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10 Friday Oct 2014
Posted Aloha Friday
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09 Thursday Oct 2014
Posted This Is Thailand . . .
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Depending on which appendage you use to count once you get past ten, over 60% of American citizens now live in a state where same-sex marriage is legal. Earlier this week the Supreme Court decided to not make a decision on a handful of marriage equality cases presented to it, thereby allowing several circuit court rulings against states’ bans to be lifted. Their lack of action also gave rise to the ire of those wacky right-wing conservative nut cases including Grandpa Duck of the Duck Dynasty who reminded his fan that you can’t get STDs from ‘biblically correct’ sex, which I have to assume means I’m safe if I’m using the missionary position.
Meanwhile, Defense of Marriage Act fans’ rhetoric has become so laughable that federal judges are actually laughing at them in open court. Some, including Justice Scalia, assume the Supremes will take up the issue at a later date; others that by failing to do so again in the future marriage equality will become the law of the land based on state’s rights, with no intervention by the federal government. The only issue everyone seems to agree on is that same-sex marriage will be legal throughout the country one day and that day will be coming sooner than most thought. Well, that and that Hillary Clinton will be the next president.
While some nations that barely qualify to be one, and several Islamic countries flying under the banner of Allah’s love, are busy trying to decide whether caning, stoning, or execution is the best way to deal with their gay citizens, those countries that someone might actually give a damn if they were wiped off the map are slowly coming around to realize that gay people should have the same basic rights as all citizens. And that includes the right to be stuck in an unhappy marriage. There are 19 countries today where same-sex marriages are legal, or are legal at least in part of the country. And the word is that Thailand may soon become the next. Kinda, sorta.
According to some news agencies, we’ll soon get to see if PM Prayuth and his appointed parliament are serious about making Thailand a happy place, or if that’s just an excuse for a moral crusade. Thailand’s Civil Partnership Act may soon be taken up by that august body. Civil partnerships are the same-same but different version of marriage equality, the you can have your cake but not eat it to stop gap measure other countries have taken in the past on their path to full marriage equality enlightenment. Also known as registered partnerships, there are 24 countries in the world today in which same sex couples may legally be united, but not in wedded bliss. Thailand’s Civil Partnership Act was coming up for debate just before then General Prayuth decided to shuffle the Thai leadership deck and while it does not provide equal treatment under the law, it does make some headway in bringing marriage equality to the kingdom.
Under the bill, the rights of a person in a civil partnership will include the right to use one’s surname, property rights between the partners and rights on how the partnership is ended. However, the bill does not entitle homosexual partners to raise children, and the minimum age of those allowed to register civil partnerships is 20, while for the heterosexual marriage it is 17. So at least Sunee Plaza sexpats are safe from being forced to marry their boy du jour.
A year ago, when the country’s leaders didn’t wear olive green, a parliamentary committee drafted the bill, claiming it would guarantee to registered same-sex couples the same safeguards over inheritance, medical decision-making, insurance benefits, pensions, tax status, and other rights as married couples enjoy. But flaws in the draft were widely noted by lawyers and gay rights activists. Chanon Amornthatri, a Thai lawyer from the University of Cambridge said, ” The draft is very concise yet not concrete. Any marriage rights that are not specified in the draft might not be recognized for same-sex couples.” His concern was that even had the bill passed, it would not guarantee identical rights for same-sex couples as for legally married couples. But then civil partnership status seldom does. That’s why in Utah, where the Supreme Court’s recent lack of a decision is forcing gay couplings down the state’s throat, a local politician has sponsored a bill to call same-sex unions pairages, instead of marriages. Ya gotta love those Mormons.
There are pros and cons to civil partnerships instead of marriage equality becoming the law of the land. But sometimes baby steps are the way to go. For Thailand, the first hurdle is actually getting the bill in front of the parliament. Before the government changes again.
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09 Thursday Oct 2014
Posted Take It Off Thursday
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08 Wednesday Oct 2014
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Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, is not a happy camper. In fact, right now he is a bit disgruntled with me. Which doesn’t bode well for my upcoming trip to Thailand. But I think he’ll get over it before then. Maybe when I land in Bangkok I’ll find his feelings have healed by the anodyne of time and faded to a mild irritation. Which, I suspect, is not an uncommon state when we’re together anyway.
It’s been a good – long – year since I’ve updated y’all on my current love life, or as I like to refer to it: the on-going train wreck my love life has become. Oh wait. It’s only been a month. My how time flies. If I’d been smart, I woulda taken this long to update Noom too. Or waited until I hit Bangkok. But that would have meant ignoring his emails, his text messages, and his phone calls. Which there have been lots of. Noom has been earnestly and persistently attempting to inculcate virtue in my soul from a distance, and none too pleased to suddenly find he’s dealing with a recalcitrant who in the past always appeared to be willing to be swayed by whatever breeze he sent my way. He would have had better luck if he’d told me his buffalo had died.
It’s not that we haven’t had the occasional disagreement before, nor that something I did didn’t quite sit right with him. And vice versa. But being guys we usually ignore those disagreements, or razz each other unmercifully over whatever faux pas one of us committed. No relationship functions or survives under the burden of total honesty, and we’ve both adopted a policy of lying through omission to keep ours free from turmoil. It doesn’t hurt that Noom, being Thai, tends to avoid confrontation wherever possible, obviating the necessity for untruths. It does, however, at times make holding a conversation less than productive.
“I tink Phil better for you.”
“You’re probably right. But I love Dave. With Phil I was still working up to that.”
“I lie Phil.”
“I know. I like Phil too. He’s a great guy. But you like Dave too, don’t you?”
“How you mom?”
Friends who know both Dave and Phil, some who know one and have only met the other, have all weighed in on who I should be with. If I were a politician who takes his cues from Harris polls, I’d be in bed with Phil right now. But none of those opinions have been exactly unbiased. Even Ann, whom I usually listen to both because she’s sharp and quickly gets to the heart of any matter and because I’m afraid she’ll bitch slap me silly if I fail to heed her advice, offered a reading on the situation stemming solely from her disenchantment with Dave – spanning decades – over remaining closeted, even to himself, when the brass ring (that’d be me) has always been within his grasp. She weighed in on Team Phil’s side too, even though she only met Phil once and for a very brief period of time at that. But her opinion was about revenge rather than forgiveness. Which being from Texas makes perfect sense. If there’s one thing Texans do well, it’s revenge.
I hadn’t expected there to be many fans of Dave; with Dave you always get Dave, unapologetically, warts and all. He’s a black and white kind of guy. You always know where you stand with him, and where he stands too. There’s a basic honesty about how he lives his life, which is one of the things I’ve always admired about him. As difficult as that may be for some, at times, to take. But I hadn’t expected so many of my gay friends to be willing to nail him to a cross over his late blooming openness about his sexuality either. We all come out to our friends, family, and to ourselves at our own speed. That process is something the majority of gay people share. So I expected a bit more compassion and understanding from those who’d gone through that rite of passage themselves.
The general feeling, however, was that Dave had been surreptitious about his sexuality all of these years, that he had not been the man he’d pretended to be. I know a lot of that resentment from my friends is about those wasted years – because they’ve said so – although the logic is a bit off: Dave should have come out years ago so that the two of you would have been together, so we think you should stick with Phil. Huh. They’re also flummoxed over why I’m not mourning the years we could have been together and weren’t too. But in truth, I believe Dave himself did not know the identity of the man who lived inside him. That may have been denial, but knowing Dave as I do it’s just as likely, if not more so, that being gay was just not something that registered with him. That never gelled with the vision he had of himself, of the man he felt he was. Or expected himself to be. And I don’t think that is unique to Dave either. Coming out to ourselves is often the first hurdle gay people deal with. It just took him a lot longer than most.
So Noom’s opinion mattered both because he’s not gay and would hopefully not be swayed by displeasure over some other gay dude’s timing for coming out, and because he’s the only friend who has spent time naked in bed with both Phil and Dave. Even without sex, there is a level of intimacy in that act that tends to strip a lot of pretensions away. I was also counting on his lack of ulterior motives or preconceived notions, and that it would be my best interests that ruled the day. Besides, Noom and Dave had already established whose dick was bigger, and had agreed on a pecking order.
“When you come see me in Bangkok?”
“In a few weeks.”
“You come wit Phil?”
“No, maybe I come with Dave.”
“Oh. I tink better you come wit Phil.”
“That wouldn’t work well. I think I’m gonna be with Dave.”
“You not listen what I tell you.”
“No, I did. I do. But Dave is who makes my heart soar.”
“Oh. Why he hurt you heart?”
“No, soar . . . means happy.”
“Oh. Dave gay.”
“Yeah, he is now.”
“Dave ever gay.”
“Yeah, I know. You told me. All things considered though, that works well.”
“I tink Phil lie Chiang Mai.”
“I’m sure he would, but Dave will too.”
“Okay. You come wit Phil.”
Time isn’t always innocuous in its passage. When Noom and I met he decided, immediately and deeply, I was someone who belonged in his life. At some early point in our relationship, unknown to me, I’d performed some act that he viewed as being both kind and strong; Noom believed I was someone special, probably because I was older, better educated, and wise in the ways of the world, someone both confident and reassuring who seemed capable of dismissing or solving problems in a magical fashion. When he reminisces about those days, he waxes poetically. But as with Homeric epic, it’s not good to examine one’s heroes too closely. I don’t think it’s so much about familiarity breeding contempt as it is that once a while, even the slowest of us has an epiphany, a brief glimpse through the scrim when we see the verities reduced to a simple equation. There was a time Noom would never have the temerity to question my decisions. But he’s come to realize the simple truth that I’m just human too. And while his inveterate kindness still always shines through, he’s become more willing to correct me when he thinks I’m wrong. Or tries to.
“How Phil?”
“Phil’s fine.”
“You satay wit Phil now?”
“No Noom, I’m with Dave now.”
“Oh. I tell you better you satay with Phil.”
“I know. But I’m with Dave.”
“I lie Dave.”
“Good. I know Dave likes you too.”
“I lie Phil better.”
“I call Phil now.”
“That would be good. I’m sure Phil would love to hear from you.”
“I ask Phil come see me in Bangkok wit you.”
“Okay. Then you pay for Phil’s plane ticket.”
“Okay. You sent me money.”
“Noom, seriously, Phil is not coming to Bangkok. Dave is.”
“Better you come wit Phil.”
“That’s not happening, Noom.”
“Okay. Dave lub you. It okay.”
Dave and I just got back from Hawaii, a trip I dubbed his coming out tour of the islands. He wasn’t obligated to actually come out to any of his, mine, or our friends. Or to tell anyone we’d officially become a couple. Just being together promised to be enough. But when we hooked up with Rick, a close friend of Dave’s since they’d been in college together, it took Rick about five seconds to laugh and say, “It’s about time the two of you got together.”
That’s pretty much how the entire week went. Dave had been worrying over whether or not he should or would tell anyone, and instead everyone did it for him. I think, like with most of us, he found that most of his friends already knew or suspected he was gay. And all of them were just happy that he’d finally come to that conclusion too. Or as his friend Chris put it, “Bra, all we been hearing is Rush this, Rush that – you been fawning over the dude for years. At least now we don’t have to hear you acting like a little girl with a crush no mo’.”
I think I like Dave’s friends more than my own.
But the real test will be in a few weeks when we land in Bangkok. Dave was worried about being accepted in Hawaii, he’s stressing out over facing Noom. And while I don’t hold his prolonged acceptance of himself against him, I do get a bit of joy out of the fact that thanks to that he now gets to deal with a bar boy in Thailand who may not be quite so willing to welcome him with open arms. And I haven’t even yet mentioned to Dave what our sleeping arrangement might be when we arrive in the kingdom.
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08 Wednesday Oct 2014
Posted Hump Day Is Bump Day
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07 Tuesday Oct 2014
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The last thing I think about when offing a bar boy in Bangkok is just what it is that resulted in him spending his nights sexually servicing complete strangers, often men he would not otherwise want to have anything to do with. Actually, that’s not the last thing I think of. I don’t consider it at all. Even dwelling on the question would put a dampener on the evening’s fun. If I did, I’d feel guilty about those circumstances and double or triple his tip. Or, if you are not a fan of the plight of the poor theory of working as a bar boy and prefer the thought that they do it because they are too lazy to get a real job, I’d be too busy planning on everything I was gonna make him do to make damn sure I got my money’s worth. Either way, contemplating motivation never mixes well with sex. That’s why the gods put your brain in the head that they did.
Having become friends with several bar boys over the years, I have had the opportunity of learning more about their lives and why they decided to make prostitution their career. Perhaps it’s not surprising that it’s always about the money. Those who I have become friends with turned to bar boy work because their options for employment were otherwise severely limited. Yes, some of them could have landed jobs as a clerk at a 7/11 – although I say ‘some’ because even entry-level jobs like convenience store or fast food counter help often entail education or skill requirements beyond their abilities or experience – but faced with the choice of the minimal take home pay from an eight to ten hour six days a week job compared to the chance of hitting it off with a rich farang because you were willing to get naked with him, I think I’d go with a life of blowing for dollars too.
None of the guys I’ve built a friendship with over the years are of the mercenary bar boy variety, the guys who are strictly in it for scamming every satang out of customers that they can. That’s not to say they don’t exists, just that there’s not much room for friendship in a relationship where your goal is depleting the other man’s bank account. And it’s not that those I have built a friendship with don’t know all those tricks too. They’ve just decided not to employ them. Or to only employ them with customers who, by their own actions, demand it. The prostitute with a heart of gold is undoubtedly as big of a fantasy in Thailand as it is in the Western world. But as in any other type of service industry, there are those who value giving and those who value taking. There are those who believe that providing good service is the surest way to just rewards, and those who believe that it is incumbent upon themselves to grab whatever they can as quickly as they can.
Regardless of motivation or mode of operation, money plays the leading role. Because working as a bar boy is a job. And anywhere in the world, with any job someone takes, the basis is always the pay. For many employees the world over, cash is the only consideration. Whether you are selling sex or a Happy Meal, the reason for doing so is the same: the money you walk away with at the end of the day. But anywhere in the world and in every type of employment there are also those who love – or at least enjoy – the work they do and those who struggle to get out of bed and force themselves to show up for another day at work. Often working in the same job, side by side, at the same pay rate. And that goes for the boys in the bars of Bangkok too. The difference is the rewards that are not as tangible as cold hard cash. And while your wallet may not feel that difference, your heart does.
There have been numerous studies done on what motivates employees. Everyone assumes it’s cash – and it is – but surprisingly beyond a pay level that meets an employee’s basic needs, those intangibles mean more. Money really doesn’t buy happiness. It helps. But it is not the only consideration. And you can see the difference between a bar boy whose focus is on his customer’s enjoyment versus those who want to do as little as possible for as much baht as possible. Even when they themselves can’t articulate the difference.
The twist in the bar boy / customer paradigm is that the same can be said of the customer. Those who focus on the amount of cash their orgasm costs them – and what they get for that cash – seldom enjoy themselves as much as those who consider that money secondary. When the state of your penis’ happiness is at play, no one wants to stop and think about what motivates the guy you’re paying to make your best buddy happy. But maybe you should. Because there are orgasms and then there are orgasms. And just a bit of effort can mean the difference between a memorable night in the sack and landing yet another dud.
I’d like to tell you I know the secret to making every off you pay for in Thailand a successful one. ‘Cuz then I’d publish this blog on a paid subscription basis and get filthy rich off of your orgasms. But I can’t. Because I’ve had my share of duds too. Although possibly far fewer than you’ve experienced. The small number of bad offs that I have suffered through, after the fact, I’ve chalked up to letting my little head doing the thinking. There were enough warning signals that I shoulda known better. But my successful off batting average is high enough to earn me a spot in the Hall of Fame. And even those that didn’t end as happily as I may have wanted, I’ve often enjoyed just for the companionship of the bar boy I picked. So while I could scam you out of a buck or two for sharing my vast knowledge and experience, the fact is you already know the answer. Because what promises to ensure you get the most out of the interaction you have with a bar boy is no different than what motivates you in your own personal interactions with others.
As anti established religion as I am, most of the major faiths share a common tenet that holds true. In Christianity it reads ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’. Uh, that’s about how you treat them, not how good of a blow job you give. Conversely, for the glass half full folks and those who often land a dud, there’s ‘You reap what you sow’. The positive aspects in your interactions with others, those things they do or say that make you feel good, are no different than what a bar boy will find attractive about you. Regardless of how unattractive you are. A bit of respect goes a long way. Flattery even further. Everyone (well, most of us) would prefer spending our time with someone who is fun to be around, with someone with a smile on his face rather than a dour look that broadcasts his widespread resentment in life. And never underrate the importance of status to a Thai. He gets his from yours. And you get yours from the pride you show in yourself. You may scoff at such basic measures, but they mean a lot in Thailand. And those are the things that really get a bar boy off when he’s being offed.
Empathy too matters. Especially for those frequent posters on the gay Thailand message boards who like to claim bar boys are nothing more than prostitutes and should be treated as such. “Don’t judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes” is a well-known adage that can be traced back to the Native American Cherokee tribe; Harper Lee rephrased that sentiment in To Kill A Mockingbird when she wrote, “You never really know a man until you understand things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” That doesn’t just mean you shouldn’t dismiss a bar boy’s emotional or social needs because of the work that he does, but that you should also consider how your actions impact his both status and his view of you as a customer. Which takes a bit more work. But it is well worth the effort.
For example, there is currently a thread on one of the gay Thailand message boards about buying a drink at a gogo bar when you already know who you’ll off. In other words, you go to the bar having already picked out the guy you want to take off with the question being are you then obligated to buy a drink – which often serves as a cover charge – or can you just pay the off fee and skedaddle. I cringe whenever sexpats and sex tourists start talking about money on the boards. You’d think saving a buck was their main goal rather than the orgasm they traveled to Thailand in search of. Not surprisingly, everyone who contributed to this thread agreed that under those circumstances you should not have to pony up for the price of a drink; you are not there for the show, you don’t plan on being in the bar any longer than absolutely necessary, and often you may only be there to pay the off fee for a bar boy you already offed – it’s night #2 of your time with him, an unexpected pleasure, and you are only at the bar to pay his off fee again.
At first glance not buying a drink sounds perfectly reasonable. Although I’d question whether being reasonable or saving a few bucks is the motivation behind the act. Nonetheless, I can’t disagree. You are there only to hand over some cash, not to enjoy an evening at the bar. I’ve been in the same situation and arrived at the same conclusion. Primarily because I was thinking of it solely from my point of view. Fortunately the bar boy I was with was also a friend and felt comfortable enough in our relationship to point out what I’d missed.
Bar boys get tons of both status and good-will for bringing a customer back to his bar. The bar manager notices, appreciates the extra income, and will treat that boy accordingly. His barmates also take note of the ‘good’ customer he landed and his status among the group rises. Now you just have to decide which you value more: your $10 or the affect that money has on his self-esteem and the respect he gets from his employer and fellow employees.
Using the boards for advice back when I was a newbie, I learned that when you off a bar boy for a week or so it is not unreasonable to barter for a discount on the total of off fees you pay. The logic in that claim was based on two points: the basic idea that when you buy in bulk it should be cheaper, and that since bar boys are not slaves and get one day off per week, you shouldn’t have to pay an off fee for his day off. I dismissed the former. Bartering for off fees or tips based on the idea that you are owed a discount, or that neither the boy or the bar would otherwise get seven days worth of pay, is just plain cheapskate thinking. The little bit of money you save will cost you much more in the long run. But the latter made sense. Why should I pay a bar an off fee to cover a night when the boy would not be working at that bar anyway?
In this case it was a bar owner who provided me with the glimpse into the bar boy’s side of the equation. And again, it had not been a viewpoint I’d considered myself. Despite what we may think, a week in Phuket, for example, is not the jolly holiday for a bar boy that it would appear to be. It’s a stressful seven days of being away from his friends and family, spending 24 hours a day trying to take care of you, his customer. By paying that ‘extra’ day’s off fee, when he gets back to Bangkok he gets a free night off. Otherwise he ‘used’ his regular day off on your trip. And has to go right back to work again. That may matter little to you, but matters greatly to him.
It’s easy to think of the guys who work in the bars as sex objects because it is because of sex that we meet them. But they are human beings too and have the same emotional needs as everyone else. Even those who have become hardened from the years they’ve spent working in the bars. It’s amazing how something as simple as stopping on the way back to your hotel so he can have something to eat – that’d be food he is used to and enjoys – can make or break your night together. That’s the kind of thing that costs you little but can pay off big time. ‘Cuz a happy bar boy invariably leads to a happy ending. And he might even surprise you and not ask you for taxi money at the end of your time together.
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07 Tuesday Oct 2014
Posted Twinky Tuesday
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06 Monday Oct 2014
Posted It's A Gay World
in≈ Comments Off on How To Get Away With Murder. Or Gay Sex.
So here’s why Dancing With The Stars is so nefarious. Two weeks ago, being the dutiful son that I am, I stopped by to visit my mom (aka to make sure she hadn’t died over the past month and that her brood of cats hadn’t been feeding on her dead body) only to discover I hadn’t been as dutiful regarding my own welfare. My visit coincided with the new season premiere of that show where celebrities whose careers have tanked go to die at the speed of a two-step. Mom, of course, was thrilled to see me. I could tell by the affection in her voice when she said, “Get out of the way, I can’t see my show.”
The plus with visiting moms during Dancing With The Stars is that the show steers her conversation away from her medication regime. She hasn’t a clue as to who the celebrities appearing on the show are each season. And expects that I do. I’m not sure if most of those celebrities’ agents even know who they are. So I make up fake bios for the majority of them, never quite sure which of the two in a dancing couple is the dancer and which is the star. I’m right about half of the time. Moms on the other hand has an infallible sense of gaydar and identifies which of the celebrities are gay during each season. Like most, she assumes all of the show’s regular male dancers are.
This season she bestowed the ‘That Little Gay Boy’ title on some over-the-hill-was-once-a-teenage-heartthrob whom I didn’t recognize but who was so busy emoting his ass off that moms recognized him as a player for the pink team quicker than his partner could say, “No, you’re supposed to lead.” Huh. Moms is good. A week later I saw on the internet that he is one of those celebrities everyone in Hollywood knows is gay but no one says so. At least in his case he was until one of the judges mentioned during an interview that he was. Ooops.
Being outed on national TV used to be the kiss of death for an actor’s career. But then your career can’t get much deader than signing up for a stint on Dancing With The Stars. Besides, John Travolta just had a new movie come out so that proves American audiences are ready to accept gay men in mainstream movies. But that wasn’t what the nefarious part of the show was. The network’s trumpeting of its new season’s shows during the commercial break was. Granted, most people take a break and head for the ‘fridge during commercials, but when you are forced to watch Dancing With The Stars it’s usually better to schedule your away from the TV time during the actual broadcast. And I had to check up on moms’ cats anyway. Just to make sure they’d been fed. She doesn’t move as quickly as she once did and could easily fall victim to a pack of hungry felines even while still breathing.
So I’m sitting there watching a commercial for some car and trying to figure out just who it was that decided having your car instead of the driver decide when to brake was a good idea – although admittedly that might come in handy when Tony Stewart is behind the wheel – when a promo for How To Get Away With Murder came on. It was short, and told you nothing about the show. Other than Viola Davis must be in it ‘cuz she gives viewers a ‘I’m gonna fuck you until you scream for mercy’ look and then uses the title of the show as her punch line. I don’t know who wrote that commercial but they deserve an Emmy. Watching it, I’m sure that even that over-the-hill-was-once-a-teenage-heartthrob and no longer closeted used to be a celebrity felt a mild tug in his gonads. I know I did.
With the exception of poorly timed visits to moms, the last time I watched network TV was when Will & Grace was on. Okay, there’s the Olympics coverage too, but that doesn’t really count. A few years back thinking I’d missed out on something I shouldn’t have, I rented the first season of 24 on DVD. After sitting through an excruciating three episode stint of extremely bad acting I was reminded again that you should always stick to your first impression. Kinda like with that guy you swiped left on on Grindr and then went back, hooked up, and discovered he really was the dud you originally assumed he would be. Or the bar boy who tucked his cell phone in the front of his shorts who at first you passed on offing and then against your better judgment offed anyway and found out that good things really do not come in small packages.
Nonetheless I couldn’t get Viola Davis promising to teach me things I’d only fantasized about from looking at Tom of Finland drawings out of my mind, and by the time Tommy Chong came on to prove aging ex-felon Latino stoned comedians can be sexier than closeted over-the-hill-was-once-a-teenage-heartthrobs, I’d noted the date and time How To Get Away With Murder would air and began immediately planning on the excuse I’d use to keep my boyfriend away from the house that night so that he wouldn’t catch me watching ABC. Okay, so I didn’t actually watch the premiere. I DVRed it. As did a lot of other gay men who couldn’t face the stigma of being known as a network television viewer. The first episode of How To Get Away With Murder was the mostly highly DVRed show in history. But that’s probably only because they didn’t have DVRs back when Janet Jackson flashed her nipple during halftime during Super Bowl XXXVIII.
But thanks to said boyfriend’s reliance on taking Ambien whenever he sleeps over at my place for some strange reason, I did manage to sneak in a viewing, and caught the show’s second episode too. The good news is that every time Viola Davis looks into the camera my crotch gets all warm and fuzzy again. The bad news is that the show has decided to use a wonky plot device that shows you the end of the season first, and then tries to throw in hints to prove you’re too stupid to get it while they slowly work up to that scene over what may prove to be too long of a viewing season. Which usually means the plot isn’t worth following anyway. But there is Viola Davis promising the unmentionable often (even though I already mentioned it) and the unexpected joy of a whole lot of gayness going on too. Plus a few male stars I’d do and who I’m sure won’t be appearing on Dancing With The Stars for at least another ten years. Overall I’d give the show a big, well-lubed thumbs up.
Now if I could just get the vision of that thumb belonging to Viola Davis out of my head, I’d be a happy camper.
Viola plays a scummy defense attorney sans either ethics or morals – which would make you think the show is reality TV, but it’s not – who uses her part-time job as a college professor to lure students into joining her firm as unpaid interns, which is the American version of sweatshop labor. Only cheaper. The students win brownie points by coming up with a defense that will help win Viola’s clients a Get Out Of Jail card, even though everyone one of them is obviously guilty as sin. Fortunately her students commit a few sins of their own in their effort to get Viola’s thumb . . . well, you get the point. And one of the first sins committed in pursuit of Viola’s thumb – because gay guys are more familiar with the joys of anal thumbing – is the character played by Jack Falahee seducing an Asian nerd to help him hack into . . . eh. I forget. The important thing is Jack and the Asian nerd get naked and have gay sex on network TV.
Besides being the show’s title, How To Get Away With Murder is also Viola’s name for the class she teaches, and in a bit of a twist, also where the plot is going ‘cuz ‘someone’ kills Viola’s husband at the end of the season although since we’re relying on that wonky plot device we already know he gets murdered at the beginning of the season. It’s also what the American Family Association thinks about the show’s producers idea of sneaking in gay sex scenes that are not played for laughs on a network television show. You might think a gay sex scene – well, two now ‘cuz the show is batting 2 for 2 – might not be all that, but the Supreme Court was gonna take up the gay marriage issue this judicial season and just decided not to (thereby allowing same-sex marriages to become the law of the land in five states) because Justice Scalia watched How To Get Away With Murder and figured if it’s already on network TV there’s not much he can do other than to judiciously allow The Gays to take over America just like the Tea Party warned everyone they would.
And on ABC, The Gays rule the world. Or at least the American version of it. Not just on How To Get Away With Murder, but let’s not forget Dancing With The Stars too. Which must really piss off the Duck Dynasty homophobe clan ‘cuz one of their daughters is on this season’s Dancing With The Stars and ABC not only snuck in a gay no-longer-a-celebrity on that show, but then used it to promo another show filled with gay sex. And that’s what proves America is still great. But let’s get back to the important thing: the gay sex on How To Get Away With Murder.
It was gratifying to see a gay man get some for a change on network TV, even more so that he did while having an ulterior motive ‘cuz usually our ulterior motive is just about getting some dick. It was also gratifying to see a gay nerd get some, especially from a hottie even if that never happens in real life. And it was even more gratifying to see a white gay guy get some Asian dick – although technically it was Asian ass – ‘cuz white/Asian sex is seldom seen on television and now that it has been and was gay we can assume that all future Caucasian and Asian pairings on the networks will be gay ones. Kinda like all the Law & Order and CSI spin-offs. As it should be. It’s also gratifying to hear that the show’s producers intend on continuing this trend and that there will be lots more gay sex on How To Get Away With Murder even though the gay characters act like regular guys instead of like the visibly gay gay characters that Ryan Murphy likes to include in his shows because America has always been more comfortable with queens. Which only proves when Viola Davis gives you that ‘I’m gonna fuck you until you scream for mercy’ look you really can get away with murder. Or even nationally broadcast gay sex.
But gay sex alone does not a hit drama make, even though it should, and since the producers decided to scrap the idea of a plot they’ve instead went with a cast of hunky male characters. And not so hunky but still doable ones too. Harry Potter fans will be happy to see Alfred Enoch who didn’t play one of the after-the-fact gay characters in that franchise but then since he was filling the race card you couldn’t expect him to fill the gay card too. And since he’s already had a shirtless scene in How To Get Away With Murder, we’ll give him a pass. Charlie Weber, on the other hand, did recently play a gay character on Warehouse 13, and was on Buffy the Vampire Slayer too. Which is kinda gay. Charlie also started his career as a model for Abercrombie & Fitch. And you can’t get much gayer than being in front of Bruce Weber’s camera.
I wrote Matt McGorry’s character off because there was much better eye candy on parade, but have now discovered that his gay tie-in is that he was on Orange Is The New Black, a tranny prison show on Netflix, and is a former body builder to boot; which of those two is gayer I’m not gonna call. And for DILF fans, Billy Brown plays Viola’s Davis’ sex toy, which may not be gay but requires him to be shirtless a lot and since he was in both Star Trek and Starship Troopers 2 nerds have a reason to rejoice too. As if they needed another since the aforementioned gay Asian nerd gets his thanks to Conrad Ricamora, the out Filipino actor who gets to play with Jack Falahee’s naked body on camera. Which as cool as it is would be even cooler if the show was on HBO. ‘Cuz then we’d get to see Filipino dick too. Which, as you know, was made for the small screen.
And there’s the rub. Even if it is on network TV for all to see. When even a supreme court justice recognizes that The Gays are here to stay and gay rights and equality are a foregone conclusion, when even Cheerios – The Breakfast of Champions – is running commercials with gayness in them, when even being outed on Dancing With The Stars fails to make headlines, it’s a shame that finally seeing two gay guys do what gay guys do – without either being a comedic, effeminate, campy queen – on network TV is newsworthy. I don’t know whether How To Get Away With Murder will make it to a second season or not, or if they will develop a plot for Season #2 if they do. But it will go down in history as the show that broke the normal gay guy having sex on screen barrier for network television. And the gods only know what that means for next season of Dancing With The Stars.
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