Ambiguously Gay Runway

I’m having the damnedest time identifying the fags on this season of Project Runway. Well, not all of them, obviously. But there are a few boys I just can’t place, and with last season’s Zulema post-auf revelation...well, you just never know! Let's look at the evidence:

Robert
Gay. Duh.

Kayne
GAY! So gay. I mean, you may as well wrap this one up with a big pink suede bow and send him to Kathy Griffin’s house so she’ll have an actual gay on the next season of her reality show.

Vincent
Uh, who cares? He’s old. And crazy! He’s like, I’m so wacky! I’m so kooky! I’m gonna put a basket on your head! Gwaaaaaaah!

Malan
Gay? Or just very odd? Perhaps both. I actually thought he was going to be the crazy egomaniac this time around. Turns out, he seems surprisingly sweet and shy. He’s our little lamb; a wounded bird that needs to be protected and cuddled. Twenty bucks says that accent is fake.

Bradley
Not gay. Right? He’s got a beard. And he always seems stoned. I’m saying not gay.

Michael
Hmmm. He hasn’t gotten much screen-time yet, so I don’t have much to go on. He doesn’t really seem gay. I guess he could be all DL gay. Here’s the thing: 28-year-old semi-thugged out black dudes who are straight are not fashion designers, unless they’re already hip-hop moguls like P. Diddy. Gay.

Keith
My friend Kiki and I are fighting over this one. We both think he’s a hottie and want him on our team. Initially, I thought he was hetero. But then, in the first episode, describing his dress, he said two things came to mind: Scarlet O’Hara and the Carol Burnet Show. Gay and gay. Kiki disagrees, but come on! He’s a fashion designer. He’s got attitude oozing from his pores. Scarlet O’Hara! The Carol Burnet Show! Straight dudes don’t have the sort of finely developed sense of camp required to make that kind of reference. Kiki says she’ll buy it when he mentions Joan Crawford.

Jeffrey
Oh, hot Jeffrey. The tattoos. The rock’n’roll bad-boy attitude. I was all ready to declare him straight (I hear he has a kid and a live-in girlfriend), but then I found what I think is his MySpace page. Under “Orientation” it says “not sure.” What does it mean? Is it just a fan’s page, a fan who is just as baffled as I? Or maybe he’s just a lovely L.A. breed of hetero-flexible former street kid. Maybe turned a few tricks in his youth. Maybe just has an unhealthy fixation on pseudo-queer rock stars a la Bowie, Manson, Navaro.

PREF: The Ex-Boyfriend Interviews

From PREF #15, July/August

The Ex-Boyfriend Interviews

One of the beautiful things about dating in New York is the fact that when you break up with someone, you never have to see them again. In a city of eight million people it’s easy to just disappear into the crowded streets. You can drop a boy like so much dead weight and never worry about an awkward confrontation; there are just too many bars for you to possibly be in the same one on the same night.

Most people probably view this as a godsend. You never have to see the asshole who broke your heart. You never have to deal with the moron you wasted three months of you life with. You’re spared the pain of running into the Adonis whose beautiful lips you’ll never kiss again.

The thing is, I’m a little bit of a masochist. And while I’ve been able to effectively edit my ex-boyfriends out of my life, post-breakup, lately I’ve been wondering what might happen if we reconnected. Given a little time and distance from the relationship, isn’t there something I could learn from my exes? Maybe their perspectives on our time together could inform and enrich my understanding of myself and my future relationships. Or maybe I’m just a troublemaker who wants to stir up some drama...

Josh
Josh and I dated when I was a freshman in college. It’s been four years since we broke up and for three of those years we didn’t speak. Not once. We were officially dead to each other. Then we both moved to New York within months of each other and somehow became close friends.

Describe your first impressions of me.
Cute and naughty.

How was the sex?
It was ok. I remember some great getting-it-on in public places.

Now, this is where I think Josh is lying. As I recall, one of the major reasons he gave for breaking up with me was our lack of sexual chemistry. He said he didn’t feel a “spark” between us.

Overall how would you describe our time together?
Bizarre. Because looking back, we were such different people with completely different views of the world. Ironically, now we are more alike than before.

What went wrong?
We were completely wrong for each other, but we didn't want to admit it.

When you look back what is your impression of our relationship now?
Well, we've talked about our relationship being a spontaneous type of relationship. We were young, cute, and horny in the same small town.

I’m disappointed that Josh didn’t have more to say. He was my very first boyfriend, and on some unconscious level our relationship has probably shaped the way I’ve interacted with every boyfriend since. It’s symptomatic of our relationship though; I always felt that I was genuinely emotionally involved, while Josh was just sort of phoning it in.

JAKE
If Josh was phoning it in with me, I was definitely phoning it in with Jake. I was with him for three months and I have no idea how we lasted that long. Truthfully, I don’t remember our relationship particularly fondly.

Describe your first impressions of me.
I remember the first time we met. I’d just done the Go-Go Idol thing at Boysroom, and there you were cheering for me. It was pretty awesome. And I thought you were really hot. I knew that I'd be doing something with you, and I had hoped it would be more than sex.

How was the sex?
The sex was pretty fun. I remember being on the couch upside-down and being fucked. Oh boy, that was hot!

Again, Jake paints a rosier picture than I remember. We had sex maybe nine times during our whole relationship and each time it felt sort of obligatory. I remember not wanting to have sex with Jake.

Overall how would you describe our time together?
Our time together was pretty good. I did enjoy spending time with you.

What went wrong?
After a while I got a little stressed in my own life. And I thought you were a little volatile and perhaps we were just at two different places in our lives. I felt as if you just took things a little too seriously.

When you look back what is your impression of our relationship now?
I'd say our relationship was just so short and chaotic. I really liked you a lot, but due to location and life changes and everything, it was just kinda everywhere emotionally. I blame New York for it. It's really difficult to date here in general.

Are there any questions you would like to ask me about us?
I never really understood how you viewed me necessarily. I always thought that you thought of me as a child. And I never really felt that attractive around you for some reason, but I think that's my own fault.

I find it so funny that Jake blames our break up on everything – life, stress, New York, himself – except me. I treated him pretty badly. I was unhappy and I took it out on him. I was mean to him constantly, hoping that he would break up with me so that I wouldn’t have to do it. If anyone has a right to be bitter, it’s Jake.

CHAD
Chad only lived in New York for a few months last year, and for most of that time we were sort of dating. We were never really officially boyfriends, but we sure acted like we were. We haven’t talked much since he moved to Illinois last summer.

Describe your first impressions of me.
Last summer, I had just moved to New York after graduate school. You struck me as well-adjusted to the city and the fact that you were a sex writer caught my attention. You were adventurous and open-minded. You seemed to be friendly and thoughtful, yet had a bit of an edge as well.

How was the sex?
The sex was great. You know what you’re doing. You have a great body and a beautiful cock. I remember us trying several positions, but your favorite was to have me on my stomach while you fucked me. You would tell me to squeeze my ass muscles tighter around you cock just before you came. That was especially hot.

I’m not going to argue with Chad on this one. He’s right, the sex was hot. I’m getting horny thinking about it.

Overall how would you describe our time together?
Truthfully, the short time we spent together was rife with events. You got upset with me when I made eye contact with someone on the subway and accused me of “letting the crazies in.” We hung out with your roommate on a rainy Sunday afternoon and watched movies. I helped you move. We attended a sex industry party. I remember being excited to have a peek at a world I had always wanted to know more about. I remember you talking me into participating in a go-go boy competition so you would have fodder for your blog. As far as feelings are concerned, I remember enjoying my time with you. You always let me be myself and I never felt any judgment.

What went wrong, if anything?
Had I been in a different place in life, things may have worked out differently. I don't know if we would have been life-long lovers, but at least great friends. It would have been great to continue hanging out with you.

As with Jake, I’m surprised at how fondly Chad remembers me. The way I remember it, our parting was really awkward. We’d had a fight, and in the weeks leading up to his departure from New York he seemed pretty withdrawn, pensive, angry. The last time I saw him, I remember thinking that he didn’t seem to care whether we ever spoke again or not.

ME
So what did I learn from the ex-boyfriend interviews? Not much. They all seem to be so over it. And while it’s nice to know they aren’t out there hating me, I was sort of hoping for a little more drama. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over anyone I’ve dated. On some level, I think I’ll always resent them, always pine after them. I’ll always wonder what went wrong or what the hell I was thinking. It would be nice to know I’ve had the same affect on them.

Oh well, maybe they were just being nice.

Nothing to Wear

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Pfloto Session

I hate Ryan Pfluger because he's 22, gets paid to write a blog for Nerve, photographs for Paper and Rolling Stone, and knows just about anyone you'd ever need to know in New York nightlife. He hates me, he says, because I'm beautiful. We’re either going to be best friends or arch enemies.

I laugh and roll my eyes and then he tells me to look at the camera. I'm trying to take this seriously; I want Ryan to get some great images. More than that, I don’t want to look like a moron. But I’m starting to realize I’m way too self-conscious to be a model.

“What’s my hair doing? Are my eyes too squinty? Do I look like a total tool?”

Ryan has to move the mirror because I keep looking at it instead of at the camera.

“Did I mention I’m a little narcissistic?”

The shoot moves to my bedroom – I’m thrilled not to have to lean against the weird, textured wall in my office anymore – and Ryan asks me to take off my pants.

“Thank you for not wearing American Apparel underwear,” he says, sounding genuinely relieved. Ryan photographs cute skinny hipster boys, and they all wear the same American Apparel undies in a dazzling array of colors. I show him the two pairs – baby blue and electric pink – in my drawer.

Ryan tells me he’s read most of my blog and I’ve been reading his, so as we talk we keep telling each other things we already know. It’s kinda creepy. It’s not until later that it occurs to me how much he must know about my sexual history.

The photos are up on Ryan’s Nerve blog, the Prowl, the week of July 1-7.

Two Wrongs Trying to Make a Right

Saturday night was another Big Gay Apple party at Pieces. Frankly, I never know what to expect from these parties. The first two were fun, if uneventful. The last one was a little lackluster. At one of them I ended up making out with the special guest porn star, who insisted on pulling my dick out in the back room. This time I took someone home with me.

His name was Matt and he sort of looked and spoke a lot like Christian Slater circa Heathers, except blonde. He was wearing a polo and patchwork plaid shorts and Docksiders. He looked like he’d stepped out of a catalogue shoot for Belk. Not my type at all. I don’t know how I came to be flirting with him. At first I was only talking to him to get his email address for the site. He kept touching me and trying to put his arm around me, but somehow I managed to evade him while remaining mere inches from him. I kept thinking, Walk away, walk away! But I didn’t. And when I finally had to go do some work – setting up interviews with porn stars – he waited around for me.

We ordered drinks and sat at the bar and started kissing. I kept having to run away to give people t-shirts and collect email addresses. And then I’d come back and put my hand on Matt’s fuzzy blonde knee and slide it up his WASPy golfer shorts and squeeze his thing.

I probably would have left it at that, if not for something my friend Rich said to me.

“Why aren’t you home fucking that boy? You’re only thin once!”

After three Jack and Cokes, this seemed like sage advice, and I told Rich so.

At my place, I made Matt strip as soon as he walked in the door. I wanted to just look at him for a minute, take him in, figure him out. I needed a minute to decide what I thought of him. I wanted to look at his dick and his ass and his eyes and his mouth. I wanted information. I would have like to spy on him in his natural habitat. I wanted to watch him masturbate. I think I needed him to make me want him. Or maybe I just didn’t like the fact that I didn’t know anything about him.

I took a step back, but he followed, reaching for me, trying to undo my belt. Clearly, he was more eager than I was, and there was no evading him now. I got naked and I stopped moving away from him. We traveled from my livingroom to my bedroom to the kitchen floor and back to the bedroom. It didn't really feel like we were having sex. It felt like when I was 12 and so horny and frustrated and I had no idea what to do about it except press myself against a naked man and hope that would take care of it. It felt like square pegs, like two wrongs trying to make a right.

The next morning I felt sticky and moist and my throat was dry.

No Pho MoFo

I don't have any photos from Motherfucker and it's because of these pants:

I couldn't fit my camera in the pockets. Many many photos were take of me, but I have no idea where they'll end up. I think two photogs from Next took my picture, and so did this guy. And, like, three or four others I didn't recognize.

Josh and I got there so late. I swear, I looked at the clock and it was 10:20, I looked at it five minutes later and it was 11:45. We skipped the enormous line though, because Andy Shaw is a super swell guy.

We got in just as Amanda Lepore arrived - I always smell her before I see her, what is that perfume she wears? - and The Futureheads were finishing up their set. If they played "Hounds of Love," I missed it. Bummer.

Quick kiss-kiss hello to Andy, wave to Greg of the Misshapes (friend of a friend), drinks, and dancefloor. Eugene is pretty, but it was so unmanagably crowded you really couldn't tell. Josh was a little freaked out about wearing nothing but cami hotpants and combat boots amoungst all the straight kids. Before long he disappeared, only to realize that he'd left his keys at my place and would have to crash at his ex-boyfriend's apartment on the Upper West Side.

Straight kids are nothing to be a-scared of. I mean, isn't the whole point of going to Motherfucker so they can dress up and mingle with the club freaks? Although, the guys were a little fratty-gross, photographing the go-go girls to death.

"I totally sold her that liquid latex," I said, pointing out a dancer with Canadian maple leaves painted over her nipples.

What scared me were the looks I was getting from Mistress Formika - I'll admit, I kinda copied the stars on the face thing from her - and Miranda Moondust. They were definitely appraising, and I'm not sure if they were approoving. But I'm probably just paranoid.

There I am in the middle, looking not entirely retarded. Love those party pics.

As I was leaving, Michael T grabbed me, looked me up and down, and shouted, "Love it!" I blew him a kiss and hopped in a cab.

Ms. Sandra's Ex

Saw Madonna tonight...That's right, baby's first Madonna concert!

Now, I’m not one of those fags who worships at the alter of the material mama. But I do like Madonna. One of the first music videos I ever saw actually was "Material Girl" and I did this whole feminist analysis of her "What It Feels Like For a Girl" video in college. And "Nothing Fails" kinda breaks my heart. So, yes, I enjoy Madonna’s music. I think she’s pretty daring – though she used to be far more daring. She’s generally a pretty smart lady. But like I said, I’m not some brainwashed acolyte hanging upon every word she utters.

My friends Charlie and Dave, however, are. Seriously, they take fandom to ridiculous levels. They buy every piece of crap limited edition memorabilia. They freak out whenever her music comes on, no matter where they are. I don’t think I’ve ever hung out with them when they didn’t converse, at length, about Madonna. They’re both seeing her multiple times on her current tour at something like $200-$300 per ticket. Frankly, I think I’d love Madonna a whole lot more if my friends didn’t like her so much. If she hadn’t devoured an entire generation of faggots, I could probably truly appreciate her.

This is the sort of cynicism I was dwelling on leading up to the concert. I’d even joked earlier that I planned on ruining the whole evening for Charlie and Dave. But as soon as the lights went down and the music started, all of it melted away. Yes, I gave myself over completely to Madonnarama. And I loved it.

The opening set, with all the equestrian imagery and the dancers all done up in pony-play gear? Hottest thing ever. Seriously, hot men in jodhpurs and bridles and harnesses? Swoon. Hot guys should be required to wear bits at all times. I’m sure hardcore pervs will complain that now everyone’s going to think that Madonna discovered pony-play and delivered it to the masses, and they’re probably right. But it was still hot. It’s nice to see that Madge is still kinda kinky. The vintage footage of riding accidents that played on the big screen was so disturbing and oddly beautiful as well.

The mirrorball-crucifix that everyone’s been talking about was way more gimmicky than controversial, and exactly what point she was trying to get across is beyond me. Gratuitous? Def. Blasphemous? Whatever. The rest was so much disco smegma, but super fun nonetheless. I had kinda hoped for a few more classics, but the set was pretty heavy on the new material. But why am I complaining? I’m the first to admit I had a blast.

Just one question: Who was that old lady dancin’ around onstage in the leotard?