WEIGHING OPTIONS

You won't be able to take a poop here the Blue Light Special reported upon returning to our table at the International House of Pancakes. There's no lock on the door. If you really have to go, we can drive to the Aventura mall.

Even though I had been complaining about my lack of regularity It didn't take me long to figure out why he was being so solicitous of my bowels.

Why not just admit you have to go instead of pretending that we're doing something for my benefit? I demanded, shaking my head over his transparent attempts at manipulation. Is this what they call intimacy? And who do you think was able to "leave something behind" (as he euphemistically prefers to put it) at the Aventura Mall?

The intermittent morning sun belied the overcast weather report so we went back to Haulover Beach which was much more crowded. We took along the pretzels and remaining cranberry juice and found a spot in the midst of several other gay men, including a thong-wearing Latino who provided the trip's only real moment of sexual intrigue. Butt Flosser made eye contact with me more than once as he checked out the Blue Light Special who was removing his bright red bathing suit for a quick exhibitionistic dip in the ocean. As soon as another hot-to-trot guy lay down his towel nearby, Butt Flosser redirected his attention but when the clouds rolled in, announcing Mother Nature's last call, he got up to go when we did, leaving the other guy behind.

Butt Flosser reached the parking lot ahead of us and waited in his car for several minutes as we began changing into our dry clothes. Then he left, before driving past and re-parking directly across from us a few minutes later. For some reason, however, he avoided making eye contact, but as soon as we started the car he pulled out in front of us.

OK, let's play his game as long as it doesn't take us out of our way I suggested as we exited the parking lot.

We followed Butt Flosser north on US A1A while he chatted on his cell phone and signaled a left hand turn. I drew the line when he stopped at a gas station. Was one of us supposed to pull up alongside him and make small talk about the price at the pump?

If we want to get to Disneyworld by 8 p.m. we better end this right now I said though I could tell from the Blue Light Special's excitement that he wanted to keep pursuing it.

You never weigh your options I continued. Translation: why should we take the chance on finding ourselves in a situation that could produce serious tension and result in what I feared most, sexual rejection from a guy who didn't even particularly interest me?

The Blue Light Special acquiesced mildly enough and we began the longest leg of our journey, a 200 mile drive north. When I took the wheel and picked up the pace by rapidly changing lanes on I95, he began eating pretzels and telling me how to drive.

I thought you were going to take a nap I said, slipping Confessions on a Dance Floor into the CD player and turning the volume way up when it became clear he preferred to torture me instead. There's nothing like the bass on a car stereo to silence a back seat driver and the sound of his self-satisfied munching.

We missed the turn off for the Florida Turnpike at Jupiter (my fault of course), which required a detour at Ft. Pierce. Even with just two lanes, however, Florida Highway 60 west to Yeehaw Junction was a lot less congested. Lined with orange and lemon trees that appeared almost ready for harvest, it actually felt like we were in Florida for half an hour instead of a heavy machinery conveyor belt.

Everybody on the Turnpike drove at least 80 mph so, after a brief stop to pick up Cinnabon rolls for Sunday's breakfast, we reached Kissimmee by 7 p.m. Finding the All Star Movie Resort at Disneyworld gave us a lot more trouble, especially at night in the rain. It also required a security check. But the guard at the gate didn't even notice that the Blue Light Special flashed my driver's license instead of his own.

Chatty Kathy, a "cast member" at the reception desk (all Disney employees are known as cast members) checked us in and told us that she and her family adored New York City. Was this her way of letting us know she was cool with a male couple staying at the family resort?

If so, it worked because I was much more comfortable making small talk with this mother of two college age children who told me that she and her husband slept in separate bedrooms than I had been with the front desk employees at the gay guest houses. Nor did Chatty Kathy seem particularly surprised that we were staying in the least expensive child friendly accommodations even though the reservation agent had tried to persuade me to book a room at one of the nominally more expensive resorts that cater to adults. I had stubbornly refused, wanting to experience Disneyworld in much the same way that most Americans do.

After Chatty Kathy explained that she hadn't understood that she was hearing a severe weather warning on the radio while driving home the night before, I told her what had happened when I called to determine whether or not we should make the drive north.

Whoever picked up the phone ended our conversation with `have a magical day' even though we had just been discussing tornado damage to the area and the cool, rainy forecast! I said.

You needn't have worried. Disneyworld NEVER closes she said with a slightly subversive twinkle, handing us a map. You guys made my night.



A huge sorcerer's apprentice hat marked the Fantasia complex where we were staying. Ducks, dalmatians and dancing broomsticks were among the enormous "All-Star Movie" icons that identified the other two-story family warehouses. The theme continued inside with Mickey Mouse adorning the soap, shampoo and bedspread, and stars all over the black shower curtain. A mounted wall lamp looked like a bag of popcorn until you turned it on. Even the washcloths had been folded into the shape of mouse ears.

The room was comfortable enough but lacked either a microwave or a refrigerator. Nor did the windows open. The handicapped-accessible bathroom didn't have a tub, just a drain in the middle of the tiled floor which probably facilitated cleaning. I began to feel a little like livestock.

After unpacking and fighting over who would get to keep the Mickey Mouse shampoo bottle, we escaped to Kissimmee for dinner. We ate at Chili's--a chain favored by the Thug Lover--where the food was reasonably priced and much tastier than I thought it would be. By the time we finished sharing some kind of rich chocolate dessert neither of us were up to exploring Orlando's gay nightlife.

I dozed on the way back to the hotel, not knowing that the Blue Light Special had gotten lost and not much caring when I did find out. But then he awoke me from a sound sleep by getting up in the middle of the night and turning on the light to adjust the air conditioner. Despite my fury at being awakened, the room did get a lot more comfortable when he used his shoe to open the chained door a crack, allowing moist air to circulate in our stall.