The Life and Times of Totally Tyler

Shit, shit, shit! I was sitting on an uptown A train as it pulled into the 14th street station when I saw him waiting on the platform. My heart sank. A rush of panic washed over me and I squirmed in my seat.

It was about two in the morning and I was in the dimy-lit bathroom of a gay bar in Hell’s Kitchen, getting kissed by yet another taken man.

Its not like I don’t try to date. I met The Record Producer while in line at the Apple Store in Chelsea. He had luscious lips and long eyelashes. We shared a flawless, flirty conversation that sparked and crackled like a newly-lit firework.

It occurred to me while I was tied to The Dancer’s bed that I was about to break my new ‘no sex’ rule. Oh well, I thought, playfully tugging at the three feet of rope that snaked around my wrists.

While at Vnyl in Hell’s Kitchen for post-concert drinks, I sat across from The Geek in the Pink and His Man and quietly sipped my Fiona Apple-tini. When I noticed they were holding hands under the table, I quickly looked away as if I’d been caught staring at someone’s zit or a woman’s cleavage.