I've just returned – a little bit out of breath – my gay persona still intact – from an Ex-Straights Anonymous retreat.
Usually I would never under any circumstances attend a biased, sex-bigoted group of any kind. It would be 10 seconds of aversion therapy and out the revolving door.
Some of my best friends are straight. (There are four. All of whom I'd have no problem introducing to my censorious Great-Aunt Betty if she were still alive and kicking. As straights go the four are pleasant. If somewhat wacky.)
But one, regrettable to say, is very unhappy being hetero. Name's Randy Rompers. He pleaded with me to go proxy for him. "I'll give you fifty bucks and a back rub if you'll attend Ex-Straight Anonymous retreat, and find out if its something I'd like to try."
For the record, Randy's been married six times, has twice that number of kids – and, God only knows why, he's managed to avoid paying child support for all of them. Three of his ex-wives took him to the dry cleaners. Big time.
Apart from liking the name, I suppose the only reason that I've associated with Randy – I'm careful in befriending dudes who fail to live up to a Knight-in-White-Shining-Armor image – is that he seems so desperate to change his sexual orientation. (Why should only gays be given the opportunity?)
I found myself feeling sorry for Randy, now 26. Especially when he tells me he's cheated on all six wives, and to date has had "intimate, but unsatisfying clitoral encounters" with 2,433 woman last year. (That's 6.66 clitorals per day. It's no wonder the poor jock can't hold a decent job and draws SS disability.)
So, perhaps out of misguided sympathy for his dilemma, and some compassion for his sexual orientation that, when it comes down to the bottom line is a matter of choice, I agreed to proxy the ESA retreat.
I'll be frank with you: My real overriding concern was passing for straight. I certainly don't look the part. I don't look Alpha Male. (More like Lambda Leave-Me-Be.) I don't have a big belly. And I certainly don't look like your typical redneck football or hockey fan. Oh, yes. I certainly don't look masterful in a "wife beater" T-shirt, with or without underarm deodorant.
Turns out, of the 150 or so guys who ESA signed up, I was the trimmest. The youngest looking. And, judging from overheard conversations during check in, the brightest. (Probably because I had gone to one of the better finishing schools, Vassar, Off Campus, Gay Men, 1978.)
Returning, just a tad worse for wear, bored, ho-hum perplexed, I lovingly reported these notes to Randy.
1. If heterosexuality contributes to the 6 billion world-over population, it's a sin, but negotiable.
2. If wives or children are neglected or abused it's unpatriotic.
3. If minors are involved it's politically incorrect.
4. If sex is for pleasure, it's against God's theocratic plan for the universe, and a possible invitation for an alien Anti-Christ takeover. (Or, an affront to impotent tea-baggers on the political make.)
The Ex-Straight Anonymous solution: abstain from all straight sexual activity. Remember: Thinking's the same as "doing it." (Only cheaper.) Truth is there's no sin in being straight. The sin's acting on it. Don't engage in any activity that promotes opposite-sex dirty dancing. (Sublimate through basketball, baseball, football, all-night poker.) When you have a naughty straight thought, just snap a rubber band around your wrist. Hard! Harder! Hardest!
PS: It works. I haven't had a hetero thought in months. (Unfortunately, my right wrist has gone totally limp. Blame Randy's back rub.)
