Monte

James and I attended a birthday party at a Greek restaurant in Dallas this evening for my brother’s wife, Heather. It was a nice little social gathering, but near the end of the meal, my stomach became upset, and I had to excuse myself to use the restroom. I went in, did my business, washed my hands, and returned to the table to which I was greeted by a round of applause by my fellow dinner guests. Apparently, they were congratulating me on finally returning to the table after having spent 10 minutes in the bathroom. I was mortified. They were actually timing me.

This brings me to my main topic for this entry: acknowledging that your boyfriend is human and is therefore not excused from taking craps.

Yes, this is a touchy subject, especially in gay relationships where personal hygiene is often an inhibiting factor for sex. I hate knowing that James goes poo, and I’m sure James tries hard to forget that even I’m human and have to go poo sometimes. It’s something we never talk about. When James goes to the bathroom and he’s gone for awhile, I make a mental note of it, but I never say anything to him. I’m sure he does the same with me.

The subject is especially touchy right before sex. He’ll excuse himself to go to the restroom by telling me he has to “wash his hands.” Yeah. right. We both know he’s checking himself out to see if he’s “ripe” for anal sex. But of course, I say nothing. And then when he comes back from the bathroom, that’s when I just happen to get the urge to “go pee.” So I leave for five to ten minutes to see if I’m “ripe” for anal sex, too.

One evening James and I were in his dorm and this happened. He went to the bathroom, then I did the same, and later in the middle of fooling around, I had to break the news to him: “James, sweetie, I don’t think anal sex would be such a good idea this time.”

He looked at me with discouragement and said, “Me neither.”

And that was the end of that.

Gay sex is too hard.