Apr 30, 2016

The Postapocalyptic Fade-Out Kiss


In the movie 28 Days Later (2003), an attractive young man named Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakens from a coma to find himself in a deserted London hospital. Fully nude, he stumbles out onto the street, and discovers that the world has ended. 99% of the population has been transformed into bloodthirsty zombies, who roam the streets, attacking anyone “normal.” Soon Jim teams up with two other survivors, Mark (Noah Huntley) and Selena (Naomie Harris).

You may never have heard of Naomie Harris, but you know that she cannot possibly be a 70-year old lady or a 12-year old girl. You may never have seen a zombie movie, but you know that Jim and Selena cannot possibly end the movie as cordial friends.  They must fall in love.  And, of course, Mark is doomed.







The first line of Spiderman (2003) has the narrating Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire) telling us, “Like all good stories, this story is about [a boy and] a girl.”

 

            










In Eagle Eye (2008), a supercomputer forces two strangers to work together on its evil scheme to take over the world. It needs college dropout Jerry (Shia LaBeouf) for complicated plot reasons, but it selects young single mother Rachel (Michelle Monaghan) seemingly at random. Why not a middle-aged woman? Why not a middle-aged man? Because Jerry needs a girl to kiss at fade-out.

The beefcake in these movies doesn't make up for the heterosexism. Whether the movie is serious or frivolous, artistic or hack, good or bad, comedy, tragedy, or drama, it must fade out to a man and a woman in love. Even if the “real” plot is about something else, like being bitten by a radioactive spider or saving the world from zombies, there must be a heterosexual romance.

See also: Two Zombie Movies with Gay Characters; and The Walking Dead: Gay People Unwelcome at the End of the World.

Apr 29, 2016

Spring 2015: Three Guys on the Same Night

Plains, Spring 2015

I hate Sunday.  It's the dark, dangerous, lonely end of the week.

Maybe it's residual Nazarene guilt.

Maybe it's because there's nothing to do.  No theater, restaurants are deserted, gym closes at 6:00, nothing on tv but The Simpsons, which I'm getting tired of after 27 years, and the never-ending homophobic rant of Family Guy.  

Maybe it's the memory of Sundays past:
The Filling Station in Fort Lauderdale
The Bondage Club in New York
The Horseman's Club in Amsterdam
The beer busts at the Faultline with tangerine chicken on tv trays after.  

I haven't been to the Sunday beer bust at the Faultline for 20 years!  Somebody stop me before I start singing "The Way We Were."

Too late.

Can it be that it was all so simple then,
Or has time rewritten every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again,
Tell me, would we?    

Out here on the Plains, I've been assuaging my Sunday night sadness in the best way I can think of: with a Sunday Night Special.

Two hookups with guys from dating apps, one at 8:00 pm, the other at 9:00 pm.

Two because 50% of hookups don't actually show up.

If they do, fine.  I'm up for two guys on the same night.

But none of this downlow, bi-curious, discrete, "I told my wife I was out buying shoes" nonsense.

They have to be gay and out, or no dice.

Of course, on the Plains, that means they're always in their 20s.

6:00 pm.  I go on the hookup apps during dinner, and wait for prospects to approach.  It doesn't take long to narrow the field down to two:

1. Mike, a chemistry major with a long, sharp face and an insouciant smile, but a nicely defined, smooth chest and an "innie" belly button.

2. Aaron, a business-entrepreneurial student who is vice-president of the Economics Club. Square face, bright smile, nondescript physique but (according to him) a gigantic Kovbasa+ beneath the belt.

While I'm talking to Aaron, I am approached by Mohammed on a different app: An engineering student from Saudi Arabia, 23 years old, solidly built, with dark smooth skin, but "bi-curious," on the downlow.


"Sorry, I already have someone coming over," I tell him.

"I'm really in the mood," he protests.  "Could we do a three-way?"

I don't want to have two strangers in my apartment at once, even with their background information and phone numbers.  There are too many opportunities for stealing.

But I haven't been with a Middle Eastern guy for years, and no one from Saudi Arabia.

But he's bi-curious, downlow, probably planning to drop by while his girlfriend is out shopping. That's trouble.

But his photo is hot, and we have a nice conversation about San Francisco.

 8:00 pm.  Mike doesn't show up.  No call, no cancellation, just doesn't show.

"Ok," I tell Mohammed.  "We'll do the three-way.  Just let me clear it with Aaron."

Aaron has never been with a Middle Eastern guy.  "Doesn't Saudi Arabia execute gays?"

"That may be why a lot of Saudis go on 'sex vacations' to Europe or America."

I submit the photos to each other.  They're both into it.

I don't notice that it's starting to rain.

8:30 pm.  Pouring rain, thunder, lightning.

8:45 pm.  The tornado alarm goes off.  Aaron cancels: "Sorry, I'll never make it out in this deluge."

It's too late to contact Mohammed.  Will he be a no-show?  Bi-curious, a three-way, in the rain, a lot to get skittish about.

9:00 pm.  Mohammed knocks on the door.

I explain that Aaron cancelled.  He doesn't mind.

The bedroom activity and conversation takes about an hour.

I try to get Mohammed to talk about being gay -- or bi-curious -- as a Saudi, with conservative Muslim family and friends, but he is too skittish.

I notice that the rain has stopped.

10:00 pm.  I go back on the dating apps.

Aaron appears: "The storm is over.  Can I come over now?"

And Mike: "Sorry, a friend dropped by, and I couldn't get rid of him.  Can I come over now?"

The uncensored story, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.