Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

“I had so much fun tonight guys,” Ethan says enthusiastically as he, Erick and Chris walk into their living room apartment after coming home from a night out at Larrabee’s.

“We could tell,” Chris chides as he and a tired Erick sit next to each other on the couch. Erick takes his shoes off, stretches out and rests his head in Chris’s lap.

Ethan sits down in the recliner chair his father had given him for his thirty-fifth birthday the previous year. “I’m thinking of giving up women all together,” he announces.

“After one night?” Chris asks.

“Yeah, why not?”

“If it was that easy, you couldn’t have been all that into them in the first place,” Erick states with his eyes closed.

“You just broke up with your girlfriend a few weeks ago,” Chris reminds Ethan.

“I know that. She’s moving on. Why can’t I?”

“No one said you can’t. In fact, I’m glad you are in that state of mind. I never liked Mindy in the first place. But most people don’t just hop from one gender to another.”

“Why not? Maybe I can have both – a couple of men here and a couple of women there.”

“A friend of mine has a girlfriend and a boyfriend,” Erick adds with his eyes still closed. “I wouldn’t mind that arrangement – except the girlfriend would have to be a boyfriend.”

Chris chuckles. “So you want two boyfriends?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind three.”

“Three?” Chris asks.

Erick sits up. “Yes, three — one to meet the physical needs, one to meet the social needs and one to meet the emotional needs,” he explains before returning to his stretched out position with his head in Chris lap and his eyes closed.

Chris runs his large hands underneath Erick’s shirt and begins to play with his belly. “And what if you find that one guy who fills all those needs?”

“And what if that one guy gets tired of trying to meet such physical, social and emotional needs?”

Chris grabs a fistful of belly. “Trying?”

Erick laughs. “I’m trying too,” he pleads.

“Are we going to do this or what?” Ethan blurts out.

“Do what?” Chris asks.

“What we talked about.”

“What did we talk about?”

“You know….complicating things.”

Erick’s eyes pop open. He sits up. “So you weren’t joking earlier?”

Ethan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“You were serious about all of it?”‘

“Yep.”

“You actually want to get complicated with us?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Erick and Chris look at each other. Earlier at Larrabee’s, the three of them had talked about the fluidity and complexity of human sexuality, a concept that Ethan didn’t seem to readily understand. Erick and Chris playfully suggested that they could help him understand. The joke was clearly lost on Ethan, who revealed to Erick that he’d always found him attractive and told Chris that he always knew he was into him.

Erick and Chris had never discussed this possibility before and neither knew how the other felt about it. Erick himself had only been in this situation once before and it worked out great for two-thirds of those involved. Chris had always wanted to try it but was uncertain as to how to bring up to Erick or if he should even bring it up at all.

Ethan slowly gets up from the recliner and walks over to the couch. He motions for Erick to shift over so that he could sit between him and Chris. The three sit awkwardly on the couch staring straight ahead, neither certain as to who should make the first move.

Chris closes his eyes and drops his left hand on Ethan’s right thigh. He peeks out of the corner of his eye and is relieved that Erick had also placed his right hand on Ethan’s left thigh.

Erick slowly lifts his right arm and wraps it around Ethan’s shoulder. Chris takes his left arm and also wraps it around Ethan’s shoulder.

Chris takes his head and rests it on Ethan’s right shoulder. Erick takes his head and rests it on Ethan’s left shoulder.

Ethan unbuckles his belt, slides it through the loops of his jeans and tosses it on the floor. He then lifts his left leg (with Erick’s hand still on it), unlaces his sneakers, slides them off and tosses them onto the floor. He lifts his right leg (with Chris’s hand still on it), unlaces his sneakers, slides them off and tosses them onto the floor. Ethan uses his left foot to pull his right sock off and then uses his right foot to pull his left sock off. He than wiggles his toes to relieve some of the tension.

“Nice feet,” Erick comments.

“Thanks. The guy who bought me that first drink tonight wants to take me to a spa this weekend for a mani-pedi, facial and massage.”

“Are you going to go?” Chris asks.

“Yeah, I’m in a ‘trying new things’ phase.”

That said, Erick and Chris look at each other, shrug and lean in. Erick presses his lips against Ethan’s left cheek. Chris presses his lips against Ethan’s right cheek.

Ethan raises his left arm toward Erick’s right nipple and squeezes. He then raises his right arm toward Chris’s left nipple and squeezes.

Erick and Chris each make their way toward Ethan’s mouth. Just as they arrive, Ethan bursts out laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” Chris asks.

Ethan jumps up from the couch. “I’m laughing at the three of us! What did you think was going to happen?”

“We thought you wanted this?”

“What I want is for the two of you to grow a pair of tits!”

“That can be arranged.” Erick deadpans.

Chris jumps up and playfully attacks Ethan. “I knew you were joking about that!”

“Of course I was joking, just like you two were joking about ‘complicating’ things with me,” Ethan replies with air quotes.

Erick stretches back out on the couch. “I guess we’ll have to call Eugene instead,” he says to himself.

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

Chris walks into The Corner restaurant on Highland Avenue just north of Santa Monica Boulevard for dinner. He looks around to see if Eugene had already arrived and hopes they can recognize each other since they’d only met once before. Chris’s concerns prove unfounded as the curly-top with a kind face was already seated at a table, smiling brightly and waving his lengthy arms in the air.

Chris walks over to Eugene’s table and slides into the booth. “It’s good to see you again,” he says.

“Yeah, I’m glad we’re doing this. How’ve you been?”

“Good, very good. And yourself?”

“Just fine, very fine. Busy.”

“Well, I appreciate you taking the time.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m just surprised Erick agreed to it.”

“I’m not — especially since this was his idea.”

********************** A few days earlier **********************

Erick and Chris are watching the first season of Friday Night Lights on DVD. The last episode on the second disc finishes playing. Erick gets up to take the second disc out of his DVD player and loads up the third disc.

“How’s Eugene doing?” Chris asks. This comes across as somewhat out of the blue to Erick but Eugene has been lingering in the back of Chris’s mind since Erick finally met him in person several weeks ago after talking for four years. He has yet to figure out if this is cause for concern or if it amounts to just a harmless little crush.

Erick freezes for a moment before continuing. “Um…I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. I’m sure he’s fine though.”

“Let’s schedule another date with him, but I’d like to go this time.”

“Uh…sure. I’ll text him later and set up a time.”

Erick lies back down on the couch with his head in Chris’s lap. “It’s okay, isn’t it?” Chris asks.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. It must seem strange that I’m the one asking.”

“Nope. I could tell right away that you found him attractive.”

“You could?”

“Yep. And it’s fine. He is attractive. Now if you were eyeballing Buddy Garrity, then that would be more of a brow-raiser. ”

“Who’s Buddy Garrity?”

Erick points to the television set. “From the show.”

Chris laughs. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It would be more concern than worry.”

“I find it interesting that you’d be more concerned with Buddy Garrity than Eugene.”

Erick shifts his body so that he’s now lying on his back and looking up at Chris. “It’s simple. Eugene is a very good-looking guy so I could understand why he’d turn your head. Buddy Garrity, however, is less of a head-turner so it wouldn’t make as much sense to me that he’s able to accomplish the same thing.”

Chris processes this for a moment. “I adore how your mind works,” Chris says as he starts to gently rub Erick’s shaved head.

“I do, too. Therefore, you and Eugene should go by yourselves.”

“Why?”

“Because you clearly want to see him again.”

“Don’t you want to see him?”

“I’ll go with you next time. Besides, I went out with him by myself and you were very good about it so now it’s my turn to be good about it.”

“Are you good with it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Were you not good with it when I went out with him?”

“I was fine with it. Within the context of your existence, the circumstances made perfect sense.”

“And within that same context, I want you to go out with Eugene.”

“What are you going to do while we go out?”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I owe a few people some face time.”

“How are you going to explain this to Eugene?”

“He may have only met me once but he’s known me for four years. This will make perfect sense to him.”

********************************************

“Did it actually make sense to you?” Chris asks Eugene as a waiter brings out their drink orders.

“Erick never made any sense to me,” Eugene says with a chuckle.

“If his mind were a language, it would be Greek to me, you and everyone else.”

“And yet you somehow manage to get by in Erickville,” Eugene says as he takes a sip of water.

“At the very least it keeps things interesting. Part of the fun is in navigating my way through the winding roads of Erickville.”

“What’s the other part?” Eugene asks cheekily.

“Staying over in Erickville,” Chris responds with a smirk.

“What happens if this backfires?” Eugene asks curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“What if Erick sends you out on a date with someone and both of you develop an interest in one another?”

“Erick may have the occasional body issue but he’s far from insecure and has no problem going back to being single. He once told me that he’d just go out and find another one who looks like me. Given the wide variety of people his friends have told me I look like, it won’t be hard.”

Last December I was searching for papa-centric gifts to get JJ’s Papa for Christmas, and let me tell you, it was slim pickings. This is unfortunate as a lot of two dad families go by the “daddy/papa” monikers. In addition to the papa stuff being few and far between, lots of it was for grandfathers. And while we may not be spring chickens, we ain’t visiting Grandpa Land anytime soon. However, I did manage to find a few fun things, including a charming book about animal babies and their fathers called “Papa Papa”, as well as this sassy “Who’s Your Papa?” tee shirt…

But the best by far was the book “Daddy, Papa, and Me” which has since become one of our favorite books to read to JJ. It’s a very straightforward, no-nonsense, non-preachy, day-in-the-life story of a child (cleverly illustrated so as not to be gender-specific) and his/her two fathers. It starts off with the child asking “Who wants to play with me today?,” followed with spread after spread depicting things Daddy and Papa does with the realistically energetic toddler. Our favorite is this one, that most accurately portrays our family’s greatest strengths, with Daddy helping to “paint the sky” and Papa helping to bake a pie (our Papa is Italian, and a cook among cooks).

After a slew of other activities (throwing a ball, having a tea party, etc.) the book ends with a sentiment any parent of a toddler can relate to, regardless of the family’s makeup…

What appeals most to me about the book is that it doesn’t try to make a case for this family, or celebrate that it’s “different.” There are plenty of other books for that. What it does celebrate is the joy of a child spending time with his parents — learning, playing, and experiencing life.

For you two mother families, “Mommy, Mama, and Me” is also available from the same author.

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

“Well this looks like trouble,” Tato says from behind the bar as Erick and his managing editor John enter for their weekly Friday happy hour at Larrabee’s in West Hollywood.

“If you play your cards right,” Erick responds as he and John slide into the stools on the other side of the bar.

“Let me wear those glasses for a while and we’ll talk,” Tato replies.

Erick smiles, takes his glasses off and hands them to Tato. Erick’s small collection of non-prescription glasses that he wears for fashion and refers to as windows with frames, is quite popular with the bartenders at Larrabee’s – many of whom take the liberty of trying them on whenever Erick isn’t wearing them. This particular pair is unique in that the inside is lined with a blue tint and seems to look good on everyone — especially Tato, a taut shortie of Brazilian descent with dark brown eyes, smooth skin and a naturally flirtatious smile.

Tato comes around the bar and checks himself out in the mirrors that line the wall behind Erick and John. “These glasses look great on me.”

“Name something that doesn’t look great on you,” John challenges.

“He could have toilet paper stuck to his shoe and make it look sexy,” Erick adds.

Tato turns around, “you two are very sweet.”

“Translation: ‘you two are very right’,” Erick teases.

Tato walks back behind the bar. “You’ve got to let me buy these off of you.”

“They’re not for sale,” Erick answers.

Tato stands in front of Erick and slowly wiggles his hips. Erick’s eyes follow the back and forth movement. “Please?” he asks as he flashes his irresistible smile.

John playfully slams his hand down on the bar. “Can you table this negotiation until after I get my margarita?”

Tato laughs as he starts to mix the cocktail. “And what would you like, handsome?” he asks Erick.

“A cranberry vodka will get you a lot further with me than flattery.”

Tato laughs again. “I’m serious about these glasses. You have to let me buy them off you.”

“Why don’t I just buy you another pair?” Erick asks.

“Because I like these. They look so good on me.”

“You don’t think they look good on me?”

“Not as good as they look on me. I get so many compliments from the customers when I wear these glasses.”

“See? That’s the problem. You’re already a gorgeous guy. Why would you need further assistance from mine or any other glasses? It’s tough enough for us average-looking folk to date in this crazy world without you getting a further leg-up on the rest of us with my glasses. Those glasses can’t do any more for you than has already been done by the hands of God who, by the way, gypped the rest of us.”

“What are you talking about, Erick? You have a boyfriend,” John interjects.

“I didn’t always have one. Chris is a relatively new development. Besides, I am speaking for the huddled masses who are still Chris-less or Tato-less.”

Tato shakes his head and laughs as he hands John his margarita. “Not everyone feels the same way you do about The Tato.”

“Then those opinions don’t count,” Erick declares.

Tato mixes Erick’s cranberry vodka, drops a lime into the cocktail and hands it to him. He then reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folded wad of bills, takes out a twenty, places it on the counter and slides it toward Erick.

Erick stares at the greenback. “Twenty dollars? That’s it? These glasses cost sixty-five!”

Tato snickers. “Sixty-five? Whatever. Those cost all of fourteen ninety-nine,” he retorts as he walks away to wait on another customer.

John laughs. “Well, it was worth a shot,” Erick says.

********** ********** ********** **********

A few hours and a few cocktails later, John flags down Tato to close out the bill. “Ok Tato, we’re getting ready to leave. I need the glasses back,” Erick informs him when he brings over the check.

“Here’s another twenty,” Tato offers as he places another bill on the table. “That’s forty dollars total that I’m offering you for your fifteen dollar glasses.”

Erick takes the twenty he received earlier out of his shirt pocket and slides the forty dollars back to Tato’s side of the counter. “I don’t want your money. I just want the glasses back.”

“At least let me where these the rest of the night,” Tato begs as he slides the forty dollars back toward Erick’s side of the counter. “I’m working tomorrow. You can come by and pick them up then.”

“What if you aren’t here?”

“I will be.”

“What if I don’t make it back here tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll hold onto them until I see you.”

“Which could be another week,” Erick concludes. “I’d rather have the glasses back.”

John hands Tato his credit card. “No,” Tato teases Erick as he turns around to run the card.

“I’ll come back there,” Erick threatens as he slides off the chair.

“Customers aren’t allowed back here,” Tato continues.

“They are if their glasses are back there,” Erick responds as he proceeds to walk behind the bar.

“You can’t be back here,” Tato tells him as the pulls the receipt from the register, turns around and hands it to John.

“I want my glasses back,” Erick repeats.

“Ok, just go back to the other side. I don’t want either of us to get into trouble,” Tato acquiesces.

Erick goes back to the other side of the bar and takes back his stool. “My glasses, please,” Erick asks firmly as he holds out his hand.

Tato folds his hands and begs. “Can’t you just come back and get them tomorrow? I have to have these tonight. I look so good in them.”

Erick stares at Tato for a moment before standing up on the stool, raising his leg and climbing on top of the bar counter. He grabs for Tato’s pants to pull him toward him so he can remove the glasses from his face but Tato backs away at the last second. Losing balance, Erick grabs for another, much larger bartender for stability but he is caught off guard and unable to keep Erick from falling. As Erick falls behind the bar, he pulls the other bartender down on top of him and they both wind up on the floor.

Stunned, the other bartender slowly rises. He stares angrily at Erick as he reaches down to help him up. “Perhaps I could make you a cocktail while I’m back here?” Erick offers as he climbs up and back over the bar. He grabs his bag and scurries out.

“See you next Friday!” John jokes as he signs the credit card receipt and walks out behind Erick.

********** ********** ********** **********

The next afternoon, Erick returns to Larrabee’s. Tato is standing behind the bar making a cocktail. He is wearing Erick’s glasses. Erick sits down. A stone-faced Tato comes over, pulls off the glasses and hands them back to Erick. Erick reaches into his messenger bag, pulls out a pair of glasses that look just like his and hands them to Tato.

Tato’s face lights up. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out forty dollars and hands it to Erick. Erick takes the forty dollars and hands it back to Tato. Tato runs out from behind the bar and gives Erick a tight hug.

“That’s more like it,” Erick says as gives Tato a hug back.

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

“That play gets better every time I see it,” Cole comments as he walks into the lobby of the Hudson Guild Theatre in Hollywood. His boyfriend Mitch had invited Erick and Chris to see his first stage performance since returning to Los Angeles last year.

“How many times have you seen it?” Chris asks, walking alongside Cole.

“This was number six.”

“Wow, you are a dedicated sort. I love Erick, but I’d have to stop at five,” Chris jokes.

Cole chuckles. “I’ve also been running lines with Mitch. At this point, I could probably step in and be an understudy if necessary.”

“It must be getting pricey for you to keep coming here.”

“Oh don’t worry, I get more than my money’s worth out of Mitch,” Cole responds with a wink as he and Chris stop at the now-closed concession stand to wait for Mitch to come out. “Trust me, I don’t do this just out of love.”

Chris laughs. “You should talk to the theatre manager about a ‘Buy Ten, Get One Free’ deal.”

“I’m not sure Mitch can handle that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was walking pretty funny tonight. I shouldn’t come around here for a couple of weeks.”

Chris lets out a loud laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Chris’s laugh gets Erick’s attention. He had been lagging behind Chris and Cole checking out archival stills from the theatre’s many productions over the years, but walked over to find out what was going on.

“What’s so funny?” Erick asks.

“Mitch’s walk,” Chris jokes as he and Cole continue to laugh.

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Erick responds with concern in his voice. “Is he okay?”

Cole’s face suddenly becomes very serious. “He’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.” Chris turns around to laugh silently. His shoulders shudder.

Mitch’s co-star Stacy Ray walks into the lobby. “Great job tonight,” Cole comments as she approaches.

“Thank you very much,” Stacy Ray says as she walks over to give Cole a hug. “It’s good to see you again. How many times have you seen the show by now?”

“Six times.”

“Wow. I’ll have to talk to Mitch and Nick about adding a few subtle things in there to keep you from getting bored.”

Stacy Ray extends her hand to Erick and then to Chris. “I’m Stacy.”

“I’m Erick. This is my boyfriend Chris.”

Chris shakes her hand enthusiastically. “I just have to say that you are simply adorable. I thought you were fantastic,” he gushes.

“I agree,” Erick adds.

“You two are super sweet for saying that. I appreciate it.” Stacy Ray replies. “Will we be seeing you as much as we’ve seen Cole?”

“Probably not. We don’t like Mitch as much as he does,” Erick chides.

Stacy Ray laughs. “Well, thanks for coming again, guys. Cole, I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Erick and Chris, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she says while heading toward the door.

“You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?” Nick says to Stacy Ray when he walks into the lobby.

Stacy Ray turns around. “Nick, won’t I be seeing you tomorrow night for the show?”

“But that’s twenty-two hours from now,” Nick says flirtatiously as he walks toward Stacy Ray. “And I’m an actor. I need closure.”

“You’re a lunatic…a cute lunatic but still a lunatic,” Stacy Ray teases with a laugh. “I have to go now. My girlfriends are waiting outside.”

Nick kneels down to meet Stacy Ray at eye-level. “Where are you guys going? I’ll come with.”

Stacy Ray kisses Nick on the forehead. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s ladies night. Besides, you have two fans and a groupie back there waiting for you.”

Nick turns around and sees Erick, Chris and Cole at the concession stand. Stacy Ray opens the door and walks out. “She’s so super hot,” Nick says out loud to them after the door closes.

Erick breaks the short, awkward silence. “You were very good tonight.”

“Thanks man,” Nick responds as he walks over to the concession stand. “I’m Nick.”

“I’m Erick. This is my boyfriend Chris. I suppose you already know Cole,” Erick replies as Nick exchanges handshakes with him and Chris.

Nick pats Cole on the upper back. “I do. Good to see you again, man. What did you guys think of the show?” he asks Erick and Chris.

“I like your performance style. It’s very natural. It doesn’t come across as if you are acting,” Erick answers.

“Wow, thank you. That’s some pretty high praise.”

Nick looks at Chris and Cole for their thoughts. “We can’t really top that one so we’ll just concur,” Chris says.

“It’s just a shame that Mitch’s performance was so lacking. He dragged down the entire production,” Erick continues.

Chris and Cole stare at Erick in stunned silence. Nick looks at him quizzically. “I have to disagree with you on that one. I thought he was great. I must have heard you incorrectly,” he counters.

“The only thing I liked about his performance was when he showed his bare ass.”

Cole interjects. “I’d like to take credit for that.”

Mitch steps into the lobby and slowly walks up behind Erick. “His performance just screamed, ‘I’m acting! Notice my acting!” It’s like he was taught several methods and decided to use them all tonight.”

Chris’s eyes widen. Cole hides his face in his hands. Nick tries to change the subject. “Why don’t we head over to Big Wang’s?” he suggests.

“Good idea,” Erick says as he walks toward the door.

“Erick, all your drinks are on me tonight,” Mitch declares as Erick opens the door and walks out.

Chris, Cole and Nick turn and stare at Nick with surprised looks on their faces. “How could you offer to buy him drinks after what he just said?” Cole asks.

“Because Erick is full of shit. We dated for two-and-a-half years. I know that laugh anywhere and I heard it throughout the entire show. He loved it more than anyone else. Pay no attention to what he said. I’m certainly not.”

“Well that’s not supposed to happen,” Erick says to Chris as sits up on his bed with a mixed look of concern and confusion upon his face.

Chris extends his hand to rub Erick’s back. “It’s okay,” he assures him.

“How is it okay?”

“Because it happened to me, too.”

“It did? Just then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that makes sense.”

“How?”

“Because you’re 36, but I’m only 33.”

Chris smiles. “But you’ll be 34 next month,” he counters.

“I understand that, but until then I’m 33 and this sort of thing shouldn’t happen.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“How could I not? Either I’m suddenly no longer attracted to you or there’s a greater problem manifesting itself. I am going to go with the latter because that makes more sense.

Chris folds his arms behind his head. “And what if by chance you are no longer attracted to me?”

“Then it just goes to show you that my body can’t be trusted. My eyes are showing one thing, my brain is processing it as another thing and everything else is just confused.”

Chris chuckles. “I’m positive it’s not that deep.”

Erick turns his body toward Chris. He looks down at his chest and his bit-o-belly. He then raises the sheet bundled in his lap up to his neck. “Chris, I’ve spent the last few years really working on my technique…and I’ve become quite pleased with my progress through the expansion of my personal repertoire.”

“As you should,” Chris replies with a knowing smile. He takes Erick’s hand and kisses it. The sheet falls down into Erick’s lap.

Erick pulls the sheet back up with his other hand. “You’re very sweet, but if you continue with that I’m afraid we’ll have a repeat performance and just wind up having this same conversation in fifteen minutes.”

Chris sits up and takes Erick’s other hand in his. The sheet falls again. Erick looks down. “Are you trying to sterilize yourself permanently?”

Chris chuckles again. “I panicked the first time it happened to me, too.”

“When was that? In November when we first started dating? You probably went home and just sputtered right out. Or perhaps it happened during our first…’dessert’…and you just powered through – which is something I couldn’t seem to manage just now.”

“It was before I met you.”

“Oh, so you came to me a broken man?”

Chris laughs. “Erick, this is really not a big deal. I’m sure it’s just a one-time thing.”

Erick shakes his head. “It wasn’t for you. This was probably just the warning shot. We’ll be fine the next few times, which will lull us into a false sense of security. Then there’ll be another one to let us know that the next time will have to be mind-blowing because after the third warning shot the whole damn thing will just fall off completely.”

Chris nods. “I see. And then what happens?”

“Then things will happen as they should. You’ll find that elusive tall, smooth golden young stud with a Montanic chest, 10-pack abs, perfect blond hair, clear blue eyes who’s firm and fully-packed.”

Chris tilts his head. “Is that the kind of guy you want?”

“Oh God no. I can barely handle being with you, let alone someone super hot. Besides, he won’t have hair and I like hair — dark hair, like yours. And I like my guys earthy, like you. So you have nothing to worry about.”

“So what makes you think I want to be with a guy like that?”

“We can tweak the fantasy, but the bottom line is that you’ll want to be with someone who can always deliver — not devolve into a sputtering waste of flesh.”

“Oh great, so then I can worry that he’s too hot for me.”

“Well, welcome to the city.”

Chris locks his fingers into Erick’s and stares deeply into his eyes. “How many more ‘looks don’t matter’ conversation do we have to have?”

“None. I’ve long since stopped worrying about our vastly divergent looks.”

Chris grabs one of Erick’s nipples and twists. Erick attempts to squeeze Chris’s much larger hands in retaliation. “Nice try,” he teases.

Erick lets out a hushed series of ow’s. Chris relents. “Don’t start anything you aren’t going to be able to finish,” Erick teases back.

“Does it really matter at this point? Neither one of us can make it to the finish line anyway.”

Erick laughs. “Because our DVRs cut out before the show was over.”

Chris laughs. “The football game ended at halftime!”

“The balloons deflated in mid-air!” Erick adds as he falls to his side.

“The music ended but the song’s not over!” Chris lies down next to Erick.

“The audience is still waiting for act two!”

Erick and Chris laugh at one another. As the laughter dies down, Chris reaches over and touches Erick on the cheek. “By the way, you aren’t the only one with a repertoire. This is good because it looks like we have our work cut out for us.”

“But this will be fun work,” Erick says with a smirk.

“I’ll share something with you,” Chris says. “I often worry that the work has been more fun for me than it has been for you.”

A look of surprise registers on Erick’s face. “Really?”

“Yeah, you aren’t the only one with insecurities.”

Erick gives Chris a kiss as he climbs over him and out of bed toward the bathroom. “Good. Then that evens out the playing field.”

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

***

c. Wikimedia Commons

“Isn’t that Ryan Martin?” Erick asks Chris as the two of them are having Saturday brunch at Basix Café in West Hollywood.

Chris turns around. “Where?”

“He’s leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.”

Chris leans back in his chair and then turns back around. “Great. Who is he?”

Erick and Ryan had met in 2006, shortly after Erick returned from his disappointing summer in New York City and took a job at Walgreen’s until he could figure out what his next steps would be. Erick and Ryan frequently worked the same evening shifts and often went out for cheap drinks at a dive bar near the corner Westwood and Santa Monica Boulevards.

Erick didn’t work long at Walgreen’s before taking another advertising job that was offered to him by a former colleague from his first job at SoCal. With their differing schedules, Erick and Ryan’s bar diving became more and more infrequent. When Erick was transferred to Massachusetts for work, he and Ryan exchanged texts, emails and played phone tag a few times before losing touch altogether.

“I haven’t seen or heard from him in over three years,” Erick realizes.

“Why not? Did you guys have a fight?”

“Not that I know of, but I see what he’s been up to.”

“And what is that?”

“He’s lost a shit ton of weight.”

“What did he look like before?”

Erick puts his fork down and leans forward with this elbows on the table as he attempts to construct the image of the former Ryan for Chris. “Let’s say Ryan was an actor who padded himself instead of just gaining weight for a role.”

“So he’s wearing padding now? How skinny is he?” Chris asks as he takes a sip of coffee.

“No. What I’m saying is that if he were wearing padding today to look bigger, he would look like what he looked like then.”

Chris stares at Erick blankly. “I should ask this a different way. How much weight do you think he’s lost?”

“I don’t know, but he looks like he lost about half of himself.”

“Maybe he’s meeting up with that other half.”

Erick snickers. Ryan looks up and around. Erick thinks he sees him looking in his general direction and waves to get his attention. If Ryan recognizes Erick, he doesn’t let on and resumes text messaging. “I think I’ll go say hello,” Erick says as he gets up from the table.

“What if he doesn’t recognize you?”

“Because I look the same now as I did then.”

“How silly of me,” Chris says to himself as he takes picks up a slice of bacon and eats it.

Erick walks through the patio and down two small steps toward the tree that Ryan is leaning against. Erick’s black and white Vans shoes enter Ryan’s downward view. “Hey, Ryan. Remember me? It’s Erick.”

Ryan lifts his head and sighs. “Yes, I remember you.”

“Where have you been hiding?”

“I haven’t been.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“That it has.”

“Who are you waiting for?”

“A friend.”

There’s an awkward pause as Erick waits for details that clearly won’t be forthcoming. “Do you come here often?”

“No. I live in Silver Lake now.”

“I’ve been meaning to explore that more and more.”

“You should. It’s nice over there.”

“I’ve heard. I live in Hollywood, so it’s not too far.”

“Then you have no excuse.”

“This is true.” There’s another awkward pause as Erick tries to decide if he should continue the conversation or not. “You look great, by the way.”

“I know. I’ve worked hard,” Ryan says pointedly.

“How did you do it?” Erick asks with a mixture of interest and envy.

“I stopped drinking. I got rid of my car and started walking everywhere. I found a workout buddy and a hiking buddy. And I significantly restricted my diet.”

“Wow. Well, it has paid off. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says while giving Erick a once-over that suggests he may want to incorporate some of those things into his own life.

“Well, let me get back to brunch. Maybe we’ll see each other again around town.”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. You never know.” Ryan responds as he picks up a call and looks around for his brunch companion.

Erick turns around slowly, rolls his eyes, walks up the two small steps and through the patio back to his table. He sits down and cuts his eyes in Ryan’s direction. “It’s amazing how someone can lose a few pounds and then starts dressing and acting as if Clooney himself should be jealous.”

“What happened?” Chris asks.

“He was so rude and dismissive to me as if I mistreated him when he was a human floating device and now he’s exacting revenge,” Erick hisses. “If I ever lose half of myself, make sure it’s the obnoxious half.”

Bradley the ridiculously cute maitre’d seats Ryan and his brunch companion at a nearby table. Erick glares viciously at Ryan, but puts on a phony smile as Ryan sees Chris and walks over with his friend, who is also ridiculously cute. “Who’s your friend?” Erick asks as Ryan approaches.

“This is my dear friend Nolan, who’s visiting from St. Louis and considering a relocation,” Ryan explains. “Nolan, this is my old, old friend Erick and a very handsome feller.”

Chris smiles politely and shakes hands with both of them. “I’m Chris, Erick’s boyfriend.”

“Oh really? Well, one never knows where they’re going to find love,” Ryan responds with a condescending smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Nolan says.

“Well, we are starving so we will let you two finish up and we’ll see you both again very soon,” Ryan declares as he allows Nolan to walk ahead of him. Ryan then grazes the length of Chris’s upper back with his finger as he follows Nolan back to their table.

“He’s turned into quite the piece of work.”

“Don’t worry about him, Erick. He shouldn’t be wearing tight, white shirts anyway.”

“Why not? He looks really good.”

“So does the scar on his stomach.”

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

***

c. Ian Kluft, Wikimedia Commons

Erick and Chris had been invited by April and Grayson to a Fourth of July party at her friend Ashley’s apartment in the Palms section of West LA. Since Erick had just returned from a weeklong trip to New York and Boston, it was fully expected that their fashionably late appearance at this party would only last a couple of hours — enough time to exchange pleasantries with the hostess, eat and mingle with the other guests before the weekend took its toll.

Five hours later, Erick, Chris and Grayson watch from the living room couch as the last of the other remaining guests say their goodbyes to Ashley — with April in the midst as if she herself had thrown the party. As the three of them get up and head toward the door to say their own goodbyes, April and Ashley walk right through them and take their places on the couch to continue whatever conversation they didn’t think they didn’t seem to have time for before now.

Erick, Chris and Grayson look at one another. Chris heads back to the couch, sits next to Ashley and promptly goes to sleep. Grayson walks over to the couch, sits down next to April and stares stone-faced at the television, which has been set to Music Choice’s classic 80s channel. Erick stands by the door for a few minutes, hoping that will hint toward a departure.

“Erick, please make yourself at home. That armchair over there is very comfortable.” Ashley offers.

“It’s fine. I ate more than I should and I read somewhere that standing aids in the digestion.”

Ashley smiles. “Well, the chair will be there whenever you are ready.” She and April return to their conversation.

Erick looks around the living room at the various wall pieces. A bird flying across the window catches his attention. He walks across the living room and out onto the balcony to investigate. “It’s like going toward the white light,” Erick comments to himself.

Erick watches the yellow-orange sun slowly but progressively descending upon the horizon and hopes that he isn’t still standing here when it finally disappears. He’s come to realize in recent months that he enjoys having small gatherings at his apartment rather than attending larger parties. Ideally, he’d prefer to sit at home and watch television with Chris or read a book at a coffee shop while Chris skims through the Los Angeles Times, The New York Times and USA Today.

Throughout much of his twenties, Erick always felt the need to have plans after work so he kept his social calendar pretty full during the week. Oddly, he felt no such pressure on the weekends and often found himself home on a Saturday night save for the occasional party when he would be among the first arrivals. He’d hold court with the other partygoers for several hours before spending another hour saying his goodbyes.

Since turning thirty in 2007, he’s settled into the habit of showing up to a party relatively on time, finding a choice spot in the kitchen where he would wind up meeting most of the other partygoers and then bowing out gracefully after only a few hours as some people were still arriving.

Erick thought about speaking up but neither Chris nor he drove. He also doesn’t want to embarrass April or offend Ashley.

Erick steps off the balcony and walks through the living room into the kitchen.

Ashley sees Erick come into her sightline and notices him rustling around the kitchen. “Do you need anything else?” she asks.

Erick looks up, startled. “I’m good. Thanks. I just thought I’d clean up a bit.”

“You’ll do no such thing. You are a guest.”

“It’s not a problem, I promise.”

“It’s a problem for me. Please, come in here and join the conversation. Next time you visit, you’ll be considered family and I’ll expect you to clean.”

Erick scrunches his face in defeat, walks out of the kitchen and into the living room where he takes a seat in the very comfortable arm chair. He pulls out his cell phone and checks for text messages.

The sound of light snoring is heard coming from Chris. “We should get Chris home so he can get some sleep.” Grayson blurts out.

April looks over. “He’s sleeping fine right here. Are you using him because you want to go home?”

“I was trying not to be rude, but yes. It’s time to go.”

“Oh,” a slightly surprised April replies.

“Well, none of you are leaving me with all this food,” Ashley states as she and April get up from the couch and head into the kitchen.

Erick turns to Grayson. “Thank you,” he mouths.

“I don’t see why we didn’t leave with everyone else,” Grayson responds.

“I wanted to say something but I didn’t drive and I didn’t feel it was my place.”

“Well, from now on feel free to make it your place.”

Erick walks over to the couch and lightly shakes Chris. “Chris, wake up. We are leaving.”

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m gonna be pissed,” Chris replies without opening his eyes.

“I promise we are. April and Ashley are in the kitchen packing up food for us to take back home with us,” Erick assures Chris.

Chris is silent for a moment. “I hear more chatting in there than packing.”

Erick and Grayson look into the kitchen to see April and Ashley whispering, but not packing. Erick and Grayson look at each other. “Let’s just grab shit and go,” Grayson asserts.

Grayson grabs a bag of with a s’mores kit that he and April brought but wasn’t used. Erick grabs the one bag of leftovers that April and Ashley packed as Grayson hands him the s’mores bag. Grayson hugs Ashley, says ‘thank you’, takes April by the hand, walks out of the kitchen, takes the s’mores bag from Erick, rushes out the door and heads down the hall.

“I had a lovely time,” Erick says to Ashley as the two shake hands.

“Thank you for coming,” Ashley replies.

“Chris, we are leaving,” Erick announces.

Chris rises up quickly and drifts toward the door. “Thank you very much for the hospitality,” he says as he high-fives Ashley on his way out the door.

Ashley steps out of her apartment and sees April shuffling toward her. “I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ and to apologize for rushing off like this,” she says as she gives Ashley a hug.

“It’s alright,” Ashley responds.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into Grayson. I’m so embarrassed.”

“I get it. He’s tired and wants to go home.”

“Well, let’s get together for brunch soon. What does your schedule look like?”

As they discuss each other’s upcoming schedules, Grayson hands the s’mores bag to Chris, comes back down the hall, picks up April and carries her away. “How about I just call you?” she says as she hold on to Grayson’s shoulders.

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

******

Two weeks ago, Erick put together a very well-received sponsorship package for the Fresh Air Fund to be underwritten by the Fresh Fruits Initiative. Since the FFI had been approached to essentially foot the bill for a campaign that Lefty Magazine would still making a commission on, they issued a challenge for them make a sacrificial contribution of their own to the Fresh Air Fund.

It was decided that Erick and Abram, who closed the deal with the FFI, would fly to New York for the week to help drive inner-city kids to the homes of their host families in more rural and suburban areas in the northeast and mid-Atlantic.

“Alright childrens, we have a few ground rules to review,” Erick says to a group of twelve on a passenger van driven by another one of the Fresh Air Fund volunteers.

He sits on a short stool between the front driver and passenger seats and reads from a typed-up sheet of paper. “Keep your seatbelts on at all times while the van is in motion. Since Mister Rich needs to concentrate on driving, please do not talk to or throw anything at him.”

Erick leans back and turns to Rich, who’s making his way down 6^th Avenue toward the Holland Tunnel. “I envy you,” Erick says to Rich.

Rich laughs. Erick leans forward and continues. “There will be two stops along the New Jersey Turnpike for bathroom breaks before we begin dropping you off in Delaware and Maryland. Does anyone need to go now? No? Good. We have apples, carrots, bananas, trail mix and water for snacks to tide you over until dinner with your respective host families tonight. If you get hungry, ask me and I will serve it to you. Do NOT get up and serve yourselves. Are there any questions before I add my own rules to this list?”

“What’s your name?” eight-year-old Laurie asks.

“I am Mister Erick.”

“What’s your last name?” Laurie asks.

“It’s Davidson. Now for my rules. There will be no laughing, no smiling, no poking, no touching, no blinking, no coughing, no sneezing, no groaning, no moaning, no huffing, no puffing, no griping, no complaining, no singing, no humming, no sniffling, no yawning, no kicking, no foot-tapping, not hitting, no smacking and no slapping. I reserve the right to add to this list as I see fit during this trip. Are there any questions?”

The younger children stare wide-eyed into Erick’s stern eyes. “What happens if we don’t follow these rules?” a wiseacre twelve-year-old asks.

“What’s your name?” Erick asks.

“Timothy.”

“Well, Timothy – and all of you for that matter — if you don’t follow these rules, Mister Rich will pull this fan over and we will tie you to the roof.”

The younger children look back and forth at each other in wild-eyed concern. Rich briefly glances at them in the rear view mirror, smiles and shakes his head.

“He’s kidding,” Timothy reassures them. He then looks at Erick for confirmation. “You are kidding, right?”

Erick stares at him sternly. He then raises an eyebrow. “There’s only one way to find out, Timothy.”

“He’s kidding,” fourteen-year-old Brian states confidently.

Erick subtly nods at Brian. “Are there any other questions?” he repeats.

“How old are you?” Laurie asks.

“I’m older than you,” Erick replies with the smile.

“Where are you from?” Laurie asks.

“I’m actually from New Jersey, but I live in California.”

“What do you do there?” nine-year-old Sarah asks.

“I help the Fresh Air Fund with its marketing.”

“What are you doing here then?” Timothy asks.

“The company I work for wanted to do more to support the Fund.”

“How much are you getting paid for this?” Timothy charges.

Erick sends him a warning glare and points to the roof. “Four hundred thousand dollars,” he answers.

“Are you married?” Sarah asks.

Erick leans back and looks up at Rich. “I feel like I’m at a press conference.”

“You’re doing fine. Better you than me. This is why I drive,” Rich responds.

Erick makes a face before leaning forward. “I’m not married.”

“Why not?” Laurie asks.

“’Cuz he’s gay! He and Mister Rich are boyfriends!” Timothy blurts out.

Erick sits in silence for a moment. The psychologist in him wants to explore what Timothy knows about homosexuality, what his parents have told him about it and why he would make jokes. However, given the tenuous nature of the topic where kids and parents are concerned, Erick opts for the smart ass approach. He leans back and looks up at Rich again, who’s smiling. Erick holds the rule sheet in front of his face. “What’s Timothy’s last name?” he whispers.

“Vieira,” Rich whispers back.

Erick leans forward again. His face goes solemn as he begins to tell Timothy and the other children about his special friend from high school. The two of them were really close. They walked to class together, ate lunch together, did their homework together, watched TV together, had dinner at each other’s houses and spent the night at each other’s houses.

Then one day, a classmate made a joke about the two of them being boyfriends. Erick’s special friend was so upset that he immediately stopped talking to him. “I was devastated,” Erick recalls.

Erick was so hurt that he stopped talking to people. He walked to class by himself, ate lunch by himself, did homework by himself, watching TV by himself, had dinner with his parents and never spent the night at anyone else’s house.

Erick and his special friend never saw each other again after that. They each found new friends. They went off to different colleges. Erick moved to California, while his friend stayed in New Jersey. The only thing he’s heard about his special friend is that he’s married with a kid.

“That’s so sad,” Sarah says.

“What was his name?” Laurie asks.

“I won’t tell you the first name, but his last name is ‘Vieira’.”

Timothy’s eyes widen.

“Isn’t that your last name? And aren’t your dad and Mister Erick around the same age?” Brian teases knowingly.

“There are a lot of Vieira’s in New Jersey,” Timothy replies defensively.

“That’s true, Timothy. That is very true, but … you never know,” Erick adds. “You do look an awful like my Vieira.”

Erick rises from the stool, sits down in the passenger seat and fastens his safety belt. “That’s so mean,” Rich whispers to him with a smile.

The van heads down Canal Street. “For those of you who have never been through one before, this is the Holland Tunnel. There’s also the Lincoln Tunnel in midtown. Both of them go under the Hudson River. I have no idea how they did that since the Hudson River was probably here first, but it’s still exciting to know that we are technically driving through the water to get to my home state of New Jersey. I still have friends here. I’ll let you know as we approach the state line.”

Follow the adventures of Erick Davidson, an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade, every Wednesday at 12 p.m.

***

“Hi Dad, it’s Erick…” Erick says into his cell phone as he and Chris are preparing Sunday dinner of turkey meatloaf, mashed potatoes and oven-roasted asparagus for themselves, Hunter, Elyke, Cole and Mitch.

Chris tilts his head in confusion as he begins rinsing off a three pound bag of potatoes.

“…I just wanted to call and wish you a Happy Father’s Day. I sent you a card that I hope arrived in time. I sent it on Thursday. I probably should have sent it on Wednesday, but well…that didn’t happen…” Erick trails off as he seasons the turkey meatloaf with pepper, oregano and seasoned salt.

Chris looks over at the meatloaf concoction, quickly dries his hands and reaches into the cabinet for a box of crackers.

“…As I was writing a note in the card, I was having second thoughts about it because it had flowers on the front but no mention of Father’s Day. I had just watched the Father’s Day Christmas episode of The Cosby Show where Cliff was complaining about the gifts he’d received over the years. In the episode—“

“He’s probably seen it,” Chris interjects, knowing that Erick could go on about The Cosby Show for another half hour even if on a voicemail.

“…so that my have something to do with it…” Erick laughs as he takes two eggs out of the refrigerator. Chris smiles and shakes his head as he begins peeling the potatoes.

Erick cracks the eggs into the meatloaf mixture. “…I wanted to tell you a quick story. I was coming back from hiking this morning when I ran into Kevin, one of the maintenance techs for the building. He has two young sons and I said to him, ‘you’re working on Father’s Day?’”. Kevin said, ‘yes, but as soon as I am done here I am going to go back home and play with my boys.’ His eyes sparkled and he had this wide grin on his face. He was looking forward to it. I guess that made for a great Father’s Day for him – to be able to provide for his family and then have time to spend with the family he is providing for…”

Erick pauses for a moment. Chris looks up and thinks about what Erick had just said. The two of them look at each other as if considering that possibility for them. After another moment, they both shake their heads. Chris turns around and preheats the oven to 350 degrees.

“…at any rate, Dad. Happy Father’s Day. Talk to you soon,” Erick concludes as he disconnects the call, places the phone down on the counter, opens the bag of crackers and begins crushing them into the meatloaf mixture.

“That was your dad?” Chris asks.

“Yep.”

“Your dad, dad?”

“Yep.”

“Like, your real dad?”

Erick sticks his hands into the meatloaf mixture and begins blending all the ingredients together. “How many dads do you think I have?”

“I assumed only one but you never talk about him.”

“I don’t not talk about him. There’s just not much to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s normal. Always has been. He’s just your typical dad.”

“You talk about your mom a lot, though.”

“She’s a different kind of normal.”

“What’s your dad like?”

“I always use this as an example. Our house in New Jersey was always open for friends and visitors from the neighborhood or from church.”

“Church?”

“Yes, he’s a minister. I grew up in church.”

“That makes sense, because you’re the only one who could ever reach me,” Chris says with an equal mix of levity and gravity.

Erick shakes his head. “That was corny but sweet. However, that’s mine and Christine’s song.”

“Who’s Christine?”

“She’s a longtime friend of mine from home. We danced to that song at Senior Prom. We were serving ourselves dinner, but as soon as they song came on we dropped our plates and rushed into the ballroom. Then we came back out and ate.”

“But you digress.”

“Anyway, we’d have people over for random and often impromptu gatherings. While my mother and I were holding court in the living room, my father would be talking to one or two guests in the dining room or downstairs,” Erick stops blending for a moment. “If he was in the living, he’d just lean back in his armchair silently watching the proceedings with his right hand to the right side of his chin and one or two fingers pointed upward along the right side of his face. In rare contemplative moments, I find myself with hand to chin – only it’s all left side for me.”

“I’ve seen you do that. It’s not as rare as you think.”

“I never knew what he was thinking in those moments. To this day, I don’t know if he was watching us in amusement or hoping we’d go to commercial so he could go to bed. My guess it’s the latter since he’d do just that after a few hours – even with a house full of people,” Erick recalls with a chuckle.

“Does he know you are going to New Jersey next week for work?”

“Yes. And the money I am saving the company by staying with him instead of staying at a hotel is going toward a nice belated and expensed Father’s Day dinner.”

Chris laughs. “What have you told him about me?”

“He knows you exist, but we don’t talk much about the gay thing.”

“Does he have a problem with it?”

“It’s not so much that he has a problem with it. He just not thrilled with it. He loves his son more than he dislikes the fact that said son is gay.”

“Are you okay with that?” Chris asks as he places the potatoes in a pot, fills it with water, places it on the stove and turns on the burner.

Erick dumps the meatloaf mixture into a baking dish and forms it into a loaf. “I am. I meant to say this in the voicemail but when he watched me perform in school plays and later in the gospel choir in college, my father had that same look of pride in his father’s eyes that I saw in Kevin’s eyes this morning. I know he knew I was gay then but in those moments, it didn’t matter to him. I wasn’t his gay son. I was just his son. And even though I’m sure part of him would have liked to see me hit a homerun or score a touchdown, I’d like to think that the sound of applause for a great performance was just as sweet.”

Chris steps behind Erick and rests his chin on top of Erick’s head. “That’s a nice thought.”

“And if not, oh well. That applause was for me anyway,” Erick replies as he wraps foil over the meatloaf and places it in the oven.

Follow the adventures of Erick Davidson, an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade, every Wednesday at 12 p.m.

Lefty Magazine was recently approached by the Fresh Air Fund to put together a sponsorship package for their summer campaign. This presented an interesting challenge to Erick, who was accustomed to working with some semblance of a budget. Given that the Fresh Air Fund was a non-profit, Steve the Promotions Director suggested that he and Abram scour their list of former, current and prospective sponsors to establish a co-operative deal that would offset the Fresh Air Fund’s marketing costs.

Abram reached out to the Fresh Fruits Initiative, a former sponsor that had shifted their dollars this year to support more grassroots organizations. The FFI was essentially another non-profit but they were backed by several large companies that primarily sold canned fruits and vegetables. These companies had carved out varying portions of their operating budgets to provide organic foods to underfunded schools through the FFI.

Abram figured they would be a perfect match for the Fresh Air Fund. Both parties agreed and a joint meeting was planned at the Lefty offices. Erick spent the better part of three working days establishing a workable budget with the FFI, discussing his vision with his supervisor Steve and negotiating with vendors.

Despite all that hard work, Erick had no desire to present his proposal directly to the co-sponsors or even participating in the meeting – which was just as well seeing how he had two other campaigns to monitor that were currently in progress.

“Congratulations, Erick!” Steve says enthusiastically as he walks into the office the two of them share. “Both sponsors LOVED the proposal. You and Abram did a great job.”

“That’s great! Thanks, Steve.”

Steve shakes Erick’s hand and pats him on the back. “Abram and I did have to add one more thing on the fly to close the deal.”

“I might have known there was more to that pat,” Erick says.

“It’s really no big deal. Plus, the FFI added an additional 10 percent to the budget.”

“What is it?”

“Well, we offered an additional service to the Fresh Air Fund.”

“What service is this?”

“We are going to help drive kids to their host families.”

“We? We who?”

“We us.”

“We why?”

“Well, the FFI issued us a bit of a challenge. They said that since we had approached them to essentially foot the bill for a campaign that we’d still be making money off of, where was our sacrifice? I couldn’t really argue that so Michelle tossed out a couple of ideas.”

“Let’s waive our fee.”

“So you don’t want to get paid for this?”

“I’m making a sacrifice.”

“Don’t be silly,” Steve says with a chuckle as he walks over to his desk.

“Isn’t the Fresh Air Fund based in New York City?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t we based in Los Angeles?”

“Yes.”

“So the FFI wants us to fly all the way to New York just to drive kids to the country?”

“In a sense, yes.”

“I don’t drive.”

“Who said you were driving? I said you would be HELPING.”

“Helping how? Am I pushing a van down the New Jersey Turnpike?”

“You’d be chaperoning.”

“Chaperoning? Chaperoning how?”

“You would ride with one of the drivers from the Fresh Air Fund to take a group of kids to their host families.”

“I don’t get along with children.”

“Yes, you do. You have two nephews.”

“Will they be on the van?”

Steve laughs. “Probably not.”

“Then they’re irrelevant to your argument.”

“Being from New Jersey, I would think you’d be more than happy to go back and visit for a few days.”

“It’s not like I’ll get a chance to see anyone.”

“So you don’t want to go?”

“Isn’t there something else I can do?”

“Not unless you plan to write a check or stand on Hollywood Boulevard in a Catwoman costume.”

Abram walks into their office with the representatives from both the Fresh Air Fund and the FFI. “Erick, I’d like you to meet Michelle from the Fresh Air Fund and Danny from the FFI.”

Erick stands up to shake hands with Michelle and Danny “It’s a pleasure.”

“Erick put together the proposal we presented to you today,” Abram explains to them.

“It was very well-done,” Danny states with a wide smile.

“Your hard work is much appreciated,” Michelle adds.

“Thank you both. It’s a great cause,” Erick replies.

“It is. And since I put you guys on the spot about volunteering, I myself would like to also help drive the kids to their host families,” Danny says to Michelle.

“That’s great! Thank you, Danny.” Michelle responds.

“Steve just told me that we’ll be doing that as well. I’m looking forward to it,” Erick chimes in.

“Then we’ll be seeing you in a couple of weeks,” Danny says as he and Erick shake hands again.

“It’ll be fun,” Erick adds with a giggle.

Erick and Michelle shake hands again. “We certainly hope so. Are you joining us for lunch?”

“I’d love to. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes,” Erick answers.

Abram leads Danny and Michelle out of the office.

“Wow, that Danny is really cute,” Erick says to Steve.

Steve grabs his cell phone and puts on a pair of sunglasses. “It looks like you’ve changed your mind about helping out. Good for you.”

Erick nods. “I have.”

“Well, we figured Danny would change your mind. That’s why I had Abram bring him back here to meet you,” Steve informs him with a wink as he walks out of the office.

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

***

Anthony, the former temp turned office assistant with an ever-expanding chest that puts pressure on the top buttons of just about any shirt he wears, pokes his head into Erick’s office. Erick is finishing a phone call but motions for him to come in anyway. Anthony slowly opens the door, walks in, slowly closes it back and leans against it until Erick’s call ends.

“You look ghostly,” Erick says to Anthony.

“Do you have a minute?” Anthony asks.

“Absolutely,” a concerned Erick replies as he turns his chair in Anthony’s direction and offers him a seat.

“I’d rather stand.”

“What’s wrong? You look sick,” Erick observes.

“I don’t mean to be accusatory, but have you told anyone about my side gig?”

Shortly after Anthony was hired full-time at Lefty, Erick attended a drag show where up and coming Miss Clara Voyant was opening for the headlining legend Kawfee Kake. It was at this show where Erick recognized that the up-and-comer was none other than his now-former office crush, who swore him to secrecy.

Erick shook his head. “Why would I tell anyone your business?”

“I know you wouldn’t, but you are the only one I told.”

“What makes you think people know?”

“Dana emailed me a flyer…and I heard her talking about it with John.”

“They were talking about you specifically?”

“I don’t think so, but they were making plans to go to the show — and I’m performing in it.”

“That could be purely coincidental. After all, that’s how I found out.”

“Well, this show isn’t in Hollywood. It’s in the Valley — the Deep Valley.”

“Why would Dana invite you to a drag show?”

“That’s exactly my point. She has to know something.”

“How would she find out?”

“That’s why I came in here. Are you sure it didn’t slip out or anything? I’ll understand if it did. I just need to know.”

Erick thinks about this for a moment. A guilty look creeps across his face. “John.”

Anthony jumps up and slaps his hand on his forehead. “John!? As in MY BOSS?”

Erick stands up and grabs Anthony by his very firm upper arms, which he takes a moment to acknowledge. “In a conversation about hiring Keller, I let it slip out that someone here does drag.”

Anthony drops his head. “It’s all over for me here, isn’t it?”

“On the contrary,” Erick assures Anthony as he sits him back down and then once again takes his own seat. “Not only did John not know that you are the dragger, but even if he did he’s both Fort Knox and completely nonplussed about such things.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. Now, are you on the flyer?”

“Just my character name is.”

“Is there a picture of Clara?”

“No.”

“Ok, then you can relax for a bit. There doesn’t seem to be anything they can figure out from the flyer.”

“But that doesn’t mean they won’t figure it out when they come to the show.”

“And what if they do? What’s the worse that can happen? It’s not like you’ll be fired for this. Your free time is your free time.”

“People will think I’m gay.”

“People already do.”

“Who?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“That’s great. Neither am I.”

Anthony chuckles. “I’m not.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I just don’t want people to know my personal life.”

Erick folds his hands into his lap and leans forward. “What I’ve come to find out in my 33 years is that most people don’t give a shit about the privates of anyone’s life. Those who do, make snarky comments about it from the safety of their blog. Besides, this is Hollywood. It’s more eyebrow-raising not to have some sort of freakitude going on in some aspect of your life.”

Anthony thinks about this for a moment. “You don’t think Mitch had anything to do with this do you?”

Erick shakes his head. “He may not like you these days, but he doesn’t have a blog. Besides, he’s dating someone else.”

“He is?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…I’m glad.”

Erick smirks but doesn’t comment. “I’m sure Dana and John will loop me in on this drag show, so I’ll see what I can find out about what they know.”

Anthony sits back in his chair. “Ok, thanks.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” Erick says.

The recently-hired Keller walks in. “Hi, Anthony,” he says nervously.

“Hi, Keller.”

“Erick, here are this week’s submission pieces for you and Steve to review. Can I sit in on that meeting?” Keller asks as he places a file on Erick’s desk.

“Please do.”

“Thanks, Erick,” Keller says as he walks toward the door. He pauses and then turns around. “Um, Anthony?”

Anthony turns around. “Yes?”

“I just want you to know that I really love Clara Voyant. Dana asked me what I was doing this weekend, so I told her about your show. She, John and I are looking forward to seeing it. Erick, I’ll send you the flyer, too. Perhaps you can bring Chris,” Keller says as he walks out of the office.

Anthony leans forward and holds his head in his hands. Erick places a hand on his shoulder and takes a moment to acknowledge its firmness. “You see there? You have a fan!”

I just finished reading Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power & a World Without Rape, edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti. Margaret Cho wrote the introduction, a powerful essay on how just passively consenting to sex isn’t enough in our sexual lives. It’s a fantastic book of articles, noting how rape and sexual assault/coercion and the taboo of women’s sexuality are two sides of the same coin. Most of the contributors have experienced sexual trauma and wrote about opening up a more sexual, sensual, respectful culture. Some of them articulated the connection between sexual trauma and sex-positive activism, and for others it was unstated but obvious.

Of course, this has lead me to analyze (overanalyze) my current sexual life in light of my resurfaced sexual trauma. People keep asking me if I’m queer/lesbian/bi because of my childhood sexual assault. NO and that’s the wrong question! Am I a proud, queer sexual being because of that trauma? Yes and no. I had been wanting a more sensual life long before those memories were triggered, so my libido is unrelated to the trauma. Now that I’m consciously navigating the role of that assault in my life while I’m slutting it up, the boundary blurs. Awareness of consent heightens my experiences now.  Besides, I will not allow that assault to define such a precious part of my life.

I agree with the authors of Yes Means Yes in that more than just consent is necessary, though. ENTHUSIASTIC consent, respect, communication, self-awareness, responsibility, play, desire, etc. It’s the difference between “ok” and “YES YES YES!!” Knowing the value of these things in my experiences, that my partners value them too, and that I have complete control over my 50 percent all enhance my ethically slutty life now.

Erick Davidson is an early thirty-something from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade. Check out Erick’s adventures every Tuesday at 12 p.m. 

Erick and Hunter are sitting in loungers on a makeshift rooftop deck. Erick was reading the latest from his favorite author Johnson Diaz, while Hunter was sunbathing. Though not completed, the makeshift rooftop deck did have a patio table with an umbrella and a grill so it was deemed usable by some of the tenants – as long as their rent didn’t increase.

Elyke was standing in front of the grill with a cigarette in his mouth tending to chicken legs, hamburgers and bratwurst. “I know you are smoking over there. Don’t get any ash on those burgers. I like them smoky, but that’s taking it to a different level,” Erick tells Elyke without looking up from his book.

Elyke rolls his eyes and turns toward Erick. “You ever notice how much of a mood you get in when Chris isn’t around?”

Erick puts down his book and looks at Elyke. “Who smokes while standing in front of a grill? It’s like drinking bottled water in a swimming pool.”

Hunter slowly opens her eyes and turns her head toward Erick. “Where is Chris, anyway?”

“He was called into work.”

“Are you in a mood?” she asks.

“Nope. I’m just glad my job has the good sense to let people have a long weekend from time to time.”

Hunter turns her head in the other direction toward Elyke. “Thanks for cooking, Elyke.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies as he turns back to his chefly duties.

“What are we thanking him for? This was his idea but we paid for the food. The way I see it, we each own 50 percent of his ass right now.”

Hunter snickers. “Sounds like a dream come true for you. You can have my half.”

Erick surveys the real estate. “There wasn’t much to split in the first place. Has he lost weight?”

“Maybe it went to the other side,” Hunter suggests as she closes her eyes. “He is from Texas after all.”

“That would be the dream come true,” Erick responds as he goes back to his book.

Hunter smiles. “This I know.”

“One of these days I should just ask him.”

“What would Chris say about that?”

“He told me after meeting Elyke that since there’s so much obvious tangible sexual tension in our interactions, that he could be one of my free passes.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“Have you told Elyke?”

“Nope. I’m saving that for when he really messes up with me and that becomes the only means of forgiveness.”

“He may not see it that way. He still thinks you, Chris and Mitch slept with his brother during his last visit.”

Erick laughs. “He does? That’s so silly.”

“Why haven’t you told him?”

“He’s never asked me. He’s probably afraid it really did happen. Besides, I couldn’t resist messing with his head with something this juicy. I don’t see why he didn’t just ask Cole.”

“Cole would have done the same thing you did.”

“He’s such a man after my own heart. I think I like him better than Elyke.”

“If he puts out, I would too.”

“You would have to ask Mitch that one.”

“I have to say I didn’t see that one coming.”

“I didn’t either…and I watched it happen.”

“I hope it works out. Cole’s taking quite the leap moving out here to be with Mitch.”

Elyke passes by Erick and Hunter with a plate of burgers and bratwurst, which he takes to the patio table. “Cole’s going to be fine. He’s not giving up his apartment in Houston and he’s only transferring for six months with an option to stay longer.”

“You don’t seem as excited about that as Susan and I are.”

“Would you want to live in the same city as your brother?”

“It’s not allowed. There’s a law in most states. It’s better that way.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Continue.”

“That’s it. It’s just going to be weird.”

“It’s not like you’ll see him all the time. He’ll be tied up with Mitch,” Erick says with a smirk.

Hunter snickers. “Think of it this way. How often do you see Mitch?”

“Not very.”

“That’s probably about as much as you’ll see your brother,” she suggests.

“My mother will constantly ask me about him. And then she’ll want to visit.”

“Is that going to be bad?” Erick asks.

“I moved here to get away from family and it’s like they are following me. If I want to see them, I’d rather go to Houston than have them come here. Fortunately, I haven’t been able to afford it.”

“Well, it won’t be for that long,” Hunter assures him.

“Six months goes by fast in LA. And they may not last. Or he’ll hate it here.” Erick adds.

“He loves it here,” Elyke says.

“He loves VISITING here. There’s a difference between visiting and living someplace. Trust me. That’s one of the biggest lessons I learned from my New York experience.”

“I don’t want to have to worry about him.”

“Let Mitch take on that responsibility,” Hunter says.

“He’s my brother, not Mitch’s.”

“But he’s Mitch’s boyfriend, not yours.” Erick adds.

“In case you were wondering, Erick and Chris didn’t sleep with him,” Hunter blurts out.

Elyke stands confused for a moment. “I’m going to get the chicken off the grill. It should be nice and charred as you like it,” he says as he heads back to the grill.

“Why did you tell him that?” Erick asks Hunter.

“I thought it would make him feel better, but I don’t think it had the desired effect,” Hunter replies as she gets up from the lounger. “But at least let me get you a burger – ketchup and relish, right?”

courtesy Cleis Press

At TNG we get a lot of pitches for stuff that’s gay.  Sometimes it’s noteworthy or important, sometimes it’s tedious. The Handsome Prince, a compilation of short works of gay erotic fiction, is none of those things and I couldn’t volunteer fast enough to review it.

According to the back cover, which also promises that “someday, your prince will come (and come again),” The Handsome Prince is a “bawdy collection of bedtime stories brimming with classic fairy tale characters, reimagined and recast… The one thing all of these stories have in common, along with the original fairy tales, is a happy ending.  Whether it’s happily ever after or happy for now, when these guys find their princes, hot steamy sex ensues.”

I’m never one to turn down something bawdy. We’ve all furtively cracked open a Harlequin and scanned for words like “turgid” before – there’s something sort of naughty about seeing lewd words in print that even the most salacious of internet pornography just can’t capture.

"Bawdy" you say...?

The Handsome Prince delivers on the obligatory clichés, with “pulsing” this and “breathless” that, and all in good fun around its theme.  The collection of stories doesn’t revolutionize the world of erotic fiction, but blue literature is hardly the realm in which you’d seek out Joycean innovation in the first place.  For me the fun of these types of stories is as a jumping off point for the reader’s imagination.  The same basic equations, descriptors, and outcomes free the reader to fill in the details of his own fantasy.

An article I was reading recently entitled “Your Brain on Porn” really highlights the opposite end of the spectrum.  With a few clicks you can experience every imaginable type of sexual act featuring every imaginable partner – if sex is a banquet then erotic fiction might be a rich meal but internet porn is unlimited free fast food.  Because reading is more mentally interactive I’d bet that indulging in erotic literature doesn’t have the mind-numbing, reality-warping power that an hour spent in the seedier districts of the interweb does.  The Marquis de Sade still has a few lessons for Chi Chi La Rue.

And speaking of saucy fiction, have you checked out TNG’s Ruben Diaz writing contest?  New York’s number one voice for bigotry is none-to-pleased to be fodder for the twisted, brilliant imaginations of TNG readers, and he’s making a fuss we frankly couldn’t be more pleased about (The Advocate, New York Observer). Thank you Rube, may we have another? If you’d like to compose your own tawdry tale to shame (or celebrate?) one of the most strident opponents of gay rights check out the contest rules here and get out your Quills!

After a lifetime of sporadic, recreational drug use, I became a full-blown crystal meth addict ten years ago, and then eventually got clean and sober in January of 2009. But why would I, or anyone as engaged in life as I was, morph into a drug addict?

It seemed an unlikely turn of events for a gay advocate and outspoken community leader living with HIV. Was my drug addiction some sort of post-traumatic stress from the AIDS horror show of the 1980’s?

Maybe it pre-dated AIDS, and resulted from the stress and shame of growing up gay. It’s easy to understand why anyone who came of age believing they were perverted (and going straight to hell) might need a stiff drink. Research indicates that gay men and lesbians are more likely to smoke, drink and use drugs. Was I born this way, GaGa?

So I was immediately drawn to the new book, Gay Men and Substance Abuse: A Basic Guide for Addicts and Those Who Care for Them. I thought the book might bolster my hypothesis that I was a victim of gay culture and doomed from the start.

Because, my dear friends, even after more than two years living clean and sober, I still jump at the chance of blaming my behavior on something other than myself.

Alas, the book is a helpful, informative guide but it doesn’t let me off the hook. It hasn’t the least bit of interest in finger pointing. Instead, it offers practical information and advice about addiction, treatment, relapse and recovery – written specifically for gay men and their families. I would strongly recommend it for gay lovers or allies trying to understand the addiction and recovery process, and required reading for those working in the field.

I spoke to author Michael Shelton, M.S., C.A.C., about the ways in which addiction and recovery are different for gay men, and he pointed out the importance of family support, and the fact that gay men often don’t have it.

“The number one precipitant for a person seeking help is family,” Michael told me. “If they have no close relationship with their family or a significant other, there’s no one on their back telling them to get into treatment.”

But what about gay culture itself? Michael wasn’t ready to make blanket pronouncements about gay culture’s perils, but he did note the connection between our preoccupation with sex and the almost mythical sexual reputation of drugs like crystal meth.

“We absolutely have created sexual monsters” he said. “I see these guys every week (in my practice), and the only way they can engage in sexual contact with another man is through the use of substances.”

Michael does allow that gay media plays a role in this hyper-sexuality. “The norms of our community say that one of the primary goals is hot sex as much as possible. Gay male culture is a hyper sexual culture. Pick up any gay paper and notice the sexual content.”

Michael was quick to add that “this doesn’t deny the fact there are many long term gay couples,” but that statement didn’t fit my agenda – Gay culture contributed to my addiction! I had something to blame! – so I ignored it and called my gay BFF Charles to announce my findings.

“Charles!” I began. I had caught him at a subway stop waiting to commute home from his governmental public health work. He does the green thing. “It’s no wonder I became a drug addict, Charles.”

“Really? How do you figure that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve been such a totally gay man!” I was lightheaded with blame deflection. “And being gay is all about hyper-sexuality and taking steroids and looking hot and dancing on boxes at circuit parties, just like I did. Oh, and don’t forget sex parties!”

There was silence for a moment. I could hear a garbled announcement on the subway speakers at his end.

“Well, that pretty much negates my life,” Charles finally said, flatly.

Charles has never been fond of drugs. His sex life has been more conservative than mine, meaning, in the realm of sanity, and his party days consisted of dance floor celebrations that ended before last call. He’s never seen the inside of a sex club.

“Oh Charles, I didn’t mean –“

“Your view is so small, Mark. You think when you stopped that behavior and going to those places… did you think you had reached the far limits of gay culture?”

I was properly chastised. “Yeah,” I said. “I felt like that for a while.”

“Then welcome to the rest of the real world, Mark. Say hello to all the gays who have real lives and real jobs and are standing at subway stops waiting to get home to feed the cat. Is that not gay enough for you, because I’m not stopping at a bathhouse on the way home? I’m going shopping later to find a hippie outfit to wear to a touring production of Hair I’m seeing tonight. I’m thinking love beads or pooka shells. Gay enough? Or should I shoot up meth during intermission?”

“Yes, yes, Charles. You’re plenty gay.”

“Gee, thanks. My train is here. Talk to you later.”

Charles did his usual stellar job of pointing out what should be obvious to me. My self centeredness and limited viewpoint keep getting in the way. There hadn’t been room in that view for other gay men who enjoyed lives without drugs or alcohol, or who were capable of using moderately.

There is a saying among people like me that we are not responsible for our addiction, but we are responsible for our recovery. It suggests that I should not blame myself for how I got in this predicament, and while I’m at it, I probably shouldn’t blame my local gay dance club, either.

My road to recovery as a gay man looks remarkably like the road everyone else must take – paved with equal parts honesty, open-mindedness and a willingness to keep trying. That willingness, no matter how much I try deflecting and blaming others, is entirely up to one person.

That would be me. Big, flaming, gay ‘ol me.

Submission by Terrence Moss, TNG contributor

Terrence Moss is a short fiction writer and media commentator with articles featured on Associated Content and Suite 101. “Starring Erick Davidson” also appears in the arts/books/culture section of www.thenewgay.net. More Erick Davidson stories and other works can be found at www.terrencemoss.blogspot.com

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

*****

“It’s such a nice day outside. We should go see a movie,” Chris suggests. He and Erick have been lying on Erick’s couch for three hours trying to muster up interest in contributing to a day that had started out overcast with a chance of rain but has now given way to sun.

“That’s pretty ironic,” Erick comments with his eyes closed.

“How so?”

“You want to go outside only to go back inside someplace else for another three hours.”

Chris sits up. “Do you have any other ideas?”

“Yes, I do. We should continue watching this Bernie Mac marathon and you should lie back down with your arm around me.”

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to see a movie?”

“Are you saying there’s a movie out there worth seeing?”

“What about Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“I haven’t seen the first ten.”

“Thor?”

“Snore.”

Chris laughs. “But there’s a hot guy in it.”

“He’s not my type.”

“What about Bridesmaids? I hear it’s hilarious.”

“Let me know when it’s out on DVD.”

“What if I pay?”

Erick slowly rolls off the couch and walks toward the bathroom. “Kristin Wiig does make me laugh.”

Chris goes to grab his cell phone from the kitchen counter. “I’ll go see what time it’s playing at the Arclight.”

Erick stops in his tracks. “We can’t go to the Arclight,” he says very gravely.

“Why not?”

Erick turns around and faces Chris. “I’m boycotting the Arclight.”

“Still?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They charged me a holiday rate for a matinee on a non-holiday holiday.”

“I know that much but that was four months ago. How long do these boycotts typically last?”

“It depends on the boycott. AT&T has been at the top of that list for nine years.”

“What did they do?”

“Long story, but I didn’t appreciate their apparent ‘blame the customer’ approach to handling my situation.”

“Out of morbid curiosity, what’s the shortest one?”

“There are two tied at one year apiece. Both were restaurants near my office and both eventually went out of business,” Erick said proudly.

“On the strength of your boycott?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying they went out of business whilst still on my boycott list.”

“Can we set a new record for shortest boycott and go to the Arclight?”

“Why can’t we go to Grauman’s?”

Chris pulls up the movie listings on his phone. “It’s not playing there.”

“Of course not.”

“In the grand scheme of things, does the ticket price really matter?”

“If the movie is crappy, yes.”

“What did you see?”

“The Fighter.”

“And how much did you pay for it?”

“Sixteen dollars.”

“For a matinee? On what holiday?”

“President’s Day.”

“That’s not really a holiday. I don’t get that day off.”

“Exactly. Now do you understand the boycott?”

“Sorta. Only because it was four months ago. Did you at least enjoy the movie?”

“Yes, I did.”

“There you go. All’s well that ends well. The boycott’s over. The movie starts in an hour,” Chris says as he walks around Erick and into the bedroom.

Erick follows Chris into the bedroom. “Well, there was also the Twitter argument.”

Chris sits down on Erick’s bed with his head in his hands. “Who do I have to pray to get the Rapture to take place right now?”

“I just want you to have all the facts before you have me compromise myself by prematurely ending a boycott,” Erick states.

Chris lies back on Erick’s bed. “I don’t know how Dr. King ever managed without you.”

“The same way Wallace managed without you?”

Chris laughs and playfully kicks Erick on the stomach. “That was horrible. Now tell me about your Twitter argument.”

Erick sits down next to Chris. “After the movie, I sent out an angry tweet that I didn’t appreciate the usury being committed by the Arclight in charging a holiday rate for a matinee. They responded by saying they didn’t have holiday rates. I responded by telling them the movie I saw, the day, the time and the price. A couple hours later, they responded by apologizing and confirming that they did have holiday pricing. I responded by saying that President’s Day is not a holiday. They said they use the banker’s holiday schedule. I told them they weren’t a bank and that I was going to write a letter to Wells Fargo suggesting they start their own movie night. I didn’t hear back from them after that. I counted it a small victory.”

Chris shakes his head. “Well, then shouldn’t the victory be enough?”

“No. They should have offered me a coupon to come back. Clearly they didn’t value my occasional business. And now they’ll have none of it.”

“What if I make it worth your while?” Chris says with a sly smirk.

“How do you propose to do that?”

Chris raises his leg and rubs it up and down against Erick’s. “We’ll sit in the back of the theatre.”

“Watching Bridesmaids?”

Chris lowers his leg. “Would you prefer Johnny Depp?”

Erick walks toward the bathroom. “Fine. Let’s just go see Thor.”

Terrence Moss is a short fiction writer and media commentator with articles featured on Associated Content and Suite 101. “Starring Erick Davidson” also appears in the blogosphere section of www.frontiersweb.com. More Erick Davidson stories and other works can be found at www.terrencemoss.blogspot.com.

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

****

Erick is at his apartment trying out a recipe for rotisserie chicken and spinach quiche that he had received from Chris’s roommate’s father, who had served the dish when he had them to his house for Easter brunch last month.

Chris had picked up the ingredients on his way to Erick’s apartment and helped him prepare the quiche. While the two resulting pies are in the oven, Erick puts together a mixed green salad and opens up a bottle of white wine.

Erick’s phone buzzes. He looks at the caller ID and picks up the phone.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Hello, Son.”

“What’s going on?” Erick asks as he wipes down the counter.

“Is this a good time?”

“It’s not a bad time.”

“That’s delightfully vague. Your grandmother and I are in town and thought we’d stop by before we drove back up to Ventura.”

Erick looks up at Chris. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“We weren’t planning to see you but our train back to Ventura just got cancelled and the next one isn’t for three hours. Can we come by?”

“Of course, Mom. Come on over,” Erick says so Chris can hear. “Have you eaten yet?”

“You are such a good son.”

“I know. By the way, Chris is here.”

“I’m sure he’s a good son too. We’ll see you in a bit.”

“Do you know how to get here?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about us.”

“Okay, see you in about half an hour.” Erick hangs up with his mother.

“So … your mother’s coming over?” Chris asks.

“So is my grandmother, but just for a couple of hours. Their train back to Ventura just got cancelled.”

“Why don’t we just drive them back up?”

“Because WE don’t have a car.”

“I do.”

“Absolutely not.”

“At least let me take them to Union Station.”

Erick chuckles. “Okay.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you are already trying to curry favor with someone you haven’t even met yet.”

“Well, we aren’t talking about Hunter or Racine here. We are talking about your mother and grandmother.”

“Trust me. She will like you if for no other reason than the fact that I love you.”

About half an hour later, Erick’s mother and grandmother arrive. Erick buzzes them in and opens the door. As soon as they get off the elevator, he can hear the two of them bickering with each other about the names of the performers that were in the play.

Erick steps out of his apartment. “Why don’t you two just look inside your playbills. It will tell you who is what and what they were in previously.”

“Well, you probably already know the answers so you can settle it for us later,” Erick’s mother says as she walks up to him and gives him a hug. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been a week.”

“A week is a lot longer to me these days,” Erick’s mother retorts as she walks into his apartment.

Erick’s grandmother makes her way up to him and also gives him a hug. “A week must be a month to you by now, right?” he jokes.

Erick’s grandmother shakes her cane at him. “Don’t let the old lady walk fool you.”

Erick follows his grandmother into his apartment and finds his mother already seated on the couch. His grandmother hobbles over and sits next to his mother.

“Where’s this Chris person?” Erick’s mother asks.

“He’s probably hiding in my bedroom. What can I get you two to drink?” Erick asks as he heads toward the refrigerator.

“I’ll have water. Did you change something in here?” Erick’s mother asks as she looks around the apartment.

“Nope. I just added the table,” Erick answers as he takes a jug of filtered water out of the refrigerator.

“That’s not it.” Erick’s mother responds as she continues looking around. “When was the last time we were here?”

Erick pours a glass of water for his mother. “It was about six or seven months ago. I had just ordered it. Granny? A drink?”

“I’d like a Vodka gimlet.”

Both Erick and his mother give her surprised but amused looks. “This isn’t ‘Cheers’, granny.”

“Then what do you have?”

“Riesling.”

“That’ll do.”

Chris emerges from Erick’s bedroom. “I wasn’t so much hiding as much as giving you three some bonding time.”

Erick shakes his head, comes out of the kitchen and stands next to Chris. “Mom, this is Chris. Chris, this is my mother.”

Erick gently pushes Chris toward his mother and the two shake hands. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Davidson,” Chris says.

“Likewise,” Erick’s mother replies.

Erick walks over and kneels down next to his grandmother. “Granny, this is my boyfriend Chris. Chris this is my grandmother.”

Erick’s grandmother puts on her glasses, which had been hanging from her neck. She looks Chris up and down. “I’ll say he is,” she responds quietly to Erick.

“I am going to check on the quiches. They should be just about finished,” Chris announces as he walks into the kitchen.

“Great. Granny, I owe you a white wine spritzer.” Erick states as he gets up and heads to the kitchen.

Erick enters the kitchen and pats Chris on the stomach. “That went well,” Erick whispers as he takes a wine glass out of the cabinet.

“It did?”

“Yeah, granny likes you. Trust me.”

‘What about your mother?”

“She doesn’t have an opinion yet and it doesn’t really matter. I’m 33 years old. At this point, you could be a Billy goat and she’d still be ready to call you son-in-law.”

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade. Check out more of his adventures on TNG every Wednesday at 12 p.m.

****

Erick is sitting at a movie theatre in Ventura, a small town about an hour north of Los Angeles. He had taken the train up there to spend some time with his mother and grandmother for Mother’s Day. He had taken them to dinner at a Chinese restaurant his mother frequents, where they had mistaken his grandmother for his mother and his mother for his sister. Erick wasn’t entirely sure if that was a result of his mother and grandmother looking young for their ages or Erick looking old for his. Either way, it was an ego boost for all involved.

After dinner, he treated them to the new movie Jumping the Broom, which he knew they’d both want to see.

“Mom, why do you need a separate chair for your purses?” Erick’s mother asks.

“I don’t know what’s on these floors and my purses aren’t cheap,” Erick’s grandmother replies.

Erick’s mother shrugs her shoulders. “Erick, switch seats with your grandmother’s purses.”

“He’s fine where he is,” Erick’s grandmother interjects.

“Don’t you want to sit next to your grandson?” Erick’s mother asks.

Erick turns to his mother. “Don’t you want to sit next to your son?”

“Besides,” Erick’s grandmother adds. “I sat next to him at dinner. It’s your turn.”

Erick turns to his grandmother. “Her turn? Did you all flip coins earlier?”

Erick’s grandmother waves him off, reaches into her purse and takes out her cell phone. “How do you turn this thing off?” she asks as she hands it to Erick.

Though his Blackberry operates much differently than his grandmother’s flip-phone, he attempts to figure it out. His mother rolls her eyes and takes the phone away from him. “Mother, how many times must I explain this to you?”

“It’s complicated and I don’t be paying attention.”

“Do you look at the instructions?”

“I need a telescope to read that fine print. You have the same phone I do. Just turn it off for me?”

Erick’s mother hands the phone back to his grandmother. “Mom, the same way to turn it on is the same way you to turn it off.”

“Well, if you aren’t going to do it then I’ll just leave it on.”

“Is it set to vibrate?” Erick asks.

Erick’s grandmother turns to him and giggles. “We’d better set it to silent.”

Erick gives his grandmother a quizzical smirk. “Don’t get saucy, old lady.”

Erick’s grandmother waves him off. The lights in the theatre dim. Erick and his mother pull out their cell phones and turn them off.

As the previews begin, a small group of chatty latecomers enter the theatre and walk up the stairs in search of empty seats — which they find in the row in front of Erick, his mother and his grandmother. Erick sighs as the group block the screen for a short time while they situate themselves, figure out who is sitting where and pass around concession food.

Erick’s grandmother leans over her purses to ask Erick a question. “Haven’t Loretta DeVine and Angela Bassett worked together before?”

Erick thinks for a moment. “Yes, in Waiting to Exhale.”

“That’s right. I swear that Loretta DeVine stays working. She was just in that last Tyler Perry movie. Did you see it?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“It was a bit over-the-top for me.”

“Can you guys be quiet back there?” one of the latecomers hisses.

Erick looks down into the dark. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, now please be quiet!”

“You all have no room to speak when you all came in late AND loud.”

“Well, none of us are talking now.”

“Well, I am.”

“And I asked you to stop.”

“I’ll stop when the movie starts. In the meantime, you stay up there and I’ll stay back here.”

“Well, you best be done when the movie starts.”

“No, I paid ten dollars to talk through the whole damn movie.”

“Watch yourself, Erick. They seem half-cocked to me,” Erick’s mother admonishes.

“People like them make me hate people as a whole.”

The last preview transitions into the start of the movie as the song “I Think I Want to Marry You” plays under the movie’s opening sequence.

About ten minutes into the movie, what appears to be the remains of the chatty latecomer’s party makes her way up the stairs and down the row in front of Erick, his mother and his grandmother. Despite her lateness, she insists on sitting as close to the middle as possible and has everyone to her left shift down one seat.

Erick stares intently at the proceedings – willing them to either sit down immediately or die. It was a drastic thought but at least it would quiet them down so that everyone else could enjoy the movie. After all, ticket prices aren’t getting any cheaper.

As soon as the Evans family re-settle themselves, Erick hears the sound of an infant starting to get fussy.

“Are they kidding me? This is a joke, right?” Erick asks his mother.

“I would never have brought you here as a baby.”

“What person in their right mind would?”

As the baby gets fussier and fussier, the sound of exasperated groans can be heard throughout the theatre.

Erick grandmother leans forward and taps the back of the lady’s chair with her cane. “Why would you bring an infant to a movie theatre?”

The woman turns around and gives Erick’s grandmother the once over. “I couldn’t find a babysitter.”

“Then why don’t you wait for the DVD?” Erick asks.

“Boy, leave me alone. And Miss Jane Pittman over there had better to do the same.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you just take your baby outside so the rest of us can enjoy the movie? And don’t talk to my grandmother like that.”

The man next to her turns around. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you watch how you are talking to my sister?”

“I’m going to solve this problem and call the house manager. How about that?”

Uncle Ruckus stands up. Erick stands up as well but finds himself face-to-face with the man’s chest. He looks down at his mother. “He’s bigger than you,” she observes.

Erick looks at his grandmother, who hands him her cane. Erick looks the man up and down. “I don’t remember you being this tall when you walked in,” he says.

Uncle Ruckus pushes his massive chest out further, nearly hitting Erick in the face. “Would you like to apologize to my sister?”

Erick chuckles nervously. “I can’t do that unless she apologizes to my grandmother first. However, I would like to offer both of you my babysitting services … for only the cost of a pretzel and an Icee. How about that?”

Terrence Moss is a short fiction writer and media commentator with articles featured on Associated Content and Suite 101. “Starring Erick Davidson” also appears in the blogosphere section of www.frontiersweb.com. More Erick Davidson stories and other works can be found at www.terrencemoss.blogspot.com

c. Alice Tang, Wikimedia Commons

Erick is watching The Boondocks on DVD at Chris’s apartment when he hears the flip-flops flip-flopping down the hall indicating a pending visit from his neighbor friend Elyke, whose brother Cole has been visiting for the past week. Erick listens for the knock, stops the DVD and then gets up to answer the door. “Good afternoon, sweetums.”

“Don’t call me sweetums. It’s gay. I’m not gay. You are, but I am not.” Elyke declares.

“It’s either sweetums or dipshit and you’ve told me more than once that you don’t like being called a dipshit. So you have a choice to make, don’t you?”

Elyke rolls his eyes and sighs. “Have you seen my brother?”

“Not since last night.”

“I’ve hardly seen him since he’s been in town.”

“Do you want to come in?” Erick asks.

“Nah, just let me know if you see him,” Elyke replies as he flip-flops his way back down the hall toward his apartment.

Erick closes the door, walks back into his living room and resumes watching The Boondocks. He hears the toilet flush in the bathroom followed by the sound of running water. Elyke’s brother Cole is drying his hands with two paper towel sheets when he emerges from the bathroom wearing only his boxer briefs. “Was that my brother?” he asks.

“Yes, and he’s seems a bit disappointed that you two haven’t spent much time together while you’ve been in town.”

Cole sits down very closely next to Erick on the couch. “I know. I thought about that last night, but he’s been moody this week and I’ve been wanting to go out.”

“He’s always moody. It’s all part of his charm and part of my entertainment.”

Cole laughs. “We don’t talk much, but when we do he always mentions how you always bust on him.”

“I try very hard to be nice to him, but his dipshittitude just forces it out of me. Don’t get me wrong, I love him more than I love my Blackberry.”

“This I know,” Cole says as he puts a hand on Erick’s thigh and pauses. “I’ve had a good time this week.”

Erick puts his hand on top of Cole’s. “We’ve had fun with you too, but you need to get some brother time in so let’s all go to Piano Bar for Blues and BBQ later this afternoon,” Erick suggests as he kisses Cole’s hand and places it on Cole’s thigh.

Cole nods his head and chuckles. “That’s a good idea. Drinking has always been the great uniter between Elyke and me.”

“After that, you two should watch a movie together. He’s quite proud of his ever-expanding collection of DVDs.”

“I’ve seen his collection. He has a lot of crappy movies.”

“Then you can borrow a DVD from me.”

“I’ve seen your collection. You have a lot of crappy old TV shows.”

Erick raises an eyebrow. “Are you insinuating that The Cosby Show is crap?”

Cole laughs and raises his hand in surrender. “I would never do that in your house. I learned my lesson Thursday night after you threw a handful of broccoli at me for daring to suggest that Ugly Betty was not as great show as you made it out to be.”

“Be glad I didn’t make spaghetti.”

“Would you have thrown spaghetti at me?”

“Nope, but I would have shoved your face in a plate of it,” Erick retorts with a smile.

Chris is putting on a t-shirt as he emerges from Erick’s bedroom in his boxer shorts. “Good morning fellas.”

“Good morning, Chris,” Cole says with a smirk.

Erick gets up and heads toward the kitchen, giving Chris a kiss on the way. “Good morning, cutie.”

Chris smacks Erick on the ass as he walks by. “Last night was fun.”

“It certainly was,” Cole concurs as he leans back on the couch and crosses his legs.

“I wouldn’t mind doing that again,” Chris continues as he joins Cole on the couch.

“My body’s going to need some time to recover first,” Erick adds as he fills his tea kettle up with water.

“I can’t believe we just kept going and going as it got later and later. Erick and I are usually asleep by about 11 or midnight.”

Cole places his head on Chris’s shoulder. “I take that as a compliment that I was able to keep you two…awake.”

“It’s a shame you have to leave in a couple of days,” Erick says as he lights the stove and places the tea kettle on the open flame.

“Well, you two might have given me a reason last night to stick around a little longer.”

“Speaking of Mitch, where is he?” Chris asks.

“We woke up around the same time, but he went out to get bagels while I plopped myself on the couch to watch television.”

Chris lays his head on Cole’s head. “I’ll trade you Erick for the Sunday Morning Bagel Man.”

“Cole, remind me to tell you about the guys I left behind in Massachusetts who would be more than happy to take Chris’s place,” Erick responds.

Chris and Cole laugh as there is a knock on the door. Erick opens it to find Mitch with a bag of bagels, the Sunday Los Angeles Times and Elyke.

“I thought you said you hadn’t seen my brother?” Elyke asks as he walks into the apartment.

“Why is it you come in when you weren’t necessarily invited to do so, but you opt not to when actually invited?” Erick asks as Mitch places the bag of bagels on the kitchen counter and walks into the living room.

“How did you find out I was in here?” Cole asks.

“I told him when he saw me in the hallway. I didn’t know it was a secret.” Mitch replies as he sits next to Cole on the couch.

Elyke watches as Mitch puts his arm around Cole’s shoulders. He notices that Cole is only wearing boxer briefs and that Chris is only wearing a tee-shirt and boxer shorts. Seeking an escape from the moment, Chris gets up and goes to Erick’s bedroom to put on a pair of gym shorts. Mitch takes Cole’s hand in his and smiles. Elyke then looks at Erick.

“Well, do you want a bagel?” Erick asks.

Chris Robinson is a 22-year-old born again New Yorker. He enjoys bedroom intellection and public urination. He can often be seen at the Limelight, dancing by himself 22 years too late.

Photograph by Chris Robinson: Michael on 34th Street: Braving the rain for a Bike Ride to Macy's

Michael Musto has been chronicling New York social life for over 26 years. He’s a rare stalwart in a scene often characterized by high turnover rates and even higher rates of self-destruction. All the while, he has exuded gayness—a bright rainbow gauge of all that’s germane to gays. We had a chance to talk with him about the state of homosexuality, his history in New York gay culture, and the interstices of the “new” and “old” gay.

The New Gay: What was your entrée into gay New York?

Michael Musto: I grew up in Brooklyn and knew I was gay at an early age, but had no idea there was a gay culture out there, because I grew up at a different time and had no access to the kinds of resources and information that the younger generation has these days. But when I went to Columbia College, I started going to parties and events where I was meeting out gay people that gave me an example of what I could be.

I was also covering theatre at the Columbia Spectator, getting to see all these Broadway shows—the first versions of “A Chorus Line” and “Chicago” in 1975 — which was not gay culture necessarily, but certainly helped form my gay cultural sensibility.

TNG: What’s the gayest thing you’ve ever done in New York?

MM: Well, I had a big party last March for the 25^th anniversary of my column, and I got up with a Judy Garland impersonator in front of literally hundreds of people and sang the old Judy Garland/Barbra Streisand duet, “Get Happy/Happy Days”. I used to have an old Motown cover band, so I actually have some experience singing. I was a white, male version of Diana Ross. Some would say that Michael Jackson already did that, but he was more of a white, female version of Diana Ross.

Vintage footage of Musto as a white, male Michael Jackson:

You know, I’ve pushed gay, gay, gay at every turn, so everything I do has been the gayest thing.

TNG: Do you have any resistance to always being typified as a “gay” figure”? For instance, when I did a Google search for “Michael Musto is…” the only suggestion Google offered was, “Michael Musto is gay.” Does that bother you?

MM: No, not at all, it’s been a good shtick for me. I have suffered from it careerwise in certain ways, but it’s how I’ve made my name, so I can’t turn back on it now.

I want to act as a counterpoint to every person in show business who says, “I don’t want to be identified as gay…talking about me being gay is just like talking about my hair color…why should it matter?” Hair color is something you can change, but being gay isn’t. It’s an identity, and it’s who I am, so it’s been everything to me.

TNG: Our friends over at Gawker have quoted you as saying that “Everyone under 30 is a retard.” Would you like to elaborate?

MM: I’m sure I was using hyperbole. I feel that the gay community has a good cross-section of smart and hopeless. I never want to be a Larry Kramer type, criticizing the younger generation for not being as culturally aware as we are or whatever. I actually think the young kids are smarter than we ever were, because they have access to so much. I just feel there’s a lack of curiosity about the history. Not that somebody who is 18 has to know everything in the world, but there should be at least some curiosity about the history of people like themselves. I think people are more sophisticated now than they used to be. Growing up, I had no information about gayness—I read that it was a sickness and had to be cured. But now, young people have access to much better information.

TNG: Do you feel that something’s lost with young people now going through this process of gay self-discovery through the Internet and books and isolated experiences, rather than having to find a community of other gay people, as you did at Columbia?

MM: Well, for one thing, now there’s no sexual urgency in clubs because of Manhunt—they’ve already had sex because of Manhunt, and they can go home and have sex because of Manhunt. When I was growing up, if you wanted to hook up and have sex, you had to go out to a club and find someone to do it with.

TNG: Ok, let’s play a game. You recently wrote about comparing the worst of today with the best of the past, for example, “Snooki is no Katharine Hepburn.” We here at The New Gay like to be optimistic, so let’s compare the worst of today with the worst of the past. Ready?

MM: Well, the thing is, no one remembers the worst of the past—like Lupe Vélez movies or Sonja Henie. But sure, I love playing games.

TNG: “Real Housewives” dance singles are the new…

MM: Justin Bieber, because they probably use so much Auto-Tune that they break the Auto-Tune machine.

TNG: MiMa (Middle of Manhattan) is the new…

MM: I don’t want to demean the tragedy of the Holocaust in any way, but… Auschwitz. You can call it whatever you want, but nobody wants to live there.

TNG: Where do you live? Downtown?

MM: I’ve actually always lived in Murray Hill. I like Murray Hill, because it’s a little bit generic. My life is so crazy that I like coming home to something a little bit bland. It’s the Switzerland of New York.

TNG: You recently wrote about a contestant at the Mr. Philadelphia Gay Pageant that confessed to you on stage that his best friend had come out as bisexual because of your column, and that she had later committed suicide because she couldn’t handle the homophobia. This shift back and forth between celebration and tragedy seems unique to gay culture. How do you handle it?

MM: It’s bizarre, because it is in a way the most celebratory culture, and the most fun one to be a part of. I don’t think they’re not interrelated. We’re wickedly witty and we like to party. Yet we’re the only culture that’s still ok to bash, both physically and with words. I was really horrified to hear about this woman who couldn’t go on. Fortunately, in Manhattan we don’t have to hear these stories too often, because we have a community of support.

TNG: How do you bear the weight of all the tragedy? I know you’ve seen a lot—a lot more, hopefully, than this generation will see—so how do you deal with these stories?

MM: I want to reach these kids in whatever way possible. It really does get better. I would say—come to New York, get your ass here, find your way here, you’ll find some place to live, maybe in the outer boroughs, but you’ll find a community. These young people suffer from a wrongful sense of being alone—they don’t know that there’s a world out there. Growing up, I felt the same way. But once I went over that bridge, it was a whole new vista.

TNG: What would you hope that this gay generation accomplishes?

MM: Don’t take any shit. Just like Lady Gaga wouldn’t take shit from Target when it supported anti-gay issues. We don’t have to take bullshit anymore. We don’t have to compromise. Young people should realize their own power and take control of the bus, and not sit in the back of it. It’s our parade now. Don’t ever stop fighting. It’s going to take this young generation to lead the fight. They’re the ones with the energy and idealism and the access to really change things. I’ll be on the sidelines with my pom-poms doing my little cheers.

TNG: What do you think of gay marriage as the rallying cause of the gay rights movement today?

MM: It’s always weird to me that we’re fighting for the right to be in the military and the right to marry, because those were both things that I never wanted in any way for myself. I think we should set our sights higher and try to gain equality in every way. It seems like we get hung up on those issues—and they’re important. But let’s be mindful of all the equal rights we deserve. It’s awful to have to fight for the right to be human. It’s absolutely insane. People are going to look back on this as science fiction, but we’re in the middle of this, and we have to do it. You have to constantly strive for validation. But I know from being around for so long that things have really changed so drastically.

I’m still waiting for an openly gay person in the White House.

TNG: Who would it be?

MM: Ricky Martin. Well, he would be First Lady. Clay Aiken would be President.

TNG: Final question: What’s the best thing for a gay person to do in New York City right now?

MM: I had a good time at the opening of District 36’s Rockit party last Friday. Tuesday’s Beige at B Bar has been the go-to gay party for ten years or so. Now that the weather’s getting nicer, it’s going to be the place to be for the summer. I also like going to bars like Pieces in the Village or Marie’s Crisis piano bar or Barracuda or just hanging out at dives, where you can make your own fun.

I don’t drink—that’s why I’ve lasted so long. I just enjoy watching everybody destroy themselves.

Michael Musto’s new book—his fourth—entitled Fork on the Left, Knife in the Back is slated to be released on September 1st of this year. In the meantime, check out his daily bloggings at La Daily Musto, and his weekly column in the Village Voice.

Terrence Moss is a short fiction writer and media commentator with articles featured on Associated Content and Suite 101. “Starring Erick Davidson” also appears in the arts/books/culture section of www.thenewgay.net. More Erick Davidson stories and other works can be found at www.terrencemoss.blogspot.com

Erick Davidson is an early thirtysomething from New Jersey who has lived in Los Angeles for the better part of a decade.

******

It’s 7:30 on a Saturday morning when Erick wakes up. He rolls out of bed and puts on the pair of socks he wore the day before but pulled off as he crawled into bed the night before. Erick walks out of his bedroom, through the living room and out the door. He’s slightly surprised that the door was unlocked but he and Chris were so tired last night that they both fell asleep on the couch and then just went to bed. He stands on the second floor balcony to gauge the weather and decides he’ll need a pair of sweats for his Runyon Canyon hike this morning.

Erick walks back into his apartment and into his closet, where he takes off the shorts he wore to bed and puts on a pair of gray sweat pants. He reaches for a long sleeve shirt but decides that the cotton tee shirt he’s wearing from yesterday is enough to brave the chill in the morning air. The five pairs of shoes Erick owns are lined up along the wall on the floor of the closet. He puts on his pair of hiking sneakers and a baseball hat. He then goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Erick walks back into his bedroom to retrieve his iPod Nano, which he clips onto the collar of his tee-shirt. He plugs in the earphones and places them around his ear. As he walks out of the bedroom, he looks down on the still-sleeping Chris and chuckles. He closes the door as he heads out of the bedroom, walks through the living room and out of his apartment.

Erick returns about an hour and a half later. He sits down on the couch, turns on the television set and presses play on the DVD player to continue watching The Boondocks.

“Can you turn that down?” a voice groans from the other end of the couch.

Erick turns to his left and watches as a pair of feet stretches out behind him. He scoots to the edge of the couch. “For a blanket, you have really nice feet,” he comments.

A head emerges from the other side of the blanket, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the Reverend Al Sharpton. Who the hell are you?”

The head sits up on its elbows, squints at the daylight peeking through the window blinds and looks around. “Where am I?”

Erick extends his hand. “You’re in my apartment. Welcome to Erickville.”

The head meets his hand with Erick’s. “I bring you greetings from the Land of Cole.”

Erick and the head exchange smiles. “How did you get in here?”

“I don’t know. I vaguely remember the door being unlocked. I figured it was left open for me.”

“Whose apartment were you looking for?”

“Elyke’s.”

“It figures he would misplace one of his friends.”

“Where does he live?”

“Down the hall. I wouldn’t bother him this early in the morning. He’s quite the moody type.”

“Trust me. I know. I’ve known him a long time.”

“I’ve only known him about a year but he only has two settings: moody and brooding.”

“It took me a lot longer to figure that out.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Coffee.”

Erick gets up and heads toward the kitchen. “All I have is tea.”

“That’ll do,” Cole replies as he collapses back down on his couch and covers his face with his arm.

Erick turns on the burner under the tea kettle he keeps on the stove. He pulls out three mugs and places a tea bag in each one. Chris groggily emerges from Erick’s bedroom. “How was Runyon?” he asks.

“It was great. We have a guest. His name is Cole,” Erick answers as he points to Cole lying down on the couch.

Chris looks at Cole and then looks at Erick. Then he looks back at Cole and back to Erick. “I know we haven’t talked about this yet, but is he part of the negotiation?”

Erick laughs. “Apparently we left he door unlocked so he walked in and passed out. He’s a friend of Elyke’s.”

“Where’s Elyke?” Chris asks as he walks over to the couch to examine Cole.

“I presume he’s still sleep. I haven’t gone down there yet.”

Chris looks down at Cole. “I think he’s more attractive than Elyke.”

Erick walks over to the couch and stands next to Chris looking down at Cole. “I’m not so sure. There’s a cute goofiness to him that I like, but Elyke has nicer lips.”

“You’re biased.”

“How am I biased? The fact that I think Elyke is such a dipshit should balance out any such allegation.”

“Then how can you not see that Cole has much nicer eyes … and bigger feet.”

“I agree with you on that but lips are far more accessible than feet.” Erick states as he hears the sound of flip-flops flip-flopping down the hall toward his apartment followed by a knock on the door.

“Hey Erick,” Elyke says after Erick opens the door. The tea kettle whistles and Chris rushes into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Elyke. What can I do for you?”

“Remember I told you my brother was coming to town? You met him last year. Well, he arrived last night and we went out but I don’t know where he is. Have you seen him?”

“I knew his feet looked familiar,” Erick said to himself as he invited Elyke into the apartment. “He’s in here – passed out on my couch. And before you ask anything stupid, it’s only been talk at this point.”

Submission by Terrence Moss, TNG contributor

Terrence Moss is a short fiction writer and media commentator with articles featured on Associated Content and Suite 101. “Starring Erick Davidson” also appears in the blogosphere section of www.frontiersweb.com. More Erick Davidson stories and other works can be found at www.terrencemoss.blogspot.com

Erick is coming back from lunch with Marcine when he stops by John the Managing Editor’s office.

Erick is working on a proposal for one of the Lefty sponsors to finance a local gospel choir’s float in this year’s Christopher Street West Parade in June when Anthony poke his head into his office.

“Not that I know of.”

“I was told of knees touching thighs.”

“I didn’t want to be rude by moving it away.”

“And you didn’t enjoy it at all?”

“Enjoy it how?”

“Did you enjoy having his knee on your thigh?”

“What if I did?”

“Then now you and him are a couple.”

“Really?” Anthony asks nervously.

Erick chuckles. “No, but if you enjoyed it, it doesn’t have to mean what you think it could mean.”

“Then what would it mean?”

“That’s not for me to say. I’m not your thigh or Mitch’s knee.”

“So what should I do?”

“You have to talk to him, but be clear, direct and honest about how you feel.”

Anthony smiles widely and leans back in his chair. “It’s interesting you should say that.”

“Interesting how?”

“Most of your dealings with me haven’t exactly been clear, direct or honest.”

Erick is surprised by the effrontery but knows he can’t exactly argue it. “Could you handle clear, direct honesty … from me?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Anthony considers this for a moment. “Probably not.”

“I didn’t think so, but I will say this much: There’s confusion as to where your proclivities lie. I don’t actually need to know and I don’t even want to know. Mitch, however, does need to know. And if you are ‘kinda seeing someone’ else, they both need to know what your deal is — even if it’s just that you are confused or can’t decide between the two. That way they can decide whether to wait around for you to get your head together or move on to gayer pastures.”

Anthony nods. “Alright, I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” he says as Anthony rises and heads toward the door. “By the way, this person you are kinda seeing…what’s their name?”

“Jamie,” Anthony replies with a wide smile as he walks out the door and closes it behind him.

After Anthony leaves, Erick takes a betting pool sheet out of his desk drawer and stares at it for a moment. “Dammit! He’s good.”

The next time you spy a Disney Princess product, check to see if the princesses are making eye contact with each other. They’re not! Roy Disney was opposed to bringing together princesses from different movies, so this was a creepy compromise.

I’m not arguing that trivial details like this are manipulating the children of America, but it gives you a good idea of how the higher-ups of child-focused companies function (or not). This is just one anecdote of oddity included in Peggy Orenstein’s Cinderella Ate My Daughter, through which she navigates her new parenthood.

It’s no conspiracy that the boys’ and girls’ sections of toy stores are so neatly divided, but it’s no accident either. Orenstein did an unbelievable amount of research and found that the decision-makers of toy companies honestly believe that they’re just giving kids what they want: pink, feminine, consumer/domestic items for girls and violent, mechanical items for boys. They are also after making the biggest sale, but that’s to be expected of anyone. Parents are often dismayed at what their children are offered in the gender-segregated aisles, but see no other option. It’s partly the companies and it’s partly the parents that divide children along masculine and feminine, but Orenstein’s research into children — especially little boys who want to wear mommy’s makeup and little tomboys — is the most revealing. I’ll leave you to actually read the book to find out more, though.

As in her previous books, Schoolgirls and Flux, Orenstein articulates how gender divisions in our society impact real people in Cinderella Ate My Daughter. She makes connections through hard-hitting research that seem so obvious upon her articulation. I highly recommend reading any and all of her books!

My only complaint, though, is her description of Sesame Street and the Muppets – and I admit that this is only a personal bias. She investigated the very few regular women characters (Ms. Piggy, Janis, Zoe, Abby, …?) and the Henson company explained that feminine characters just don’t market as well as “masculine” ones. Honestly, I always thought that most of the characters were androgynous. Even as a kid, I thought that Big Bird, Elmo, and most of the monsters were genderless (same for the Toaster and Blanket from Disney’s The Brave Little Toaster). Then again, that probably explains a lot about my genderqueer identity…