I haven’t just been suffering through a string of bad dates this year. Like any improperly imperfect gay man my age, lately I’ve also been getting more than my fair share of standups, slowdowns, and excuses for breaking them in the first place. Some of the excuses have been outlandish, others blatant baloney. But they’ve all been carefully written down, for tracking purposes. Here they are.
When you’re a gay man in your late thirties, gone are the days of bashful flirting, banshee sex, and breathless waits for him to call. In their place, the gnawing feeling that you’ll soon resort to calling men at random out of the phone book, yelling into the receiver, ‘You suck!’ One by one by one.