WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BOY GEORGE?

THE ONLY GIRL I EVER LOVED...

Hell yeah. THE BREAKFAST CLUB - Ally Sheedy. Saw the movie 5 times (in a theater). All by my lonesome. And Ally put popular Molly Ringwald to shame. Big time. She was pretty and smart. A deliberate original. Molly was all surface. Not enough to make a gay man's heart skip a beat or two. And what would you talk about?

Jesus, you look so pretty in pink? I can't stand pink. But I do love beauty and brains. Ally effortlessly rocked, while Molly merely posed. Give me an original girl, and I promise to stop being such a naughty queer boy. Seriously. Plus Ally really knew how to dance: Molly looked like Twiggy on acid. Sad, sad, sad.

P.S. Ally, a girl like you should never have to dance alone...

Humor © 2013 by Dylan Mitchell

#1 (from 100 Men I Have Slept With)

Chicago. Summer of 1980.
I was just an 18 year old kid
from the poor side of town.
I knew I was different, but
didn't know where to go to
find other people like myself.
The only queers I knew anything
about were the rich and famous
ones on television: Baby-voiced
Truman Capote. And maybe rugged
Rock Hudson (didn't he like to knit?).

So I got sick of being so lonely,
and when I heard about a gay
movie (CRUISING)
being shown at a theatre
downtown, I put on my finest jeans
and button-down shirt, and took
a bus all the way to State St.
I remember I was afraid of so many
queers in one place. It was a bit
overwhelming. And so many were
conspicuous and proud! While I'd
always felt ashamed of what I
was. And tried to hide in some
dark closet.

I don't recall much of the flick. That's
how nervous I was. And when
somebody suddenly put his large hand
on my innocent knee in the dark, I
jumped up to flee to the Men's room,
and was splashing cold water on my
face when Tom suddenly smiled at
me in the bright mirror: Thirty-something.
Long brown hair. Straight white teeth.
Dorky glasses. But with a jock's hard body.
He actually asked me if I needed a hero?

I followed him out of the theatre, and into
his car. He lived alone in an expensive
condo. After three glasses of white wine,
and a rough kiss on his couch, he suggested
I join him upstairs. In his huge bed beneath
a window of stars. I asked him if we
should at least close the curtains?
But why? He said. Then he kissed me
again, in front of the naked window. And
put my hand on his hard cock, as he
started to unbutton my impossible shirt.
And the straight world outside couldn't
stop me anymore.

Copyright © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell