Tag Archives: Professor B

The Beautiful and Damned

Consecutive days spent in Brooklyn: 2

Jews are the absolute worst neighbors in the world. ..Not actually, they’re pretty great, but in my new neighborhood they are definitely the least friendly ethnic group. It’s strange, these are not the “I was raised Jewish but still eat chicken nachos without guilt and go to synagogue every six months” jews that I was used to… these are “I wear a bonnet on my head at all times and will not shake hands with a woman because she isn’t my wife and that’s the only woman I can ever touch” jews. Kind, honest, modern, modest and respectful jews, who also go out of their way to pretend you don’t exist.

These jews are only the worst neighbors by comparison, as all the rest of my neighbors are pretty much kick-ass. The jews tried to hit me with their mini-vans. Not cool. The Chinese have delicious food and super cheap wash-and-fold laundry services. The Polish have *amazing* delis and tasty beer (at even tastier prices!) along with the cutest cashier-girls ever (seriously, any straight males need to start hitting the Polish deli on 8th ave for a date- so cute). They also make wonderful desserts for a ridiculously low price.

Yes, I have fallen in love with my neighborhood, aside from the jews who refuse to acknowledge my existence on the street. The neighborhood feel, the young families running around, the little asian children who always say “herro” to me every morning on their way to school, the man at the corner store we speaks to me in Arabic and every week I have to remind him that I’m not Morocan, I’m Michiganian. This last weekend I spent an entire day eating Polish desserts and drinking the world’s cheapest good beer ever in between bingeing on delivery Chinese food… so unhealthy, so cultural.

All of this has been done to in attempts to stay in Brooklyn and not make a whore-phase run to Staten Island, where the getting is good and the hot tub is better. Most friends here assert that at our age there is no shame in good sex, but my Lutheran upbringing keeps me from fully embracing the idea. Or maybe it’s less about the Lutheran upbringing and more about Professor B.

After a few weeks of casual dating with Professor B each night begins to become more emotionally revealing and gratifying. A stroll through the jewish side of my neighborhood brought us through an adorable park, over crunchy autumn leaves, past a brightly lit hockey rink, and into the truth about his terminally ill mother and my past of dealing with dying family members. We walked alongside coffee shops and he buttoned my jacket a little higher to keep me warm and revealed the story about first coming out at the age of 30 after years of dating a woman. We strolled into a local pizzaria and I filled him in about the LA-X and gave warnings about a few of the walls I’ve been known to put up. By the time it was dark and cold outside we were already in my dim room and warm in bed, where he spoke about taking it slow and admit that he was stunned at how nonchallant and friendly my roommates treated him.

We’ve spent a month slowly peeling the layers of eachother and liking what we see as each layer is shed, and all the while we’ve yet to actually sleep together. When I look at it with a little perspective, I see the whore-phase can’t be as gratifying as I would hope right now. Emotional intercourse is much more stimulating when you let yourself have it.

Oh man, that’s gay. Even for me.

So in the span of a month I’ve fallen in love with a neighborhood instead of falling for a teacher, but I’m warming to the idea of dating someone for the first time in a long time. And I’m genuinely looking forward to the weekend he wants to plan for us.

But then it occured to me that this upcoming weekend is Halloween. And Halloween is a holiday invented strictly for those in the whore-phase. It’s hard to pass that one up.

Even more difficult to pass up, Weather Man will be coming to New York and staying in my apartment for the weekend. Debauchary, a close friend and old-flame, an unofficially non-monogamous relationship… and I just bought new sheets. I’ll wash them Sunday.

Walking down the street the other day my roommate approached a young Arabic mother and her elementary school aged sun as they carried their umbrellas home. Straight Boyfriend smiled as he walked past them, but suddently stopped as both the mom and son pointed their umbrellas like guns and exclaimed “pow pow pew pew bang!” and began laughing hysterically. The least PC joke for these Brooklynites to ever make, but hilarious. I believe my love life (with the impending weekend) is much like my neighborhood: diverse, tasty, surprising, and absolutely hilarious in the worst way possible.

[so just lick your lips, these are the goods times that you’ll miss]


Les Liaisons Dangereuses

Days without alcohol: 0

It’s nearly impossible to have good sex on Staten Island.

Nearly, but if you try a few times that totally changes. It’s some sort of law of averages that can only be computed by those within the whore phase. The whore phase is a wonderful time period in which an adult stops crawling, skips a few stages of development, and learns to outright strut in a sexual sphere. Carrie Bradshaw was perpetually in the whore phase. Evita assumed the presidency with her whore phase. Napolean conquered half the world during his whore phase. Mine got me a ride in a cop car.

It was no accident that I waited until New York to reach my whore phase, I’ve spent the last four years in a small and unattractive village, so after carefully considering the risks of sex in both an emotional (why doesn’t he like me??!?!?) and physical (you can die) sense- I quickly decided I had earned a whore phase. I have the least sexual partnes of anyone I know (except for Dr Mario) so don’t judge.

When I first hung out with TopCop it wasn’t clear that we would sleep together. Nor was it clear that he was a cop. What was clear was that he had invited me out to dinner and once he picked me up from the ferry we immediately drove off to a restaurant. Or I thought it would be a restaurant, instead it was TGIFridays… Not that this low brow chain isn’t an adequate place to eat… but in New York that’s like telling someone you’re going to sleep with them and literally falling asleep beside them. I had the culinary equivalent of blue balls!

Fortunately the meal was quick, the conversation was pleasant, and the long island ice teas were plentiful. Though a bit put off by the fact that I couldn’t use his breathalyzer for the fun of it, the evening entirely rebounded when inside TopCop’s lovely town house I discovered he had the one thing a young gay man from Michigan cares about- a hot tub.

Normally I would’ve just watched a movie and cuddled a bit before accepting a ride home. But I wanted in that hot tub, dammit. That’s why the whore phase comes with whore logic, which means you can rationalize less than chaste decisions for otherwise unacceptable reasons. In my case, sleeping with a cop who just bought me dinner was perfectly acceptable considering there was a hot tub to be enjoyed.

And continuing to sleep with someone you’re ambivalent towards is perfectly ok as long as you’re not ambivalent towards their hot tub.

On the way home I nearly missed the ferry, which meant jumping into a cop car and turning on the lights to enable my driver to pass through red lights and surprisingly respectful traffic. If there’s an ambulance with sirens blaring, no one even considers getting out of the way. When a one night stand needs to get to a ferry so that he can do the boat-ride-of-shame, the crowds part in understanding of the dire scene. New York.

Not that the entire event was a one night stand. Definitely not. It’s just getting colder out, that hot tub is more useful now than ever. And I’m learning that TopCop is actually a lot of fun… we have the same enjoyment of alcohol and cartoons. Especially alcohol and cartoons while in heated aroma-therapy massage jet comfort.

None of this would be a problem were it not for Professor Bronx. He’s a teacher. A public school teacher. In the Bronx. He teaches special education students. He teaches special ed students at a public school in the Bronx. I’m sure he’s angling for saint-hood. That’s new for me, going for the total boyscout. What’s not new- he’s too old, relationship oriented, finds me effortlessly attractive, and is way too nice for me… It doesn’t take whore logic to see that this is the exact trend that Weather Man followed, and I’m in no emotional condition to weather another storm like that one.

Strangely though, I find myself taking it very slow with Professor Bronx. We’ll shag a total stranger but keep any real prospect at arm’s length… Each time we’re together we’re sure to take things slowly, focus on something other than ending up in bed, and it’s turning into a romantic site seeing tour with a charming man who knows everything about the city. The first date on the sea port, the make out in Battery Park, the walk past the ferry for Staten Island….

Oh. Staten Island. Fuck! Why am I still taking clandestine trips out to Staten Island? Is a hot tub worth pulling myself away from someone who is actually emotionally engaging? Or is it smart to continue seeking out a relaxing hot tub instead of submerging myself into what looks like to be a repeat of Weather Man? Whore logic or human logic? Is he Professor B or just plan B?

The whore phase does not demand an answer right now. It does demand a make out buddy, asap. To the bar!

[watch your heart when we’re together, boys like you love me forever. boys boys boys!]