The R Word

My friend Javier derailed a President's Day Threeway with a conversation about race. I had such high hopes, too. A case of Sam was on ice, bath towels were fluffed, and bottles of hand sanitizer were discreetly placed everywhere in my fabulously decorated Hollywood apartment. I was ready for company. Javier refused to participate in this group because when I suggested our third guy should be my buddy (who's last name is Wu) it did not sit well with him. Javier put his foot down and loudly declared, "No no, if i'm going to be there, absolutely NO Blacks or Chinese."

If we compartmentalize all of our sexual activity into do and don't lists, we are operating on a slippery slope, because we all know that what turns us on sexually is difficult to regulate or explain. However, "No Blacks or Chinese" seemed no different than hanging a sign on the front door of an establishment to prohibit certain cultures from entering. Up until last week, Javier worked as a busboy at Ketchup in Sunset Plaza, but he doesn't speak much English, so things are difficult for him.

Adversity should equal fewer sexual restrictions, or at least teach us not to say unkind things. I uninvited Javier and purposely found a Filipino guy, to make sure he had a great time on behalf of all gay men from all walks of life.

I was more than happy to restore balance to the Universe in this fashion. His name was Patricio, and he was absolutely delightful.