"Honey, there's a naked man in our bed."
This is the hackneyed dialog you'd expect in an X-rated movie. But the other night, my husband proffered that tantalizing hors d'oeuvre as I was twittering at the kitchen table.
Three possible reads on this statement:
1) My husband is kidding around.
2) He's delusional and should get himself some professional help.
3) There actually is a naked man in our bed.
With everything I've written about Michael, it's not difficult to imagine that either number one or number two was the correct interpretation. But, in fact, a naked man was in our bed.
Now, you'd expect your average X-rated movie hunk, the kind who suddenly appears in random beds, to be youngish, about six foot four, two hundred twenty pounds with a handsome mug. And as it happens, this fellow, who I'll call Buff for reasons of anonymity and perverse pleasure, was all those things; a glorious specimen of male pulchritude sprawled belly down on my cafe au lait sheets. His body hair was minimal and there were two ripe juicy cantaloupes where an ass should be.
I looked back through the many colorful years Michael and I have shared, and the last time this kind of sexuation presented itself was...NEVER. And I have to be honest, with thoughts of melon balls dancing in my head the prospect was excruciatingly tempting.
This is what you don't know... Buff came to us in need. Suffice it to say, he was going through a rough patch. And although he presented himself like spicy ahi on Egyptian cotton, it felt as if a trap was being laid and tremendous damage could take place. To taunt gay men with a chew toy like that when it's ill advised to take a bite is flat out cruel.
Here's what I walked away with: fantasies should remain fantasies, because once they elbow their way into reality all you are able to see are the cracks on the ceiling. (For some reason the image of a pet bunny boiling on the stove comes to mind.)
Regrettably, we encouraged Buff to get dressed, and after a 911 call and some help from local law enforcement (trust me, it was a crazy evening) Michael finally drove Buff home.
He has since received help. His Mormon mother came down from Idaho and I believe a medication regime was implemented.
But next time, oh Fantasy Granter, when I wish for a luscious linebacker to lounge naked on my bed, just ignore me...or let's learn from our mistakes and add the following codicil: keep the crazy at bay!
Mommy With a Penis (The Show) opens February 13th in Burbank. All the info is in the previous post. Love to see you all there!