How to do what’s wrong right
HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL | Special Contributor
I am not a sex addict. At 43, however, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m one of those rare men whose libido increases rather than diminishes with age. My favorite quote is from James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, about his own addiction struggles: “When one lives without fear, one cannot be broken.” I no longer live with fear like I used to of being unable in middle age to find casual sex partners as easily as I once did. I work out a lot, I’m well endowed and my hair is as thick now as it ever was! Just this past weekend, I even scored a kid on Grindr born in 1993! Just thought I’d share this philosophy with you, man, for your readers out there in my same, testosterone-filled shoes. — Glorious Dude
Your private-life “philosophy” reeks of exactly the same psychotic disclaimers absolved during intros to bareback porn DVDs: “The following video fantasy is being presented as a viable alternative to actual sexual contact with another person(s). This is presented solely as a visual fantasy. Some of the precautions of this visual fantasy may have been omitted for editorial considerations but have been used continuously throughout the production of this video.” In other words, Gloriana, no matter how many times one rereads your convictions, nothing you’re pushing still makes one lick of sense.
Which 10 homosexuals from history would you invite to the most fabulously fantastical gay dinner party of all time? Can you top my own triumphant list of 10 — Oscar Wilde, Caligula, Eleanor Roosevelt, Saki, Gus Van Sant, Gertrude Stein, Michael Jackson, J.T. LeRoy, Janis Joplin, Tennessee Williams? — The Best
Being a total sucker for these kinds of pointless “list” questions, my own “gay dinner fantastical” would most likely be comprised of people more affirmatively homosexual than some of your personal picks: i.e., though Janis Joplin may not have exactly given, say, contemporary Raquel Welch a heterosexual run for her money in the va-va-va-voom department, being homely as a mud fence does not equate to assumed lesbianism (likewise, for former first lady of the United States of America, Eleanor Roosevelt); moreover, Roman emperor Caligula’s sexual proclivities fall into the realm of psychosis. And as for the 20th century “asexual sprite” pop star, Michael Jackson, well, I seriously doubt he would have eaten anything resembling a meal of food, nutritious or belly-filling, served him for dinner with a cast of fellow gays, regardless.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition August 24, 2012.
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