Why Not

Most of these men deserved to be in a vast, black hole. And -- -- not the good kind. And these were boys, not men. If you've read this far, maybe this "series" of failed relationships has held your interest. Let's not call them "failed." Let's go with "initially promising and then horribly truncated."

Maybe "failed," after all.

Who first? The most who held the greatest power over.

After doing time in the asylum of Online Dating (AOL was my drug of choice) I was just about to cancel my membership when I got the IM. Strange things - at their best, they bring people together and then make themselves obsolete. Ironic?

Not ironic, why I liked him: theatre guy, sarcastic, funny, flirtatious. Soon discovered: said gay boy had a girlfriend.

Eh. A bump in the road. Plus, we all know that anyone who can list all of Judy Garland's movies is not the marrying kind.

His name is -- God, I forget it now - that's a good sign because he must have finally drifted off my radar. Uh --- wow. His name is ... Nicholas. There.

He lived in Miami and had plans to transfer to NYU. Good. Proximity issue resolved. Up here, the girlfriend issue would be resolved. How about the ten-year age difference? He was coming to New York in two weeks and then we'd meet. After a tantalizing four weeks on the phone (we'd progresed from online chats) it was time to step it up.

We met downtown in TriBeCa, he was dogsitting for some famous Opera conductor who lived in the same building where JFK, Jr., lived at the time of his death. But that hadn't happened yet. He wanted to meet outside a Mexican restaurant he liked. I don't remember being nervous; I think I just assumed the worst and put one foot in front of the other. Coming across the street to the restaurant I recognized him (sometimes online pictures are accurate) sitting outside, eyes fixed on me. Deep brown eyes, thick black hair, a curl to his full lips. Looking deceptively innocent and knowing it.

Suddenly the stakes were raised. Am I too old, too fat, too gay?

"There you are," I said, ten feet away.

"Here I am."

"Looking just like you."

"Well, I hope so. Want a drink?"

Like he had to ask.

"I'll get something. Sit down."

It was one of the most disgustingly humid nights I'd ever cut my way through - so the cold Margaritas he brought back seemed perfect; cool and almost instantly intoxicating. I knocked one back.

"Whoa, hello!" he said. What's the rush?"

Annie Hall kicked in and I mumbled something about maybe this not being the best idea.

"Look, we said -- we said we'd have a drink and then just let it be what it was. Not make a big deal out of it. So. I don't want you to feel obligated to take this further - "

"You haven't let me ask you home. Relax," he said, ordering another round from the yellow and blue-haired waitress hovering around the tables. Oh great, he was the secure one and I was fourteen. We finished the drinks quickly and he led me back to the loft.

"He has Standard Poodles", Nick said, heading up the dirty hallway stairs.

"Ah." Poodles are the one breed of dog I hate.

"Here we are," he said

He pushed the heavy door open on one of the most luscious lofts I'd ever seen. It spanned left and right to the end of each horizon. A small, bright kitchen sat in the middle, a lighthouse in this sumptuous darkness. The dogs came bounding at us. No, me.

"There, there, what good doggies," I cooed, discreetly pushing them down. "A boy and a girl?" They rolled on their backs. Ah -- both boys.

I got the requisite tour: gold-framed photos of opera houses and famous singers - the maestro always in the middle. Hundreds of classical music albums sagging the shelves. Tiny red candles outlining the room, but besides those there were only two dim pools of light, one on the Steinway, another on the chocolate-brown sofa. I wondered if he'd aimed that one before leaving to meet me.

We were both drunk. Plain old drunk, no more, no less. He thrust his finger forward theatrically and led the way to the master bedroom. I stumbled behind, taking in every curve of his tight ass shifing beneath khaki shorts.

"Here we have it."

There was even less light in there, and a huge bed stretched out in front of us. The travelogue ended. He went to the doorway. I lingered.

"It's something," he said.

"Very nice."

I heard the traffic, the air conditioner. He looked around.

"All right," he exclaimed. "We'll just lie on the bed but nobody does anything, okay?"

He was down there waiting before I even kicked my off my shoes.