Readers, I’ve just done something that I rarely do before writing a column. I cracked open a beer.
That’s right, readers. I write these columns totally sober. This probably comes as a surprise to regular readers. (Are there any?)
But, tonight, as I turned on my computer, and decided what topic this column would address, I knew I needed a drink. And, readers, I suggest you get yourself a cocktail, too. I’ve got some tough talking to do, and it might be hard for many of you to hear.
OK, here goes. Readers, we’ve got to stop sleeping with straight women. Breathe deep. Toss back your drink. And let me say it again. Readers, we’ve got to stop sleeping with straight women.
I know all your arguments, so don’t waste your time convincing me otherwise. Yes, they’re cute. Yes, they have nice hairdos. Yes, they know how to dress, and sometimes even wear attractive picture hats. And, yes, they flirt with us, and lure us into bed by complaining about their husbands, placing their hands on our knees every chance they get.
But, readers, straight women are poison.
And, readers, as a direct descendant of Lucrezia Borgia, I like poison.
Straight women have ruined my life. We could start with my mother, but I don’t have enough alcohol in the house for that subject.
So, let’s begin with my first girlfriend, a married woman. I will dispatch this subject with a short anecdote. I was involved with this woman nearly 20 years ago. On the first night we got together, we went to a local bar. She ordered a Heineken, and even though I didn’t like beer, I did, too, because I didn’t want to do anything that would make me unattractive to her.
From that night on, I always drank Heineken, because it was like drinking her. I stocked my refrigerator with it in hopes that she would leave her husband one rainy night, and land on my doorstep, needing a drink.
That never happened, of course. But, readers, as I write this, 20 years later, I am drinking a Heineken. And every time I open one, I think of her.
After that affair, I got involved with a succession of straight women. Each relationship ended exactly the same way. Badly.
Finally—finally!—I figured out that this was a bad habit. So, I turned to lesbians. Was I tempted to go back to straight women? You bet! Still am.
I love ’em! They smell good! They don’t play softball! They talk about gardening and needlepoint, and other girly stuff. And, best of all, they like me!
They like me a hell of a lot better than lesbians do. They want to make me happy. So, they sleep with me. And I do all the things I think I should do in order to make them want to continue to sleep with me. I pretend that I like poetry. I pretend that I like Joni Mitchell. I drink the beer that they like. But it’s never enough.
Bottom line, no matter how much they like us, no matter how much they think we’re adorable, no matter how much they claim to want to leave their husbands, straight women ultimately want to sleep with straight men. And they always will break our hearts.
So, readers, take another deep sip from your cocktail, and listen up. Stop falling in love with straight women.
Hey! I wrote a book. You can buy Dateland on Amazon.com.