Levi Johnston Nude. London Preppy Semi-nude.

Every once in a while, I make a discovery on the internet that changes my life. A few weeks ago, I was on Google typing in all the familiar phrases into the search field: "london preppy nude", "celebrity penises", "zoloft common questions", "baby deer eaten by lions at national zoo."

Usually, these searches result in, nothing, disappointment, hopefulness, nostalgia (in that very particular order). But this time was different. This time I was met with nostalgia, hopefulness, something, and disappointment (in no particular order). This time, using a sophisticated methodology, I was able to finally find an uncensored picture of the man known as London Preppy. And after I found the one, I found like, ten more. And then, I found his name.

Caveat emptor, these pictures are in fact, not nude. Well, there is one picture where there is nothing between me and his pee other than a strangely shaped, tangerine colored hat (story of my life). But by uncensored, I mostly mean his eyes aren't covered with that annoying red rectangle that keeps us from peering into his soul. In fact, there is not one butt butt or pee pee to be found. Which is disappointing, but I especially like the one where he is wearing an unhemmed t-shirt and has dirt on his face because it makes it look like he was just attacked by some sort of large, brown bear.

I hope this entry doesn't make him mad if he ever finds out. Maybe he, along with Dr. Izzie Stevens and I, wishes/wish that his/our nude/semi-nude/semi-formal/semi-former modeling days were left in the past. And maybe he doesn't appreciate annoying-ugly-fat people digging these pictures up and plastering them on their walls and getting them imprinted on their bedsheets. And that is why I'm not going to post them, say where they were, or say his name. But I'm keeping the bedsheets.

But it is a shame he has to cover them, because they really are beautiful eyes.

He said in a terrifying, stalkerish way.


But I do not owe the same debt to Levi Johnston so here they are.


Figure 1: I like how in this one, they don't really show me anything, but his hair looks so curly and nice.


Figure 2: I like how in this one there is a miraculous white line going horizontally through the picture across his back.


Figure 3: I like this one.

Maybe This Time

The day after everyone decides to burst out of the closet in Salisbury, we avoid looking at each other in the eyes. Inwardly, I wonder if he meant what he said. I want to get him to say it sober. I want to sit on his lap. Instead,we go back to pretending we are straight. We sit far apart and hum along to Lady Gaga on the car ride back.

Several weeks after returning from Salisbury, Tall Blonde Alcoholic, Average Brown Quarter-Asian, and I get mildly/wildly intoxicated. We end up in Average Brown Quarter-Asian's dorm room. I lie horizontally on the foot of her bed and decide that it wouldn't be that bad if the sky fell down on me. Tall Blonde Alcoholic walks over to the bed and lies next to me with his head on my chest and his arm around me. And though he would have blamed it on the alcohol if I asked, I feel like the sky has indeed fallen down on me.

Over the next few days, I consider what has occurred. No doubt Average Brown Quarter-Asian is considering designs for my life. But I conclude that he is an alcoholic and probably thought I was either a pillow or an oversized bottle of spiced rum.

A week later we are both sitting on the couch in my apartment watching Chicago. I've had a few drinks and I find Renee Zellweger irresistable. So over the course of the movie, I inch closer and closer to where he is sitting. He has had a few drinks and he finds Catherine Zeta-Jones irresistable. So over the course of the movie, he forgets to inch away from where I am sitting.

I tell him it's late and that he should just sleep in my place. I then systematically talk him out of every article of clothing he is wearing. When I wake up and sober up, I think to myself while he sleeps silently, "There is no way that this has just happened." And then I think, "He is probably gay."

Over the next few weeks, the occurrence repeats itself several times. Always the same, he gets drunk, I get drunk, he wants to make out, we end up in bed together. When he wakes up from his drunken stupor, he realizes his huge mistake. And for the next excruciatingly sober hours, days, weeks, we ignore the homoerotic tension and pretend nothing is going on. He doesn't express any sober or reasonable desire to see me or be with me. I express my desire to drown myself in the Tidal Basin.

Some lessons are never learned, and this is mine. This is just further evidence that nobody on this planet is physically capable of wanting me. In which case I might as well live a life of solitude on the Moon, which incidentally has water. Ready my spaceship.

And although he really is special, out of all the silly boys, I have a feeling this one will disappoint me the most.

HIV Is Not FUN

I feel like it is every gay boy's rite of passage to, at some point, believe they are dying of AIDS. My coming of age came last week when I ran around campus thinking I was dying and said goodbye to everybody I've ever met.

On Monday morning, I brush my teeth, look in the mirror, and wonder if I should take my mom's advice and get a nose job. As I spit out the toothpaste, I find that there is blood in it. My first impulse is to try and remember if I bit my tongue in my sleep or if I tried to bite a hot guy's ass last night. I call my friend Tall Brunette J.Crew and this is how the conversation goes.

Me: Good morning. I am dying of AIDS.
Her: It's 2pm. Why do you say that.
Me: I am bleeding from my gums.
Her: Are you brushing too hard?
Me: No, it's aids.
Her: Or it's gingivitis...
Me: That is disgusting.

Later in the afternoon, I sit on my bed and use every bit of emotional strength I have to regret those two random hookups. Those freaks probably had AIDS and now I am dying.

The next day, I wake up with an intense fever, a sore throat, and a strange feeling of nausea everytime somebody mentions vaginas (the last symptom is not abnormal). But this occurrence, along with the bleeding gums is too much of a coincidence for me.

I walk to the health center and go straight to the front desk, demanding to know where the HIV testing lab is. Every head in the room immediately turns to look at me. Obviously, they've never met a gay whore before. I smile and wave. No pictures please.

Inside the lab, a 20-something African immigrant tells me he is going to administer my test. At least, I think that is what he said. I cannot understand a single word coming out of his mouth. I am not optimistic about this situation and I try to remember where the nearest emergency exit is. But before I know it, he is walking towards me with a needle and crazy eyes. I try to turn my head slightly so I can read the name embroidered on his breast pocket just in case a lawsuit become necessary in the future.

When I come back the next day, I do not need to ask the front desk where the HIV testing lab is. I proceed there on my own. People watching me assume I am a regular at the HIV testing lab. Obviously, they've never met a gay whore before. I smile and wave. I will be signing autographs later.

There is a new doctor in the lab. He motions for me to come in. He tells me to close the door. Which I immediately interpret as an indication that I am positive and dying. He tells me I am HIV negative. Which I immediately interpret as an indication that I am negative, but still dead on the inside.

As I leave the health center, I get a text from Tall Blonde Alcoholic, "Did you go to the health center yet? Are you alright?"

I suppose for the time being, I am.

Salisbury, A Conclusion

After he had cried quietly in our arms for a few minutes, I stood him up to look into his brown eyes and see if he was ok. Average-Brown Quarter Asian motioned for us to all go back inside. I had been looking for the perfect chance to get rid of her so that Tall Blonde Alcoholic and I could get naked and make love on a bed of acorns so I told her that she should go in because it was getting cold and the people inside probably missed her. I would stay with Tall Blonde Alcoholic until his tears dried.

I wasn't wearing shoes since Tall Blonde Alcoholic had dragged me outside so abruptly. I motioned for him to follow me, all the while the acorns and the twigs on the ground poked at my feet, forcing me to tip-toe carefully across the backyard.

As we made our way towards a dark and secluded corner where our secrets could be contained, each painful step felt like an indication to turn around. He would be the first person I have ever told. (Keep in mind, I never told the ex-roommate who I've been screwing for about a year. In that situation, my homosexuality was just implied.) I never pictured doing this in Salisbury. I never imagined doing it just to make somebody else feel better. When we got to a good spot, Tall Blonde Alcoholic was pacing nervously. I told him to sit down, not knowing fully what I was going to do or say.

I sat on the ground, my back supported by the tire of an old truck. He sat next to me and started crying again. He kept repeating, "I can't believe I just did that. I feel like I'm going to throw up." I looked at him and realized I would do anything for him. And I really didn't want him to throw up on me. So amid the chaos, with a voice that was shaking from the cold and the nerves, I managed to mutter, "Hey, it's fine. I am gay too."

Over the River and Through the Hood

On Sunday night I am feeling particularly desperate and lonely. And the question of how far I will go for love is answered, literally.

Average Blonde Creepy found me on Manhunt a few weeks ago and had been aggressively courting me with the same message every few days for the past month. Always, "what sup," as the subject line and nothing in the main message. I was extremely concerned about why he placed the "s" where he did, when simply moving it to the other side of the space would make his subject line grammatically correct (assuming the use of an apostrophe). I also wondered if this man was really only capable of that one thought, "what sup," and if this was the true mark of a criminally insane man.

But Sundays are made for people like me to take their chances with the criminally insane. So when Average Blonde Creepy messaged, "what sup," I responded, "no tmuch."

Without wasting any time on the pretense that he cares about my personality, he asked if I wanted to "come over to his place." I responded by asking, "what would we do?" like there was any question. He said, "we can chill in my hot tub," and I said that was fine, "as long as I can get back in time for Desperate Housewives."

When I asked where he lived, he said, "_________." And though his location was annoyingly distant, I thought about how far Moses walked to get where he needed to go / I had nothing better to do. So I hopped onto the university shuttle to _______ ____ Station and took the _____ line to Chinatown where I switched onto the ______ line to ________ __ Station. In the process, crossing a river, entering another state, and finally arriving at what seemed like the set of The Wire.

So as I tried to position my backpack in a way that would shield me from stray bullets and judgmental eyes, I wandered around feeling shocked that I had agreed to do this, hopeful that this man would be decent looking/smelling/weighing, and confused as to which direction was north. But deep down, I had already regretted coming to this place at the end of the world and concluded that this must be the beginning of the end for me.

As soon as I got through the door of his house, this __ year old of a man immediately began showing me all of the things that make him important and relevant like the security piece that gets him into the White House and his autographed copy of "The Audacity of Hope Yadda Yadda Vom." He also talked about all the homework he had to do and how much he disliked math.

A rare glimmer of literacy emerged when he mentioned having to read a chapter from The Scarlet Letter. And though I had read the book my freshman year of high school, and though this guy was __ years old, I respected him for a brief, shining moment. That is, until he suddenly pushed me onto his bed and began furiously making out with me. And while I didn't stop him, I wondered deeply how we went from discussing the important themes of a Nathaniel Hawthorne novel to sucking face with my jeans around my ankles.

And as he continued to press his face against mine, I realized that no matter how far I traveled, I would still be starved for love. And pretty soon, starved for oxygen.

What Happens in Salisbury, Stays in Salisbury

As we stood at the side of the beach house in pitch black and silence, Average Brown Quarter-Asian and I searched desperately for something sympathetic to say. Even in total darkness, I could see the tears in Tall Blonde Alcoholic's eyes and I wanted to hug him and reassure him and take off his pants.

But as much as he was shaken by what he was revealing, I was shocked by what I was hearing and found myself unable to provide any sort of meaningful words of support aside from, "It's cool man, you're cool." Because even though I've suspected Tall Blonde Alcoholic to be gay for at least two years now, (and though my gaydar has yet to fail me), there is nothing quite like the bombshell of hearing somebody say, "I am gay," or in this case, "I'm not exactly straight."

So while Average Brown Quarter-Asian stood there, quietly interpreting his statement and considering her options, I too weighed in on what this could possibly mean. I thought to ask, "So on the Kinsey scale of 0 to 6, where would you place yourself," or "If I were naked in a room and Megan Fox was naked in the same room, what would you do?" But in an effort to remain sensitive, I refrained.

And after a sufficient period of awkward silence, Tall Blonde Alcoholic said, "I understand if you hate me and don't want to be my friend anymore." At this point, Average Brown Quarter-Asian and I jumped in with a chorus of "NOOOOO" and "Are you kidding?" Because all in all, Tall Blonde Alcoholic played this well. He picked all the right words to finally make me think I have a chance and make Average Brown Quarter-Asian believe there is hope for her too.

So as Tall Blonde Alcoholic continued by telling us how much it kills him to be different and judged by everyone, (and I pretended that this was the first time I've considered such foreign concepts), I noticed Average Brown Quarter-Asian inching closer and closer to him, trying to offer emotional but mostly physical support. And at that point, I knew that the race was far from over.

And all I can remember thinking was, "This sobbing mess of a boy will be mine if it's the last thing I do."

Salisbury Je T'aime

When Average Brown Quarter-Asian invited me to her friend's beach house in Salisbury for the weekend, I was extremely hesitant about going. I am not very close with her group of friends and I live in constant fear of being judged by strangers. Also, if I got into a huge fight with somebody there I would have nowhere to go and I would still have to drive back with them for 3 hours at the end of the weekend. Also, I hate using other people's showers and sleeping on the floor.

But I decided to go because Tall Blonde Alcoholic was going and one weekend alone with Average Brown Quarter-Asian would have given her an insurmountable lead in the race for his affection.

The first night we were there, there was a party in the beach house. I met an impossibly attractive club lacrosse player with an incredible body and a gorgeous face. While trying to come up with ideas to talk him out of his compression shorts, I noticed that one girl had started grinding her ass against Tall Blonde Alcoholic and he kept on backing away. A few minutes later, the girl came to me and asked me what was wrong with Tall Blonde Alcoholic. I laughed and said I didn't know. She said, "maybe he is gay." I laughed again and said, "maybe he is." I looked over at him and he was pretty much standing next to us and he probably heard the entire thing.

For the next hour he stood in the corner of the room and would not stop downing beers and taking shots of vodka. I couldn't decide if he was upset about what I said, the slutty girl who tried to dance with him, or the lab report he had to finish by Monday. Average Brown Quarter-Asian and I tried to get him to stop and ask him what was bothering him but he wasn't listening to either of us.

We went into the next room to discuss strategies of getting him away from the alcohol before he killed himself. But after a few minutes, he came into the room and told us to both come outside with him because he needed to talk to us.

He brought us to the side of the house and said,

"I want you to know that you two are my best friends. And it's probably already obvious but, I'm not exactly straight."

And all I can remember thinking was, "Thank God I came to Salisbury."