Flipping Out

So, yeah, I have a weakness for so-called reality television. I don't watch a whole lot of television, but when I do, I'm not really looking for quality. Back in the day I was a hardcore PBS viewer, but these days it's all Bravo, MTV, Food Network, and Style Network. I used to watch a lot of TLC, but when they stopped doing so much Trading Spaces and started doing more of the auto and tattoo shows, I lost interest. Couldn't they put those shows on Spike? Anyway, between those four channels, I can usually find something that's enough of a train wreck to keep me sucking at the glass teat for an hour. Longer if there's eye candy. As an added bonus, I know that if b&c comes into the den and sits down, there's a ten-minute maximum before he walks out in disgust. That always makes me smile.

I mention all this mostly because the other night I was vegetating in front of Bravo's latest, Flipping Out and wondering "How does Jeff Lewis ever have sex?" I don't mean how does he attract guys: he's kind of hot. I just don't understand how someone with the neat freak version of OCD ever engages in something as messy as sex. And, geez, who would ever date him?



Anyway, it's hard for me to picture JL as sexually active. How do you jerk off without messing up the sheets? It's possible that he only ever caramelizes the venison in the shower, I guess. And it's fairly obvious that his main man-on-man activity has to be sucking cock: every time he opens his mouth, you just want to shove something in it so that he'll shut the fuck up, right?

I've heard that some guys who are OCD everywhere else are animals in the sack. So maybe when JL gets really horny he writhes, yells, and even gets the pillows out of place. But then you have to figure that about five seconds after he blows his load, he's horrified at the mess, tossing the other guy out of the house, and screaming for Zoila, which would explain why she's always so tired.



My buddy J. lived with an OCD sufferer for about seven months before the relationship imploded. S2 (so called because he was J.'s second bf with the same name; I never met S1, but from what I've heard, he was a real piece of work, too) washed his hands about fifteen times a day (J. was proud of the fact that he'd gotten him down from thirty), and was physically incapable of leaving his room with either a wrinkle or a hair out of place. He wasn't all that bright, and he wasn't all that cute, and he wasn't all that interesting, but J. said they had sex approximately twenty times a week, so it wasn't real hard to figure out what the attraction was. Or why so much hand washing was necessary.

J. always reported that S2 was wild in the sack. I guess it was the one place where he was comfortable relinquishing control. His everyday demeanor was so, well, docile, that it was hard to imagine him as a beast between the sheets, but there was one time when I caught a glimpse of it. The three of us were on our way to or from dinner. I was in the back seat, and J. was driving. S2 had his legs crossed, and J. pulled off S2's loafer and sock and started to stroke S2's foot. His entire body went rigid and his breath quickened: goodbye Dr. Jekyll, hello Mr. Hyde.

(By the way, don't ever do pull that sort of shit with your friends. I have often said that one of the pleasures of being a gay man is to be able to discuss sex openly with your friends, but if you tell your friends that your boyfriend gets really excited when you play with his feet, don't play with his feet in front of your friends. I became an unwilling voyeur. I complained to J. about it later.)


So maybe Jeff Lewis is like S2. I don't know whether it goes as far as the coprophagia. It's hard to imagine that JL likes eating dirty hole, but I would never have guessed it about S2, either, and J. used to tell me that S2 loved nothing better than rimming him. Apparently, the "dirtier and messier" J.'s ass was, the more S2 got turned on by it. J. also said that he always made S2 use mouthwash immediately thereafter. I don't know that there's anybody out there who likes eating ass more than I do, but it's got to be squeaky clean. I mean, I'm sure that Windex doesn't taste good, but all things considered, I'd rather taste that than shit. You gotta figure shit tastes like crap, right? Although, if you think about it (and don't you wish you never had?), if a guy's got a dirty ass, you probably aren't going to want to play with it even after you've taken a squeegee and a bottle of glass cleaner to it. I bet, though, that there are guys out there who get into that. Maybe I should post an ad on Craigslist to find out for sure, but I can't decide whether I want to pretend to be a squeegee bottom or a squeegee top. What color hanky is that, anyway?

Did I have a point? Probably not, so I'll just end by saying that Jeff Lewis is hot, and if he lost his voice and was willing to travel, I'd probably blindfold him (so he couldn't see how badly our place is decorated) and do him. I'm not letting him rim me, though.

I'm off to Rehomo for a day or two. It should be more fun than cleaning the oven, and maybe I can finally tackle Proust while we're sitting in traffic. Have a good weekend, y'all.