Straight To The Heart

Don't we all love "Will and Grace?" And why do we love it sooo much? When I say we, I am of course speaking to all my many single girlfriends out there in America, those who haven't found Mr. Right yet so become - gulp - a you-know-what hag and hang onto some poor unsuspecting well-heeled gentleman who's read "Gone with the Wind" 27 times.

You know what I'm talking about, ladies.

Now, all of this is fine fantasy-making until we take it a taaaaaaaaaaad too far. And I think you know where I'm going here, too. If you don't, then read on. Well, read on anyway.

Where was I? Oh. See, we meet these gay guys and since we aren't gay -- ok, maybe once we thought we might be when we saw Shakira shake it on MTV and felt a shiver of something that might or might not have been salsa dribbling on our lap -- our little love feelers don't know how to screen out the barrage of testerone clouding our thoughts.

There is, after all, no bad sperm where we are concerned. There are only bad men who have it.

So what would happen, then, if we met a gay man who -- oh my gosh -- all of a sudden does not seem quite so gay? You were what, we ask, married? You what, we ask, lived with somebody? You are touching me, uh, where?

This is our fantasy come to life. This is the ultimate. This is the man we can both shop with and bop with, this is our love machine/drag queen wanna be, the man who tells us things like, "That shirt doesn't quite work for your complexion" Or who causes our hulky roommate to sneer, "That guy's a pussy!"

This is the man for us.

For, not only will he want to cuddle, we think, but he'll take us on a moonrocket exploding love cruise to the netherworlds of ecstasy for the price of a subway token -- er Metro card -- uptown. He is our Uptown Boy and all we're thinking is, come on down.

For me, the fantasy hit a little quicksand when I invited a writer friend over for the weekend. I didn't exactly invite him; he invited himself. We were going to Martha's Vineyard so I could write a story. He thought it would be convenient to crash at my pad so asked if he could stay. Since we'd had such a fun first lunch together -- during which I realized I was attracted to him, then scolded myself for falling for another gay man -- I said sure. I also figured it was harmless, a real pajama party.

Problem was, he wasn't gay.

"My last girlfriend thought I was gay," he said.

"Oh?"

He could tell I was keeping something in.

"It's ok," he encouraged. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Well, uh, I was thinking the same thing ..."

That's when he did something a little more romantic than any of my previous gay male friends. Heck, I only made it to hand-holding with Paul Jacoby when I was 27 and that was because he thought the tequila was getting to me and wanted me to maintain as the nice Pasadena police officer strolled by.

So the next day, driving up to Martha's Vineyard, it occurred to me that I had either been hoodwinked or kidnapped by an imposter, a straight man posing as my new gay friend. Did he or did he not read "The Lovely Bones" and rave about "The Hours?" What straight man behaves this way! What gay man sends shivers down my body as he did! I ask you, your honor, am I nuts?

Well turns out, yes. I am nuts, cuz I behaved with him as I have a few other guys I've pushed away too quickly.

And it is tragic, really. With the others there wasn't much to lose but a few rolls in the hay. With this one I may have lost someone much more precious.

I lost the one man who understands why Scarlet loved Ashley like she did, but settled on Rhett.

Laurie Wiegler is a Stratford, CT-based free-lance writer whose credits include Entrepreneur, San Francisco Focus, San Francisco Magazine, Office.com, About.com, The Singles Cafe, MUSE (Canberra, Australia) and dozens of other publications. Laurie is currently searching for Mr. Right in Manhattan and getting plenty of material for her next article.

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