I introduce Peter to my new friend that I’ve been seeing. It’s a historic moment, someone I’ve known for years in the straight world, knows my kids, my family, meeting that someone new that I’ve been sleeping with in this new world. It’s a short introduction, quick drink, Peter has to go. I walk him out of the restaurant. “I will say, he’s very attractive, how old is he”, Peter asks. He’s actually older than he looks. I tell Peter his age. “OK, this is a first for you, someone over 30”.

Midnight, my mobile beeps, text message from Peter, “I’m with 2 lesbians going 2 a strip club“. Oh dear god.

9:34 a.m. Thursday morning, a beautiful day in Washington, DC, it’s 70F outside, I’m thinking golf. Peter is not on line yet. I call, no answer. I wander down the hallway. Outside his door, I hear his alarm clock going off, his cell phone is ringing. I start banging on the door. 5 minutes later, the door opens. Peter stands there, no clothes on, a blanket wrapped around him, he walks back and falls onto the couch covering his head.

Like Patton entering a battlefield, I walk in and survey the damage, a half-lite cigarette on the carpet, 2 open bottles of wine, empty wine glasses, DVDs littered everywhere, his jeans inside out on the floor looking like they’d been pulled off of him, the huge plasma TV still on mid-way thru a porn movie. A rolled up Sri Lankan Rupee bill sits on his glass table next to half a line of remaining coke. I’m getting the picture. I go into his bedroom, a shoe is on the bed, light on in the closet. Something underneath the down comforter moves. OK – I’ve seen all I need to see.

Walking back to the living room, I announce to the mass of blanket on the couch, “You slut. Not lesbians, Peter. Lesbians don’t like cock”.

Peter’s head appears, “Chris – you need to modify that last statement, lesbians don’t like cock that much.”