Nando & The Shake-Diet Date

It all started with an innocent question. Should I go home tonight and watch another episode of Remington Steele on Hulu.com or should I pace an ad on craigslist for anonymous gay sex? Sex won. Now I know how the X-Files hunk, David Duchovny, feels.

By the time I got home I had over 15 guys responding to my "let's cuddle" ad. We all know chemistry plays a huge role in anonymous sex and I use the "cuddle" factor as a safety net. I invite you over to “cuddle” but if there is no chemistry then we painfully watch a movie with your unattractive wimpy arms around me when I suddenly “remember” my early morning meeting and start to yawn hoping you take the hint.

The majority of the guys take this cue and leave. It’s the 3% that will ask to stay the night which forces me to pull out the big guns. I lie and say I’m actually married and point to the photo of me and my best friend Christina standing underneath the Eiffel Tower in Paris. The photo is stuck to my fridge by a Pakistani flag magnet that an ex-boyfriend left behind (it was the best thing I got out of our year together). Chris and I took that photo years ago so it adds to the validity of my lie. At that point the majority of men will be insulted and rush out in an angry tizzy. It’s the 6% that will still ask to stay and confess they too are married. At that point I get disgusted and tell them I can’t have liars in my inner circle! Sometimes you just can't win.

Out of all of my anonymous gay safe-sex/cuddle replies, Victor (from Columbia) was a cut above the rest. He had all his teeth, no visible scars, and as far as I could deduce, he wasn’t the type who wore white socks with dress pants. Instead, he looked creative, masculine, and as if “hot passion sex” was his middle name. Actually, his middle name was Rudolfo, but you get what I mean. In his photo, his smile was inviting as he looked out of a window in his office while wearing a European-cut suit.

I e-mailed Victor back with excitement, vigor and high expectations. He responded back asking for my cell phone number which I personally think crosses the line. Asking for my number is so personal; I'd rather e-mail him my address and have him show up at my apartment with a bottle of Vodka and a large tube of cherry flavored lube. What? Don’t judge.

I gave him my number, against my better judgment and he called.

Victor: (In a sexy Barack Obama voice drenched in masculinity, confidence and virility) Hi, is this Nando?
Nando: Yes, hi.
Victor: I'm so glad you responded. After a hard day at work cuddling up next to some one sounds perfect.
Nando: (Imaging sweaty-nasty sex)What kind of work do you do?
Victor: I'm a designer for Nike. But I'd rather talk about you.
Nando: (Imagining a shower together) Well, how about we save the small talk for tonight? Are you still interested in coming over?
Victor: Sure, I'm more interested now. You sound like a nice guy. And from you pic, you’re so hot. (I swear he said that and even if he didn’t-you will never know)
Nando: (Imagining buying Christmas presents for one another) Thanks. I'll see you soon.

Victor sounded like perfection. Two thoughts immediately raced through my mind like two squirrels circling a trash bin in Central Park. One: I could see this being more than safe-gay anonymous-sex. I could see a relationship blossoming like that of Eliot Spitzer and his paid whore. Maybe we would move in together, adopt a poodle or an Asian baby girl, and cook Easter dinner for one another then complain about the lumps in the gravy. Two: I have to quickly clean my apartment. If he was relationship material, I didn't want him to judge my filthy home which is usually very tidy, but due to this season’s Chuck being extra exciting, my domestic side has gotten lost in an NBC viewer’s abyss.

After mopping, sweeping, dusting, spraying, swiffering, pledging, and febrezing my place, it was ready for Victor—hell, it was ready for the Queen. And I ain’t talking RuPaul.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang and I buzzed him in. There he stood…the opposite of perfection. This proved that Photoshop can be used for evil. I painstakingly let him in and started to blow out the candles I had lit in order to “set the mood.” What? Waste them on him? I think not! Things got worse when he spoke as his masculine and confident voice slowly transitioned into something like Snagglepuss'.

Victor: I'm in layers, do you mind if I take some of them off?
Nando: Oh, no, go for it.

As he "un-layered" himself, I noticed his shape was very much like that of a mutated duck. He had a huge oval-shaped bottom and the skinny jeans he was wearing accented his broomstick legs.

Trying to keep my sanity, I tuned into an episode NBC's Kath and Kim. As I looked over to see what he was up to, he violently hoisted himself on top of me and started to kiss me. Now, we have all experienced morning breath, but the smell-taste fusion that came out of his mouth was indescribable. It was like a stale stank of rotting fish and black cherry medicine. I quickly put and end to the kissing. I had more class than this. I deserved more respect than this. After all, I voted for Obama!

A few minutes later as we took our clothes off, I made it clear there would be no kissing. When things were over and done with (no sex, but just mutual touching) and as he was getting dressed, he opened his soul up to me.

Victor: I'm really glad you invited me over. I'm been having self-esteem issues and have been suffering from body image disorder. That's why I'm on this shake diet. All I drink are shakes made from Australian seaweed.
Nando: (in my head) uh, that's the disgusting funk I tasted when kissing--which is weird because I usually love a good seaweed salad.

Can you imagine the taste of other humanly juices he's storing in that mutated-duck-body of his? I sympathized and rushed him out of the apartment. I ran into the bathroom and washed my mouth out with hydrogen peroxide and salt water. After a quick shower to remove the rest of Victor off of me I let out a frustrated sigh like the kind John McCain must have let out when he saw the Sarah Palin and Katie Couric interviews. As I tucked myself into bed and tried to get the vision of Victor out of my head, I realized that next time, I will demand a full body pic—preferably a recent one.