The Mangina

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54)and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.

I have been blessed with good skin—soft and supple. From the back of my neck to the crack of my ass, it is smooth, hair-free and generally well-liked by all who come into contact.

The chest is another story, or so I learned. I am slightly patchy around my abs and have a “yummy trail” (according to Daniel) that extends north from my belly button to my chest. This area is not necessarily Abercrombie hair-free, but it is not Magnum P.I. either. Let’s just say my minimal chest hair has never earned me any complaints. Until now.

My gay tour guide said “Oh, my God, Robert, you need to take care of that,” while his jiggly finger pointed to my abs.

“What do you mean?”
“That, that hair. That, furry MANGINA.”
“Daniel, that’s nothing.”
“No sugar,” (he calls me that when he’s feeling sassy) “this is NOTHING.”

In the middle of the Century City Mall, Daniel ripped off his shirt off to reveal a near-perfect chest, replete with anything resembling a follicle. I had seen him shirtless before, but never really noticed just how hairless he was, or how public we both were. It was Rob Lowe and a shirtless male beauty in an outdoor mall. So this is gay?

I knew what was coming next. And as much as I wanted to fight it, I knew I couldn’t.

“I’ll set you up with my wax girl,” he said.

This was going to be a long month.

The gay community has some pretty high standards, I found out. And men will go to great lengths to compete against other yoked and smooth men. As a hetero, I thought I looked pretty good, but I fell short within the gay community. The imperfections had to go.

I felt a bit weird about going to a wax place, but Daniel said he would call, and I had no choice other than to be a sport. He grabbed his cell phone and made the appointment for Thursday evening. I did enjoy the little back and forth with the hair lady as he explained it was for Rob Lowe, but not the one she was thinking of. Finally, someone else gets to experience my name trauma. But tomorrow, I’m guessing I won’t have the last laugh.

Off to exfoliate before the big day!