Traveling Gays

I considered my life as a professional, traveling man ... and thought about this club I went to in Orlando. With my favorite boo boo in the whole world.

(heeeeyyyyyy boo boo!)

Anyway, I met a man there, let's call him Jacob (because that's his name). He's from Tampa. I'm in town from Chicago. And we talked for a while ... and when i asked him what he does (he asked first, so I figured it was fair game) he told me he was a house husband.

Without batting a lash, I told him that that was pretty cool. Although, sitting there and about two and a half sheets to the wind, I knew (as surely as I know that gravity exists) that this mother fucker ain't no trophy husband. He's not body beautiful and even if he isn't butt fuckin ugly, he's no perfect 10. I can tell this even IF my motor skills are skillfully impaired. But I understand the game he's playin ... that is, he's playing a game, not that he's GOT game. You feel me?

Jacob told me that he was magnum. So, as a verfication exercise, I felt him up.

He's not.

We continue to talk there at the bar ... and some other dude, who we called red hat, mentions to the bartender that he's straight. I interrupt because I had my eye on Red Hat all night and I just had to verify this piece of information. He said he was indeed straight and his friend (who so damn obviously sweet we call Sucralose) verifies this ... I pull Red hat closer to me and tell him "Damn Shame."

Oh, right - Jacob. So, we keep chatting and he attacks my Puerto Ricanness because I'm smoking Marlboro Mediums. I'm so damn mad - and then he comes out with his Marlboro Lights Menthol. I wanted to drag his ass so damn bad.

Oh, did I mention the dyke who told me I was hot, started humping me while I sat on the bar stool and eventually threw my knees over her shoulders? And when boo boo came to the rescue, I ran away tot eh other side of the bar and apparently, she climbed him like boo boo was a totem pole and boo boo lost both his earrings.

****

Oh, the last time I was in this city and in this club (again, with boo boo ... heeeeeyyyy) I met a brotha from Alabama. I felt him up too - but he told me I made him hard and that I could verify. And, you know how Reagan taught my generation to trust ... but verify ... so, I blame Reagan. This dude asked me to go with him out into the parking lot.

In the middle of Tropical Storm Faye.

Obviously I didn't go outside into the fucking storm with him ... and when I left, I saw him in the parking lot with some idiot who apparently took him up on the offer.

****

As I'm considering these experiences, and the fact that I been gay clubbin in DC with 143, New York City with Jaded ...

It occured to me.

I'm unknowlingly a part of this underground network I call Homos Without Boarders.

• We know no city or state boundary
• We'll grab a dick in a minute
• We typically lie (about our being house husbands, even)
• We go to clubs all over the place, but rarely dance. Dancing is for the locals.
• We beeline for the hottest mother fucker we see ... and work our way down the list until something sticks. (explaining why I'm talking to the wanna be house husband and not to Red Hat)

Feel free to add to this list - my creativity well ran dry after I laughed my ass off at Homos Without Boarders.

Carry on ...