SWM Looking For Room To Rent For Comic Relief

Steve O' Rafferty left his boyhood North Hollywood house for the first time in a week. It was Saturday afternoon. While slowly backing his 1979 mint, Lincoln Continental down the drive, he remembered the cat. That Goddamn cat! It came with his current border 3 months ago. At first he thought it would be nice to have a pet. He never had animals growing up and growing old.

After two weeks, it was pretty evident the cat was not fond of Steve. Terrified she was in fact. He didn't really care about that. What was killing him was making sure the cat didn't sneak out. Once she was out, he often forgot her, and locked up for the night. A few hours later, just as he was falling asleep, he would hear Cathead's shrill, incessant cries at the back door. Steve's new roomie was no help. He worked graveyard until 7am.

One beat after killing the engine, his roommate Paul knocked hard on the drivers side window.

"Oh my goodness" Steve said.

He was breathless, pale, and nearly incontinent.

"Gotcha! Hey Steverino, what's happening bro?" Paul laughed.

"Oh I'll tell you what almost happened. A heart attack! My Lord don't ever do that again!."

Paul didn't know this was as pissed as Steve ever got. Even in anger, Steve's voice maintained a feminine, gay lilt. The tone only a homosexual, or one who does homosexual-impression's, could create. Paul referred to Steve's voice and demeanor as 'sad, gay Stevie mode.'

Paul loved to tell the story of his first encounter with Steve. He called on the Craigslist ad for the room, and spoke to Steve. During the conversation, Paul got the vibe that Steve was a queer, older man. Queer meaning odd however. He didn't detect his penchant for young men in their socks, from that perfunctory phone call.


When Steve opened his front door, the whole picture came together. Then the flamboyantly gay picture slapped him in the face. Twice. Thwhap thwhap! Super queenie! Paul minored in Theater, so gay men didn't bother him. This was a little different though.

Steve answered the door in a yellow Kimono. He was wearing some recalled, musk cologne from the late 70's. Perhaps most disturbing, was the Lennon Sisters blaring out of 1960's console style hi-fi, "Woo Hoo- Chattanooga There You Go..." The 60 year old album cover showed the three modestestly dressed sisters wearing long ugly dresses of yellow silk. The exact same canary yellow color of Steve's kimono. Awesome!

He was about to run away, but the figure $350 popped in his head.He had $375 to his name. He needed a cheap room yesterday. So he let Steve speak.

"Well, well well. You must be Paul."

"Yes, yes, yes. I am he. Oh, and he is a he, if you catch my drift. I am not a he-man, or some idiot body builder, but I definitely like girls. I had sex with a woman last week. So ya know. I'm a normal dude."


"OK great.Some women are decent I guess. My Mother was a saint...Oh, before I give you the grand tour, let me just get something out in the open first. I'm an openly gay man. I thought I'd tell you now..."


"Naw, really? Wow, yeah cause I would have never figured it out. I appreciate that You being so open with me."

" You don't have problem with that do you Paul?" Steve asked.

"Oh hell no Steve. I was a theater major so I am used seeing other men blowing each other." Paul deadpanned.


There was a silence. Paul stared at the stained glass window behind Steve.The kimono with the stiff, white, Adidas tennis shoes? If he looked at him again, he was going to totally lose it.


Finally, Steve spoke, "Oh my that's rude.Those theater fags performing their business in front of you like that. F-Y-I, I am extremely discreet Paul. I would never subject you to my lifestyle like that"

Paul was thinking, why do gay guys always calling each other "fag" or "queen" or "she?" Aren't they on the same team? He never would figure that out.

"I didn't mind. In fact most of the time I paid them." Paul deadpanned.

Paul was being too glib. He needed to tone it down because Steve obviously was not a practitioner of sarcasm. Or he's just really dumb and gullible. Did Steve really just use "FYI?" Wow, this dude was a throwback. Way, way back, Paul thought.

"No bro. I'm completely messing with you. I have never seen men have sex. Unless you count the back of a gay porn DVD box I found in the woods." Paul laughed.

As a friendly salvo, he lightly punched Steve in the shoulder... and he flinched! No he actually covered up his face with his forearm. WOW! This guy was seriously gay. Paul noted the blank, confused look on Steve's face. He made a mental note - ''Sense of humor, completely absent.''

Steve knew that if he brought a date home, this Paul character would try to embarrass them. He was the same type of jerk that would throw his glasses in the pool during gym. Ah...who was he kidding? Steve hadn't had a "traditional" date in nearly four years. Since then, his dates had wholly consisted of Internet hi jinx, and bathhouse transactions with twinks in their late teens wearing silk man-thongs.


He and Paul definitely wouldn't be spending any time together. They appeared to be perfect, polar opposites. Good. Steve didn't like straight men that much. Especially loud, boorish young one's; like this Paul fellow. I bet he likes football Steve wondered. Ahhh!! The last guy watched football all the time, and had his his frat boy friends over. At least a couple of them were cute. And polite to Steve.

Steve assured himself that with the first sign of trouble, a swift eviction would culminate. Regardless of the anti-chemistry between them, he really needed the loot. Steve's sexual encounters had escalated into the fetish arena, which costs more.Recently, Steve was requesting escorts with black pressed business socks and shiny black leather wing tips. With $350 extra each month, he could get real weird. (He would in fact get really weird, real soon. )


Paul loved telling the story of that first meeting. He relished the part when he did his best "sad gay voice " (think Andy Warhol) and said, " First off, I am an openly gay man." No! The yellow Kimono, and The Lennon Sisters singing in no way was a clue to the gayness.

If Steve had said, "Look, I have Bruno Mars & Liberace's entire collection, compliments of my 4shared mp3 addiction." Paul wouldn't have batted an eye. Bruno and Lee are staples for gay men. But wearing a Kimono to the door in the Valley with a bad toupee, wasn't so much "flaming gay" as it was "out of touch and sad."

In his haste to tell the story, Paul always forgot to mention the toupee.The thing had a life of it's own. It would slide off to the side periodically through the day. Steve never looked in mirrors, so he never saw the horror. One time it was covering one side of his face, like a big earmuff made of hair. Of course his greasy, thinning gray hair would be sticking out all over the place.

Steve often rocked out to "Pennsylvania 6500" by Glenn Miller, and of course anything by The Lennon Sisters. Steve would close his eyes, transport back to the 40's before life got mean, and lose all sense of time. During those brief moments, Steve reconnected with his real self, and it felt good. Mom and Dad were there telling him he was special, and they would always be there for him. Why did the songs have to end?

Meanwhile, Paul got the impression a permanent loss of self took place decades earlier. That Steve O'Rafferty, an aging fighter of modern life, had thrown in the towel. He hoped not, he had to live here for awhile. He had no idea how this situation would work. He already knew how it would end: badly.