A couple months ago (and to the shock and dismay of some of the folks with whom I conduct business on regular basis), I announced plans to jump back into the dating pool. Since “going public” or making my initial public offering (IPO), I’ve come to appreciate that dating is an investment strategy.

Does a high-risk, high-yield investment promise to net the savvy investor a range of compelling returns? Only time will tell. But let’s hope he has some meaty dividends. 🙂

I digress.  Dating is expensive.  There’s no doubt about it, especially in New York. Cue Bubba Higgins of the “Tri-State Area” on Mama’s Family circa 1987:

Match.com recently created an infographic about love and money, detailing what singles spend on their dating lives. Using U.S. Census figures and polling data, the company figured Singles in America spend a combined total of $82 million a year. The online dating service asked 5,327 singles (2,123 men and 3,204 women) to respond to a single question:  “How much money do you spend on your dating life per month?” They came back with $61.53 per single per month or what amounts to $738.36 per single in a year.

It’s not clear if those costs include advertising and self-promotion, but for yours truly, “keeping up appearances” is half the battle. I’m talking about everything from grooming to maintenance. Perhaps a new shirt is in order for a special occasion?

The new approach to my so-called “dating life” has forced me to take stock of my own position in the market. If I go out with this guy, will the value of some of my finer assets fluctuate? Take a dive? How will other would-be investors or spectators respond if they find out I slept with him on the third date?

And then there’s this question of how I’m playing the stock market. Monogamy has its appeal, but financial advisors always warn against putting all your eggs in one basket.  The best way to protect yourself is to diversify your portfolio (in this case, of men). I’ve applied that theory to the dating game (opting to see more than one guy at a time), and a part of me wonders if such a strategy should extend to romantic relationships altogether. I’m not whole-heartedly convinced.  But it occurs to me that by spending all our capital on just one person, we run the risk that we could lose everything if that relationship doesn’t work out.

Now that I’m a dozen entries into this blog, perhaps it’s time to put aside sexual innuendo and ambiguity for a brief moment. I flatter myself to think that anyone should find my metaphoric prose entertaining, particularly when most of my musings are based on little more than my own meandering experience.

Over the course of the last three months (and much to my surprise), this blog has gained an audience that spans the globe. WordPress shows views not only in the United States, but also countries in South America and Europe. And, it’s a small world. While I was away from New York on business in Indiana, I ran into an Indianapolis man whose ex-boyfriend in Brooklyn sent him a link to this blog suggesting he read it.

So what compels a jaded, 30-something homosexual to take to the web and publish his thoughts (dare I say feelings) for the world to read? I guess that goes back to my journalistic nature. Stories don’t mean anything when you’ve got no one to tell them to.

Now I write under an assumed name, using a double alias. Doing so allows me to freely express myself. By channeling some of my excess sexual energy here, I hope to free my mind and open myself to dating — perhaps even love.

As my last post certainly demonstrates, sex is easy to find. But, you can’t hurry love. And although, I appreciate The Supremes, I’ll let Phil Collins take it from here:

I need love – love to ease my mind.
I need to find time.
Someone to call mine…

How long must I wait?
How much more can I take?
Before loneliness will cause my heart – heart to break.
Now I can’t bear to live my life alone.
I grow impatient for a love to call my own.
But when I feel that I – I can’t go on;
Well these precious words keep me hangin’ on.
I remember mama said…

You can’t hurry love.
No, you’ll just have to wait.
She said love don’t come easy.
It’s a game of give and take.
You can’t hurry love.
No, you’ll just have to wait.
Just trust on my good times.
No matter how long it takes.

What I lack in a physical appetite for food, I certainly make up for in the bedroom. Sexually speaking, I’m hungry like a wolf.

As I’ve mentioned before, caviar is a homosexual’s delicacy. But that’s just a sampling of what’s available on the menu.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I prefer take out — to order my food in and have it delivered to me at home. To be frank, I’d rather shove chopsticks up my nose and scramble my brain than be forced to swallow some Asian invasion’s sweet and sour sauce. Most egg rolls are too small for my taste. That’s not to suggest I’ve passed on sushi. I’ve even given kimchi a try. Chop suey just isn’t my preference.

Please tell me you catch my drift. Otherwise the rest of this will be hard to follow.

I digress.

Last night, I had souvlaki. And the night before that, I got onto the SweamlessWeb that is Grindr and placed an order for Middle Eastern cuisine. Talk about a weapon of mass destruction. Most guys are lucky to have chickpeas in their nut sacks. This guy had falafels overloaded with hummus.

Aside from the Clear Eyes, let’s just say the dude knocked my pita into next week and now, I’m taking steps in easy strides.

Again, I digress.

When you’ve sampled such a worldly cuisine, you develop a refined palate. Now that I have a few wining and dining (dating) experiences under my belt, I appreciate the tasting menu my convenient “fast-food” lifestyle afforded me (and on some occasions continues to provide whenever the mood dictates). At the very least, I know which foods bring me comfort. For someone who’s never had breakfast in bed, it’s something to think dating may bring me one step closer to waking sunny side up next to a partner whose bacon I’ll make sizzle every morning.  All I’d ask for in return is a little cream to go with my coffee.  😛  Bon appetit!

A British guy who sparked public outrage after announcing plans to pop his homosexual cherry in front of a live audience took to the stage in London this week.  But it appears the hyped performance was little more than an April Fool’s joke.

Last October, Clayton Pettet said he and an unnamed partner would have protected sex in a peep show called “Art School Stole My Virginity.”  As Perez Hilton later put it delicately, “19-Year-Old Art School Student Will Create Art Through Penetration of His Virgin Butthole!”  He told the UK’s Daily Star, “Basically it’s like I am losing the stigma around virginity.  I want the audience to see if anything has changed between me and my partner.”

The ticketed event apparently attracted about 120 voyeurs who did not get to see anyone stem the rose and deflower Pettet.  Instead, they found him pants on, sitting with two piles of bananas.

At the time of Pettet’s announcement, Twitter was a buzz. Who could have predicted TheWrap.com’s Executive Editor @JosephKapsch would have been so spot on and insightful in calling the stunt “BANANAS” back then?!

The Huffington Post’s Gay Voices describes the scene in so many words (a HuffPo attendee was invited to insert a banana into Pettet’s mouth):

“I am your anal virgin,” he said. “You are my partner. Pick up a banana.” I immediately started to panic: penetrating a 19-year-old was not on my to-do list tonight, even if it’s with a piece of fruit. “Now penetrate with my mouth eight times.”

Dazed Digital goes into more detail and includes a candid interview with Pettet who explained, “There’s this partner I’ve never identified.  I think if people were expecting something else, it shows what they really wanted.  They didn’t want an art piece, they wanted to see me have sex.  If they came for the art, they wouldn’t be as disappointed — they’d know there were things to read between the lines for.”