“Didn’t you date so and so?” “Weren’t you the guy that was the basis for that book?” “Is that you on that sex tape?”
I never want to hear about an ex unless it’s to hear they are miserable, fat, and/or suffering from something serious (but obviously not life threatening).
I was standing at the urinal in a bar when I was asked if I dated Alex. Don’t be confused. I’m not having a Sally Field moment. We shared the same name. Actually, Alex was very good at sharing.
I wondered how this stranger was able to recognize me from where I was standing. While part of me would like to believe that tales of my penis have spread so far and wide that I’m recognized based on legend alone, that wasn’t it. And who engages in conversation at a urinal anyway!? I mean, granted, I’ve stood next to Shaquille O’Neal at a urinal (and he blocked the light like an eclipse), but I never asked him how it was hanging? (The answer is very, very well.)
After shaking and zipping, I responded, “we went out a few times, but I decided he wasn’t worth a lifetime prescription of Valtrex, no matter how wonderful life appears to be in the commercials.”
I’ve often thought perhaps if only I had herpes, I could go horseback riding and hang gliding. Perhaps with herpes, my life would be happy and complete.
Flashback to a year earlier: I was seated at Hamburger Mary’s with my lap top, working on the next great American novel. Some people prefer to write at a desk. Others in a coffee house. I prefer to write where I can smoke and drink really cheap vodka. I believe I was on my second double martini—excuse me, “Marytini”—when Alex took the table right next to me.
I did the quick scan: piercing eyes, great hair, nice smile, clearly works out (but hasn’t been in the gym in a month), cute ass…. wedding ring.
The sirens went off: Abort! Abort! Man with wedding ring! Had it been five years earlier, the wedding ring never would have stopped me. In fact, I would have viewed it as a challenge. However, I believe I’m paying penance or perhaps even cursed for my dalliances with a married man from my youth, so I ignored him the way I do children when they ask me to buy overpriced candy bars to support their sports programs.
“Ah, you’re writing,” he observed. I nodded. “Screenwriter?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Journalist?” he asked.
“No,” I said and kept typing away.
“Ah. Ignoring me. You must have a boyfriend or a partner or you’re married—“
“Not married. You, on the other hand…” and without looking up, I just rolled thumb around my ring finger.
“Oh! It was for an audition!” he exclaimed.
“I’ve heard that one before,” I said, sighing.
He extended his hand, “I’m Alex.”
Well of course I was going to have to sleep with him now. Screaming my own name while having sex had always been a fantasy of mine.
So we started dating. Simple dates. Casual and fun. Hiking. Movies. And any excuse to bring tequila into the relationship.
We dated for about a month. And that’s when he started to get sick. A lot. Dates were canceled because he had a fever. Or he couldn’t meet me for dinner because he had a stomach virus
We spent Thanksgiving together. Just the two of us. And then all communication ceased. Calls were left unreturned. E-mails were not answered. Texts were ignored. In the past I would have thought it was my cooking, but we went out for Thanksgiving!
It was as if he had been abducted.
I was pissed. The least he could have done was instant messaged me, “it’s not me, it’s you.” But I got nothing.
Cut to three weeks later. I’m back at my table at Hamburger Mary’s. I had a scratched cornea that day, so I was wearing my glasses. I was on the phone with a friend when I looked up and saw Alex walk up to the host stand.
And he was with another guy.
I wasn’t paying attention to the other guy. My eyes, er… my good eye was locked on Alex. I was just in shock that he was standing three feet from me with another human boy.
He looked right at me and smiled, then turned and went to the bathroom.
I believe all I could muster was, “oh hell to the no, he did not just smile at me and then walk away!” My waiter came and took my plate. I kept the knife and began flipping it over and over in my hand.
When he returned from the bathroom he walked toward my table and then stopped dead in his tracks.
Ever seen the color drain out of someone’s face like a Bugs Bunny cartoon? It is just like that. His jaw fell open and he backed up into the host stand, knocking over a plaster Mary.
It was at this moment I realized that he hadn’t recognized me earlier. Apparently I had been dating a native of Metropolis, because much like Superman, dumbass didn’t recognize me with my glasses on.
“Al… Al…. Alex! Well, uh… hi.”
I pointed to my phone and mouthed “I’m on the phone.”
“Yeah… well… come by and see me before you leave.”
I mouthed, “Oh, I will.”
My waiter came over and handed me the red shoe with my bill in it. I was spitting nails at this point.
"Do you see that asshole over there! I was dating him! I mean, it wasn’t like exclusive or anything but... "
He stopped me. “Wait, how long were you dating him?”
“From October to Thanksgiving”—which in gay years is like twenty four months!)
“Oh. That’s interesting. Because I was sleeping with him the entire month of November,” he offered.
Now I’m all for those who want to have open relationships. I’m all for dating many people. But to make up phantom illnesses to cover for sleeping with a waiter at Hamburger Mary’s?
And not only that, but my spy/waiter informed me that he had been dating the guy at the table for the past four months.
I felt like I was in a bad gay movie. Or a bad gay after school special.
The Last to Know: The Alex Fergusen Story.
I walked over to his table. Alex looked like he was about to have a stroke. He introduced me to his “friend” James. I extended my hand to James and realized… oh boy. I’ve slept with James. Three months earlier. Only James’ name wasn’t James at the time. It was “Dylan.”
The color in James’ or Dylan’s face started to drain as well. His eyes were about to bulge out of his head. He started stuttering “uh… I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”
So basically I’m at a table of liars. Isn’t there any honesty left in
“Why would we have met before, Dylan? I mean, James.”
At this point, I thought about interrogating him.
“Why haven’t you called me?” “What happened?” “Was it me?” But seeing the two of them sitting there like two deer in the headlights and I was a mack truck, I decided it wasn’t worth it. Besides, he wasn’t even that good in bed.
I did what anyone would have done in that situation. I wished him well and said goodbye. Madonna was right. There really is no greater power than the power of goodbye. Even more power if that goodbye includes a kiss that involves biting and drawing blood.
The guy at the urinal? He turned out to be Alex’s former roommate. At the time he was a bearded, dreadlocked, pot smoking, bongo playing hippie. Today, he’s an agent living in
And Alex? Well, it turns out that he and James are getting married next month. Alex and James exchanged their stories about me. They own a clothing company together and have never been happier.
As for me, well it makes me smile to think that every time James screams out the name “Alex” during sex, somewhere deep in the back of his head, Alex has to wonder if James is thinking about me.
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