Let's Hear it For the Boys

Last night I had a date with a bartending hottie that I met at Trannyshack. He's one of several guys that I would see around when I last lived in the Bay Area about three years ago. They were largely crushes from afar. Guys I'd lust after at the gym or on the street, but seldom if ever talked to. The distance kept the lust intact, and provided me with much late night masterbatory fodder.

And even if I knew their real names, they were usually given nicknames for conversation among friends.

"I saw the Abercrombie Wet Dream at the Gym today working out his chest." (Later shortened to AWD) It's silly and juvenille, but I know all gay men do it, if not everyone. In New York, my friend Keo and I have the Doctor. A beefy daddy-type who shows up at Crunch in suits and glasses. A sexy professional type who's the gay Clark Kent. He's hot when he arrives straight from work, but in a way that screams, "Take me on your desk now!"
It's not until he changes into his workout gear that he becomes a purely hot piece of meat. He's ripped beyond belief, and he's got arms the size of your legs. Needless to say, my friends and I are left looking like teenage girls at a New Kids concert in the early 90's.

Well, I've come back to the Bay Area, and my three major crushes from afar are suprisingly sill here. Unfortunately it looks like as if their lives have changed very little. They're still bartenders in the Castro and they're hanging out with the same friends. Don't know why that's so disturbing but it seems to me that their lives are in a state of entropy. Yes, I'm totally projecting, but I beleive that if you're a guy in your twenties, change and the challenges of new experiences are things that you should be pursuing. Saftey and monotony are boring and lame.

Well anyway, I would see this bartending hottie work out at Gold's on Market years ago. He has the kind of body that I strive for by going to the gym five days a week, but will sadly never have due to bad genes and my penchant for Ben and Jerry's. He's got huge arms, a solid chest, and a thin waist. His body fat is something around 5%, and he's got gorgeous brown eyes.
Although we would nod hello to each other on the street, it wasn't until he visited NYC a year ago that I finally met him.

We met at a gallery showing for a photographer that had taken photos of the both of us. This photographer is the hunky pin-up of the art-world with his porn-star bod and over-sexed artwork. Of course, I appeared in very few photographs, and the bartending hottie was a featured star in the exhibition and the catalogues. Our conversation was short, and I probably went home to a pint of Chunky Monkey.

He introduced himself at Trannyshack this past Tuesday with no recollection of our previous encounter. We exchanged numbers, but as he was heading out with another trick he approached me and said, "Look, I'd rather go home with you, so if you'd like, I'll ditch this other guy and we'll go hang out...."

"What? Uhh...go with your plan B."

"Should I call you?"

"If you want to talk, you can call me."

Instead of being flattered, I was sort of bummed out that my bartending hottie turned out to be such a jackass.
Well, he called the next day and apologized for his behavior. I accepted because he said he was shitface, and because he's really hot.
Yes, because he's HOT. I'm a shallow bitch, honey, and cute boys walk all over me....and I LIKE IT.

The date went okay, but the bartending hottie is well....uhh.... how should I say this diplomatically... his brains don't match the brawn. He's dumb as a fucking rock.
He's incredibly sweet, but there's something about dumb hot guys that makes me want to treat them like puppies and not like sexual objects. (I know I may be in the minority here.)
Plus, the boy has tribal AND chinese characters tattooed on his arms. Now thats a sign of a dumb fucking boy. Unless your last name is Park, Lee, or Chang and you've got slanty eyes, don't get a asian character tattoo. Having a stupid simple fucking word such as dream or love tattooed on you in an asian character doesn't make it cool. It just makes you look like an ass.

The kicker was when he informed me that he found the tribal tattoo from a tank-top he owned. A tank top. Yes. A fucking tank top.
I was left speechless, and that's a rare moment. Me speechless.

My best friend Chow Chow calls dumb hot boys "male Pamela Andersons." Big Titty Blonde Girls with no brains. And believe me we have plenty of friends who fit that description. But at least Pamela had enough ambition to be on Baywatch and leave the bartending gigs behind, and Pamela made bank which leads me to believe she's not as dumb as you think.

In spite of everything, I enjoyed hanging out with the bartending hottie. He was sweet and seemed genuinely unaware of his sex appeal. Guys who look like him in New York are complete jackasses. Aspiring models/actors/bartenders who know their beauty gives them power.


But what would I have done if this hottie had turned out to be mentally stimulating as well? I'd run away as fast as fucking possible. Guys like him are the only kind I can handle right now. Hot guys who I know I won't ultimately fall for, because every night right before I fall asleep the ghost of my EX haunts me. Even now in SF, on the other side of the country. I think of him. When everything is quiet my thoughts return to Manhattan to a man with the deepest blue eyes and sweetest smile.