Pet me, Papa.

With gay sex, being "in the moment" isn't encouraged. Gay sex is only hot when you pretend you’re being fucked by the Phys Ed instructor, or the older brother, or a hot str8 stud dom jock from the soccer team. In a sexual situation, fact-based evidence doesn't make sense. Reality is only interesting when it happens on TV.

I've known Benny for several years. He called me one day last week sounding a little depressed. Even though I was a little busy, I offered my Friday night to him, and he accepted. Earlier that night, I set out to achieve a base coat of primer, followed by two coats of paint on my putrid kitchen cabinets. My roommate was on an overnight trip. Benny told me he was attending a benefit nearby and came over around 11:30 with a six pack, to help me paint. He soon grew tired of the task, and went into the other room, which is when I decided to end my work for the evening as well. I didn't complain, because he was just horrible at painting. (He was using too much on the roller, and when you goop on paint that thickly, it causes drippage, which looks terrible once it is dries.)

Off came the clothes, and things got verbal in a variety of different locations. He had packed on at least 15 pounds of muscle since I saw him last. He was even hotter than I remembered him to be, but things that night were a little strange for me. I'm all for honoring your sexuality and exploring/playing around in the sack, and in the spirit of our friendship, I just went with it.

According to him, he was my son who had misbehaved. So as an actor, I decided to hold my own in this improv. On the dining room table, I said, "don't tell your mother I do this to you..." and in the 5th floor laundry room, I said, "I don't want your brother doing this to you anymore, you're mine." and in my str8 roommate's bed, I said, "I'm glad you didn't let Mr. Preston, the high school auto shop teacher see you this week, so that your ass was ready for Daddy."

He's only 5 years younger than I am and there’s no way I could ever be his father (or ever do these kinds of things with my son even if I had one) but I thought it was kind of hot. "I'm glad Monsignor Trask went out of town this month...you belong to me, little boy!" Once we finally made it to my bed, my bad little boy had completely forgotten his name, and I thought it was extremely sweet.

The only thing that really thrilled me about this night was being with him and making him happy no matter what he wanted.

But why did I have to pretend to be a Daddy when I already looked like a sexy contractor, wearing a toolbelt with splotches of white paint between my sweaty shoulder blades? Isn’t this role commonly fetishized too? I must have looked very hot in my own right—doesn’t that count for something?