Today on Alphabet City: JP learns during his first Christmas in NYC that handsome wrapping can’t make up for small packages. Viewer Discretion Advised.
My first Christmas in Alphabet City turned out to be rather disappointing. Although I was alone, I wasn’t sad exactly. Living thousands of miles away from my Texas family finally provided me with a terrific excuse for not suffering through their dysfunction. On top of that, I didn’t have any money and someone needed to take care of the menagerie of animals living in our apartment.
While my roommates trotted off to warmer climes, I stayed behind and decided to keep myself busy building new Christmas Eve rituals and memories. All bundled up, I set out for a big walk filled with iconic New York moments: watching couples ice-skate in Central Park, smirking at Barney’s holiday/pop-culture window displays, pushing through crowds gawking at Rock Center’s Tree.
Everything was going fine until the Titanic. A tradition I imported from Texas was my Christmas Eve enjoyment of movies with a non-traditional holiday theme—nothing sappy or sweet for me. I prefer something really off-kilter like Misery or even Monster’s Ball. But 1997 was in short supply of depressing features and so I thought a movie about hordes killed aboard a huge shipping disaster might be okay. Boy was I tricked. The doomed love story brought to life by Leo and Kate sunk me into a sea of loneliness.
As I walked the eerily empty streets of Alphabet City, I decided to drown my sorrow with a few drinks at my go-to dive The Boiler Room. Surely I wasn’t the only lonely East Village gay boy? And this seedy joint had always been good for some guaranteed pick-ups.
Let’s just say it was slim pickins’ that night—maybe about 7 sad souls nursing beers and watching the animated version of The Grinch That Stole Christmas on the TV over the bar. Really? What kind of cock tease buzz kill is that? I almost turned around and left when I noticed a handsome Latino fellow at the bar. I figured I had nothing to lose, and hopped onto a stool next to him. He smiled and leaned over to me.
“I’m visiting from Argentina and never seen this funny show before. Can you explain to me? Is this the way you celebrate Christmas?”
I smiled and gulped my beer. Things were looking up—if I played my cards right, the night might not end so badly after all.
Several drinks later, and we were back at my manger getting all hot and heavy. He tugged off his sweater to reveal a perfectly toned torso. As I admired him, he unzipped his jeans and revealed the tiniest penis I had ever seen. We’re talking pencil thin and like a stub. It was hard to even see. But I thought, hey, you can’t have everything, right? There are ways to work around this. He looked me right in the eyes very seriously.
“I am, how you say, a total top.”
Really? He had to be kidding, right? I mean, I believe you have to work with what you got, and he had a lot of great assets. I was thinking he might want to rethink his top vs. bottom choice. But his eyes told me he was committed to his delusion, and my heart told me this couldn’t go on.
“I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot to drink. And my dog Winnie is sick and she doesn’t really like when I have guys over. Especially on Christmas. But this has been fun. Have a great time in New York.”
I rushed him out the door, and curled up in bed with Winnie. I’d learned a valuable lesson about myself that previously I had been unwilling to face—on Christmas, the size of the package does matter.