“Caviar should be round and hard and of adequate size. And it should burst in your mouth at precisely the right moment.”
Goldie Hawn (playing the role of Joanna Stayton in the 1987 romantic comedy, Overboard) said it. Yours truly mocked it.
Talk about a line laced with sexual innuendo! What must have been going through my parents’ minds as they heard their then five-year-old little boy mimic it – over and over again – remains a mystery.
Point being: the writing was on the wall even at an early age.
Now as a single man of the homosexual persuasion, “caviar” is one of my favorite pastimes. And I’m not talking the “dollar-99 fish bait” one got in his early twenties either.
“Ugh! What is this gelatinous muck?!”
No, no. I’m talking about the cream of the crop.
What is it about my ability to make the alpha male go weak, buckle at the knees (while I’m on my knees), and moan in a fit of ecstasy and sexual pleasure that gives me such a euphoric high? Is it the lure that although he may seem detached and emotionally unavailable, I’m somehow hoping that the way to the gay man’s heart is through his crotch?
Sometimes it seems I’m a glutton for punishment.
Sure casual sex provides the thrill without the responsibility. But after spending the better part of the last decade bobbing for apples in the Big Apple and coming up empty, have I somehow managed to hollow out my core? At what point have I swallowed enough?