Runaway Underpants and Other Jealousies.

So the other night, on my way out of another night of BB fun, I had the strangest and random moment in a long time. I was on my way home at 3 am, wandering the streets of Studio City and enjoying the brisk night chill, as I tend to do. My favorite part of the job is the odd hours and the chance to enjoy the city at rest, a combination of damp grass and light breezes to accompany me and my meandering thoughts.

As I made my way back to the main street and light traffic, the oddest thing I have seen in awhile startled me. A man jogging in white underpants and a sleeveless t-shirt. We both came to a startled stop and just were frozen for the moment; me thinking about personal safety and him thinking whatever one is prone to his position.

After a brief pause, pun intended, there was flash of something more coming into the situation. The jogger gave me a slow stare and slight nod as he stood there with the slow smile. The “wanna find somewhere and fuck” smile. I am quite familiar with said smile for a million reasons beyond this and had a moment of sight hesitation.

And, yes, the guy was hot. A little bit older, obviously self-assured given the outfit and had a nice smile. I know some of you are thinking “what nerve” or ”how could you” but the truth is, this comes up more often than not. And I did roll the idea around in my head for a beat longer than need.

The truth is, in the gay community, this could be considered a regular social situation. The idea that you could just meet a total stranger and go home with him is a standard practice. You can go and legally pay for a night of hot sex at a bathhouse or just place an ad on line and get satisfaction with nothing more than address or a name to go on.

I’m not saying this doesn’t happen in the straight world; I am blessed to have a handful of friends who does this with such penance that it never ceases to amaze me. But when I rule out all the stories of sex with college friends, co-workers or even roommates of roommates, I am left a very small number of straight friends who have done the “I don’t even know if I have the right name” sex. And when I rule out all the ones who have regretted the nameless sex then I left with maybe a hand to count them on.

And that’s where the jealousy comes in. Because even with my friends who have done the one nightstand, there is a pattern, a series of moves to be made. There’s the buying of drinks, the agony of bodies dancing, the tit for tat verbiage worthy of a Hepburn/Tracy film—the anticipation. If Mr. Runaway Underpants happened to one of my female friends it would have been a different story, most likely involving mace, self-defense moves and a 911 call.

That’s where the rub comes in. I just feel like I, and the gay community, have moved beyond the entire “I have a penis, you have a penis, I’m sprung, let’s get this done” mentality. I think it would be nice to get a beer out of the deal, a “hey what’s you sign?” or even a cheap dance grope and not feel date raped to Justin Timberlake. I think I am worth more than a quick up and down, tongue down the throat, sex in a parking lot type thing.

Though maybe I’m wrong and that is what it is. Maybe I am overestimating the straight community or downplaying my own. Maybe it is just that dirty and messy all around. All I know was that Mr. Runaway Underpants wasn’t gone get it for a million reasons—I was tired, I didn’t want to get grass stains on my new shorts, I needed a shower first. Or maybe I was just willing to wait till the next time I saw him, building my own sense of anticipation.