This part of my trip is driving on a big highway, balls out, and making tracks. I want to be in New York City by Friday night and I have a little less than half the country to cross.
Last night, while having dinner at a steak joint in Iowa City, Iowa, I noticed a handsome gentleman across the bar. Because I am me, I was able to seamlessly maneuver over there and strike up a conversation, all the while dragging along my sirloin.
When I went in for the kill he seemed surprised. After a while he said, sure, but how did you know that this might be something I like? Oh, let’s see:
You were staring, smiling and winking at me; You have a tiny diamond stud in your left ear; You have a slight gay accent; You almost fell off your barstool trying to get a look at my ass; You look gay.
All of a sudden, I became his confessor. He wanted to know why he is the way he is and how I knew I was gay and If I ever have fantasies about Lee Majors and Tom Selleck. I just don’t have the patience for this anymore. If he was an 18-year-old kid asking my advice, sure. But, he’s 48 and has access to the Internet. I told him to Google, “coming out of the closet.”
As I was leaving, he ran to catch up with me and say that he still wanted to get with me even though he’s never been with a man before. It’s refreshing to know there are still so many virgins in this country. I’ve met several of them on this trip, all in their 30s and 40s. I guess they’ve just been waiting to meet someone like me.
Here’s why he will stay a virgin. As we were walking to my room, he told me that he can’t kiss me because his mouth is dryer than a popcorn fart. Okay, game over. I sent him back to Nebraska and his wife.