreams where unicorns, rainbows and Madonna roam free.