There's no place like homo

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.

This weekend, I slept with a dozen men. A dozen near-perfect, sweet-smelling prom queens. Their bodies were strewn across floors, beds, stairs--all in various states of capacity as well as undress. I was immersed in the Mecca of gay culture. It was Gay Pride Weekend in Los Angeles.

Late Friday night, I drove to Daniel’s place in West Hollywood with my sleeping bag, toothbrush and nothing else but the clothes on my back. He and his friends had planned on giving me a makeover. I was to wear his clothes, use his hair products and go deep into the gay lifestyle, all weekend long.

“Fags are the ultimate test,” Daniel said on the phone, beforehand “You’ve fooled the breeders, let’s see if you can fool Mississippi.”

I had no idea what he meant.

Daniel’s place served as a flop house for gay boys from across the country. Over the course of the weekend, there were hundreds of people that came through his doors. It was like a gay prom, gay marriage and gay birth all in one intoxicatingly gay weekend. It was a release, a feeling of belongingness. This was social upheaval with feathered boas striking down bible-belt convention.

Friday night, I arrived around 11 or so. Daniel opened the door.

“Fabulous, you’re here.”

“I thought you were having the party tomorrow night," I asked.

“Oh, these are just 50 of my closest friends, now get your bitchy ass in here, Sex Tape, Everybody, Sex Tape’s here.”

Oh no, they seemed too happy to see me. Something didn’t feel right. And he was calling me Sex Tape. I forgot he game me that nickname.

“Come, come, come,” Daniel said as he ushered me into the door and down the hallway with a strange cream drink spilling all over the floor. He was visibly intoxicated.

“Have a seat, we have to see how Pennsylvania has wreaked havoc on that body of yours, off with the shirt,” he said.

I think Daniel has requested me to remove my shirt on at least 15 different occasions this month, so it has become second nature to me. Off it came.

“Oh, Lord, I hate you sex tape,” he said sliding a finger across my chest. You’re almost as smooth as the day you got waxed. I had another appointment just in case, but you won’t need it.”

Others began to filter in the room, as if Liberace had just been awakened from the dead to play Stardust.

“Everyone, this is sex tape, uh excuse me, Rob,” he said as about five guys per minute entered the room.

“He’s the one I told you about, look at how perfect his abs are. Don’t you fucking hate him?”

I got up and shook hands with a few guys. They were a good mix of race, size and overall handsomeness. My spider senses were tingling. Something was up.

“We were just looking at your blog,” his friend from Arkansas said, “You’re fucked up, Rob Lowe,” he said giggling with a gay/southern lisp.

“You fucking told them,” I said to Daniel.

He smiled.

I had asked him to keep my straightness to himself. Shit, we had talked about this. I would test my powers against his friends gaydar. It was a diving plan, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. The social experiment I was planning on them, was being planned on me.

“Yea Rob, we went to 'Plan B.' You’re our Ken for the weekend. Sorry.”

“What exactly does that mean, beyond the obvious?” I asked.

“Well, you’re our hot little straight boy that we play dress up on, just like when we were kids. And then we unleash you at pride," he said smiling, "You're anatomically correct, right?”

The tide had turned. Not only did I avail myself to Daniel to change me as he saw fit, I also had opened myself up to gay guys from Mississippi and Ohio. Some of which were leather dudes. There was too much of a cross-section. I was about to become gay by committee. This would no doubt end in fashion disaster. Even a straight guy could see that coming.

“That beard has got to go, he looks like a bear, and his skin looks so good on the back and chest. We need people to see the face,” said one, entering the room.

“I like that he looks like a bear. Like Brad Pitt,” said another.

“People,” Daniel said while making strange gay hand movements that could only be achieved by years of practice, ”nothing gets chopped, sliced, diced, nipped or tucked from this boy without the expressed written consent of yours truly, got it?”

Everyone smiled.

“Now keep your hands off,” he said. I’ll give you a say...Maybe on the footwear.”

"Ooh, the Brunos," said Tim the Spinner.

"Zip," Daniel declared with hand across mouth gay authority.

So Daniel had established his dominance. I was happy about that. I trust him more than the rest of these guys. He knows what’s best for Rob Lowe, and I'm not sure if Bruno Magli fits that bill.

“Now, shoo,” he said as he wisped them out of the room with his hand.

As the crowd began to filter back to their body shots and Donna Summer, I realized one thing. These guys didn’t want to just to make me over. They wanted to try and turn me. It was the old frat boy/lesbian conversion fantasy. Except this time I was the fantasy to be converted. Because, I was more than just Daniel’s hot straight friend, I was a novelty notch. Can’t anything ever be simple, I thought as a light bronzer was applied to my face?

“Close your eyes,” Daniel said, as he wiped around my face with a stained makeup sponge.

I closed my eyes. And I clicked my heels. But now, there was no turning back.