The Exy Awards

Hello and welcome to the inaugural Exy Awards. We’re here to honor those brave men who made a significant impact on me [and my private parts] in 2013. Now please take your seats and stop eye-fucking one another. The least you can do is wait until the ceremony is over before you start rimming in the aisles. We don’t need the lovely Hilton staff who cleans the Peachtree Ballroom to discover your used condoms after we’ve all gone home, right? I’m just teasing. Condoms are for cowards.

[Hold for applause.]

Well let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? Our first Exy of the evening is for Fastest Drive-By Hook-Up and that goes to Bald Guy With Pelvis Tattoo who was passing though Lafayette on his way to New Orleans after a weekend at Austin City Limits. You didn’t say a whole lot and then you bailed immediately after. Good job.

Most Drastic Grindr Picture/Real Life Discrepancy goes to Guy Who Picked Me Up From F&M’s That One Night. You looked nothing like your picture, but I was blackout hammered and queasy from eating cheese fries so I just wanted to sleep. Also, thank you for bringing me back home the next morning. Sorry I didn’t talk to you for the entire 45-minute drive.

The Oh C’mon Really? Exy goes to Guy Who Refused To Take Off His Spanx During Sex. Bruh, lighten up and burn that silly thing. I’m sure it’s not that bad underneath. And if it is that bad, start running around the block and stop eating chips.

Most Fumbly Threesome goes to Couple I Met After A David Sedaris Book Signing. I didn’t know what was going on and then you got in a huge fight about whose idea it was. No one enjoyed it, especially me. So I hid in the guest bedroom and fell asleep to the sounds of you both crying. This award should have gone to Horny Baton Rouge Couple, but they’ve got their system on lock. You could learn a thing or two from them. They really know how to bone a stranger together.

The Exy for Best Sex Playlist goes to Jewish Guy. Because nothing goes better with lounge chair intercourse than the sweet, melodious sounds of The Weepies.

Most Regrettable Hook-Up is a tie. The first recipient is Guy With Foot Fetish. I can overlook the fact that you smoke more weed than Rihanna at a planetarium. But I draw the line at foot-sucking. I fully support your right to sexual freedom, but that doesn’t make the bad memories go away. You share your award with White Guy With Black Baby Mama. We shouldn’t have done what we did. Now I’m always looking over my shoulder, terrified that someone is going to pull my hair.

The Exy for Douchiest Bro goes to Bisexual Divorce Attorney. You invited me to a party at your friend’s house and then you picked me last for your flip-cup team in front of everyone. Who does that?

Our next award is for Worst First Date and that goes to the 19-year-old Singer/Gymnast From Monroe whose grandmother had a heart attack while we were browsing an art opening. At first, I thought you were just lying to me because you wanted to leave, but turns out you were telling the truth. Sorry for your loss.

Best First Date goes to Unhappy Softball Player. You picked me up at home, we had dinner at Capdeville, and then we went to play in the Warehouse District — all of which you arranged. I kissed you in the street and it was like a scene from a movie where one person dies of terminal illness at the end. You and I would never have worked out, but I’m glad we can still be friends. Send me a nude. Cool?

The Exy for Best Name goes to Mike Jones, who wins by a cosmic margin.

Exboyfriend of the Year goes to Jacob. It was basically a race between you and Hairdresser from Lake Charles, but he went off the deep when we broke-up and yelled at me in front of Agave, so you win by default. One of the things I liked most about you, Jacob, is that I never had to amp up the masculinity around you like I might for another guy. The way I walked and talked was completely unaffected in your presence. From the moment we met it was instant comfort. We had very little in common, but we always had something to talk about. Plus, your skin smelled like Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

And finally, the last Exy of the evening is The Sparky Award. The Sparky is given to the person who made me most profoundly feel that little spark that ignites in my chest, brain, and genitals. Maybe it’s love. Meh. That person is Tall Asshole From North Louisiana Who Had A Boyfriend The Whole Time. I’ll see you in hell.

In fact, I'll see all of you in hell. Congratulations!

XXXboyfriend Material

I just started reading Joan Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem, wherein the author closes her preface by saying that “writers are always selling somebody out.” That being said, I would like for everyone to know that my best friend — John Fournier — talks to himself when he watches porn.

As besties, John and I are shameless when discussing any number of personal topics, including: penis size, political party affiliation, personal hygiene, irrational fears, regional tricking patterns, body image, stool abnormalities, annual salary, weight, Taco Bell orders, current top/bottom preference, lube toots, and masturbatory habits, among others.

“What exactly do you say?” I wondered. “Do you like command them to do stuff or just narrate?” He chuckled and shrugged, saying “I just kind of cheer on the performance.” I screwed up my face like I was creeped out, which I really wasn’t. I was more intrigued than anything. “Like, what do you say? Give me an example.” He rolled his eyes and suddenly seemed self-aware. “I don’t know,” he said. He made a fist and mimed jacking-off. “Something like, ‘Aww yeah, pound that little bitch. He likes that.’” I stared at him with my mouth open. “Oh dear,” I said. “Do you say it in your normal voice, or do you make yourself sound all deep and rough to intimidate everybody?” He rocked his head back and laughed a little. “Deep voice.”

Full disclosure: I have my own weirdness when it comes to porn viewership. First off, I have a deep, severe fear that I will see someone I used to date in a video. Although I’m not really doing anything to avoid it, it’s usually in the back of my mind. On the other hand, if an actor looks enough like an exboyfriend, I’ll stick with it and project all my unresolved issues onto him — imaging that my surrogate ex fell on hard times and has resorted to bareback on-camera fornication so he can pay for hair school. The only way this works is by knowing it’s not really him. If it really was him, I’m not sure if my brain or my dick could handle it. But I’m pretty sure I would just beat-off anyway.

While John vocalizes his experiences, I internalize them. I watch people have sex and I wonder who they are in real life. And I find it difficult to focus on anything else. I question their motivations and what their loved ones think about it, if their loved ones know at all. It's more about the angles and less about the morality. For me, theorizing about who the actor really is gives the viewing experience some dimension.

I few years back, on a trip to Dallas, I hooked-up with an up-and-coming porn star. I didn’t know he did porn at the time, but I learned shortly after when he told me so. These days, he’s kind of unbelievably famous — like one of the most famous gay porn stars on the planet. The kicker is that he and I are Facebook friends, which complicates things for me because I’ve seen him do unspeakable things with an immeasurable amount of people and I’ve also seen him at his cousin’s birthday party and taking selfies with his grandmother in the hospital. His Facebook says he works at Olan Mills Portrait Studio and every time I come across one of his adult videos, I imagine him picking up Subway on his lunch break before hurrying back to work to find the appropriate lighting for a newborn and show some stuck-up high school senior a bunch of glossy proofs. His Facebook also says he attends the University of Texas at Arlington, which forces me to picture him in some big lecture hall surrounded by a hundred or so bored General Studies majors who are also ignoring the lecture. Do they know that he has more than 30,000 Twitter followers? Do they know he caused a stir at the 2012 Grabby Award for blowing someone on stage? And if so, do they talk amongst themselves about him? Do they have difficulty not picturing him naked? Are they mean to him? Also, what's his family like? I mean, I've seen pictures of them, but I want more. I want to know if his mom really knows where he goes when he jets off to Los Angeles for the weekend. I want to know how far his money is going and if he keeps his job at Olan Mills simply for appearances. And I often wonder if anyone in his family has found the courage to Google his name.

It's got to be difficult to get the image of someone familiar having sex out of your mind once you've witnessed it. I bet it's tough to see anything else when you look at him or her. I'm only speculating, of course. It just fascinates me. In the same why I'm enamored by Fundamentalist Mormons and people who wear Tweety Bird jean jackets, so am I with the personal lives of adult film stars. I doubt I'll ever find out for myself what it's like firsthand, but you never know. Plus, tax season is upon us and I'm pretty sure I'm going to owe something outrageous so I plan on keeping my income options open, and if need be, other things too.