I'm back in West Hollywood for New Year's Eve. Lane and I are having breakfast at the French Quarter, catching up on the gossip of who dated who, who moved in, who broke up, during the 3 1/2 years I've been away.
"And guess what?" Lane says in a confidential hush. "Kerry finally found a boyfriend! He moved into his apartment about two months ago!"
We met Kerry at the gay synagogue in West Hollywood several years ago. He was 21 years old, a theater arts major at UCLA, sharing an apartment off Melrose with two roommates and working in a video store, where he always found a gay-themed movie to promote as his "Pick of the Week."
He stood out in the crowd: tall, a boyish all-American face, smooth sculpted physique, and a shock of red hair beneath a yarmulke decorated with little shamrocks. One doesn't meet many redheaded Irish Jews.
He was very popular at the synagogue, at the gym, and at the twink bars. Some of the most desirable guys in West Hollywood were asking him out.
BUT: lots of first dates, rarely a second, but by the third, he was shouting "Next!"
No matter how hot the guy was, Kerry always found something wrong with him: bad breath, weird tattoo, unmade bed, a yapping dog, ordered the most expensive item on the menu, said something bad about Boston, lived outside the gay neighborhood.
We lost contact after I moved to San Francisco, and then New York. Finding out that he has a boyfriend -- and they're living together -- is huge!
Who is this Adonis who has risen above all other mortals, with their snoring and farting and eating peanut butter right from the jar, to become "the one" for the extraordinarily picky Kerry?
The uncensored post, with nude photos and sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood.