The Gay Tucker Max

Just when you thought Tucker Max was vile enough

The Harsh Reality of Life, Love and Happiness

When you want something, you want it really bad. But even more so, when you want something that you can’t have, you want it in a way that paralyzes you. Every fiber of your being is being gravitationally pulled towards the object of your affection; meanwhile your brain is attempting to squash your ID from you acting like an irrational idiot. Oh it’s just emotions, taking me over…

Why does this have to happen? It is just like when your mother used to tell you to not spoil your appetite before dinner with those delectable chocolate chip cookies maliciously staring at you from the cookie jar. You didn’t really want one in the first place, but then the second she told you that you were not allowed to have one, you instinctively ate the whole box! Not only did this ruin your appetite for dinner, you also gained 5 pounds from eating these butter-laden pieces of food-crack. It is just an all around bad thing.

Now I bring you front and center to my dilemma. The person that I am head over heels for is not akin to a butter-laden piece of food-crack that will cause me gain an unmentionable amount of weight and leave me looking like Jabba the Hut. He is however quite the opposite; he is a true southern gentleman. He is an incredibly sweet, attractive, attentive, smart, and dedicated gymnast who is studying to be an engineer.

Now one would say “Well what the hell is wrong with this situation?! He sounds perfect!” Now let’s get our biggest problem out of the way; he is 850 miles away from where I am. He’s a sophomore in college and I am just about one year out of undergrad and headed to Medical School in the fall.

God likes to play mean tricks, and they make them in the form of incredibly hot blonde gymnasts who offer you everything that you have ever wanted in a man.

Things like this make me want to punch God in the face. Hard.  

We have always joked that we were each other’s “back up” plans since we live so far away from one another, but he recently came to visit me for a holiday break and our once unattainable fantasy was defibrillated to life by the most amazing few days I have ever had. We always knew we would get along, but we never imagined how perfect it would actually feel.

The days of his visit went quickly, and he went back home for the Holidays and I couldn’t help but feel like a piece of me died when he left. It was one of those serendipitous moments where you can not help but try to perpetuate that very moment when you realize “What the hell was I doing before I met this person?”

I already have a plane ticket bought to go visit him in a few weeks, and I’m sure he’ll visit me again, but I know that seeing him more is only going to exacerbate our current situation. Exacerbate… like liking someone is the same thing as having a sickness that is a life threatening illness. These weekend visits will without a doubt be the paragonical (neologism alert!) definition of “bittersweet”. On one hand, I get to have the pure bliss and honeymoon type feelings of a weekend away from reality with a sexy elite gymnast … but then once my visit is over I have to face the raw and ugly face of reality punching me in the face, telling me that I have to go back to being 750 miles away from perfection and go back to being utterly alone. These two distinct realities are enough to make someone smile endlessly and vomit profusely all at the same time. It’s a horribly amazing feeling.

Now I know that perfection does not truly exist. Believe me, I’ve been in enough long term relationships to have a firm grasp on the fact that no one is indeed ‘perfect’ for you. I also know that the notion that there is ‘one true love’ is complete and utter bullshit. However, I’m just going to roll with the idea that this guy breaks the mold. Let me live in my fantasy for as long as I want to, please.

Sure, there are the thousands of text messages exchanged, the HeyTell messages where you can hear his voice, and the endless Skype Video chats that are so real that you try to reach through your computer screen multiple times to simply try and touch him…but nothing will compare to ever just being there and holding him…doing absolutely nothing but just soaking up his presence. Now that sentence definitely makes me sound “Swim Fan” status crazy, but I assure you that I am not. I just get very passionate about what I find important.

Like Macaroni and Cheese (important enough to be a proper noun in my world) and learning a second language.

Now the absolutely sickening part for me is that I never feel like this; I am such a rational person that my friends get mad at me for being able to make decisions so rashly based upon the pure factual data encompassing the situation. But for one of the first times in my life I cannot rely upon rationality for my decision-making, and most certainly not for my happiness.

Lord knows that this rationality has completely failed me thus-far.

I know what I want, and what I want just happens to be very far away from me and that sucks. My whole life has been met by adversity and challenges and this sure as hell is not any different.

Everyone always says “Well you never know! It could happen! I believe that if it’s meant to be, it will happen!” This is VERY true, but it’s not just going to happen on its own accord. You have to set in place very distinct and thought out processes in order to get what you want to happen; no one ever became successful by leaving it all to chance.

A truly lucky man creates his own luck and I intend to take what is rightfully mine.  So I say fuck the 850 miles, my definition of happiness and a relationship with someone doesn’t have to be defined by social norms. Obviously I wish it were more normal, but when you find someone who you really think is perfect for you, you should never leave it to chance because someone else will swoop in and take what they think is theirs.  

Because girl, I will cut you. 

*I realize that this isn’t crude, sexual, or in any way like Tucker Max. You’ll just have to suck it. There we go! 

White Brown and Black

I was a very adventurous gay child. And by adventurous I mean quite slutty. Not that I have had sex with hoards of men, but my sexual exploits from the ripe old age of 14 have been quite…interesting to say that least.

Like for instance, that one time I dated 2 people at the same time and we all dated each other too! Yes! A polyamorous relationship between two 14-year-old boys and another 17-year-old boy; I felt like such a trendsetter and a whore at the same time.

The funniest thing I remember about this relationship was how our 17 year old lover portrayed his love for us on his AIM profile. Do you remember those things? Where you could click on someone’s “info” button and it’d have fun quotes or inside jokes between friends? Anyway…his was hilarious and still is to me. The other 14 year old boy was black, I’m kind of brown due to my Mediterranean heritage, and he’s uber white due to being Irish.

In his profile he had three colored blocks one Black, one Brown, and one White followed by a heart.

::14 year old heart melts, 22 year old heart laughs its ass off::

I had such an amazing time explaining this relationship to my online friends for a multitude of reasons but they all either reacted with endless amounts of jealousy over the ‘awesomeness’ of the situation or they had their heads set on straight and were explaining all of the reasons as to how this could end poorly. I obviously reveled in the jealously of others and completely ignored the stupidity of my 14 year old psyche.

Did I mention we were all on the same gymnastics team together? This was another reason that it was incredibly hot and unexplainably retarded all at the same time. We spent 25 hours per week training together, and spent nearly every waking moment of the weekends doing unmentionables.  

The other 14-year-old boy and myself thought this guy was the bees-knees. He had a car, a JOB and was just so much cooler than we could have ever hoped to be. He played the piano and wrote us songs. We were smitten, and couldn’t even fathom how we had come into having something so awesome.

However we had issued a caveat into this so-called relationship from the beginning; if any of us were to break up with one another we all had to break up. Period. End. Of. Story.

This was obviously infallible!


I eventually broke up with the other 14-year-old boy before my 15th birthday and we were all crushed. Not only did we just lose each other, but also each person lost two people! The void that existed between the three of us at gymnastics practice appeared to be something that our young little hearts simply could not handle. We could all be found taking far too many bathroom breaks to simply cry before doing a routine, or just giving each other dirty looks.

Univision had to be filming us because this little telanovella was just getting started.  

Cut to my 15th birthday party.

The most epic and drama filled party that any 15 year old could have ever attended.

One of my friends called my old 17-year-old lover a faggot over the bonfire. There were so many love triangles going on that even Dawson’s Creek was jealous. There was the one between my other 14 year old lover and another girl at the gym; my best girl friend at the time had newly found out I was gay from someone else that wasn’t me (she was also unfortunately in love with me); another teammate (who’s now gay as well) was trying to get with my one and only ex-girlfriend in the hot tub; and 17 year old boy had plans to re-ask me out that night!

Naturally, to make matters worse for myself at gymnastics and my life in general I thought it would be a SPLENDID idea to re-date the 17-year-old boy. I think it is quite obvious that this didn’t end well for anyone.

What’s the moral of the story? It’s pretty simple.

Dating one person is hard enough; dating two makes you an idiot.

Stupid Mormons.

Secret Asian Man

Why is it that every person that you want to actually date is either 1) uninterested in you or 2) just plain weird. Take for instance my recent encounter that I have aptly named “Secret Asian Man”.

Secret Asian Man is perfect on paper. Uber Elite Boarding School, Columbia undergrad, Harvard MBA, and works in private equity. CHA-CHING! He’s an incredibly sweet guy but a total idiot when it came to dating. Let’s discuss.

We met on Adam4Adam, which is Grindr’s sleazy inbred cousin from Kentucky. Although I’m not one to go mindlessly searching for tail on these sites, just about everyone else is and it seems like a stupid place to be looking for love. We’re exchanging loads of emails, which leads to a Facebook add and numbers are exchanged.

Cool! He’s passed my preliminary Facebook stalking and doesn’t seem to be lying about anything he’s told me about. Dinner plans are made at a super swanky restaurant that I clearly can’t afford to pay for. I put my best hot guy disguise on, and head over to meet this man.

Ut-Oh, I totally forgot your profile said you were 5’3”. Not that I’m tall (I’m 5’8”), but you got to have some serious hotness to back up being that short. I’ve only met two people who have actually been able to pull this off, and ones straight and the other one I’m head over heels for (They’re also 5’4”. I guess that last inch really does matter ;) )

I’m going off tangent. So we sit down to dinner, and we order some 80 dollar bottle of wine, we each order a 20 dollar appetizer, each order a 35 dollar entrée, and we also get dessert. I’m pretty sure we had two bottles of wine? Whatever.

The conversation was good, but it was so clear that this guy was way more into me than I was into him. Not that I was completely uninterested, but this dude was seriously ready to marry me already! He works in Miami, and was already discussing all of the things we were going to be doing when he would fly me down to Miami to visit him!

Yes, FLY me down to visit him. Did I mention he lived in Miami and made dinner plans on his very short business trip in the city to see me? Sigh. He’s clearly staring at me, undressing me, and envisioning me in a jock strap being his housewife while he’s busy at the office.

Um, totally not happening. I’ve got shit to do! Like Medical School, for starters. I also have a full time job here in the city where I work on the weekends so I’m not going to be able to just “fly to Miami” to visit all the time. Even if I did have the time…I JUST MET YOU. CALM DOWN! Even when grownups are mature enough to stop playing games with people, you still need to pump the breaks and not become a giant puddle of disgusting neediness.

Not that there is anything wrong with being needy (most of the time), but I don’t even KNOW you! How am I supposed to need you?! 

So after our 300-dollar dinner, we walk back to my place where I proceed to BANG Secret Asian Man like a salvation army drum. Twice.

Not only did he let me into his colon twice, but he was just so weird in bed. He would moan like he was having the most intense orgasm of his life by the caressing of my fingers on his nipples (um…weird). You know that sound that you hear when an asian woman is being railed into a headboard? Yea…that was my life every time I touched this man anywhere.

Let’s not even talk about his micro penis. I.Die.

Seriously, if there is sex on the first date the chances of me wanting to see you more than 2 times after our encounter are slim to none. I might give you a sympathy date afterword, but I really do not have respect for someone who lets me get negative 7 inches inside of them on the first date.

Furthermore, this man was supposed to fly out to go back home the next day. This guy felt like we had “such a connection” together that he delayed his flight a day to sleep over at my apartment a second time. I have never wanted to die more in my life.

A true Tucker Max would have told this guy to get the hell out, but I guess I still have some semblance of a soul and allowed him to stay. I guess I was that horny? I mean he is a very cute Asian guy, and I basically just got to abuse him with my penis.

I know deep down I want a long-term relationship, and my track record would show that I do indeed love relationships. I have been dating/having sex since I was 14 (I’m 22 now) and I have been committed to someone for 6.5 of those years. I would say that’s pretty impressive! However, Secret Asian man was just way too needy and real world stupid for his own good. Womp Womp.

Maybe it was the fact that he was 28 and ready to settle down but I definitely didn’t have the yellow fever that he required. 

Mr. Hi

Without a doubt, New York City is a veritable cornucopia of hot men. However, sanity and stability are for sure not qualities that the gays possess. Take for instance one of my most recent encounters. His name for the purposes of this story is “Mr. Hi”.

It was a very stereotypical gay meeting from Grindr; He is super hot, tall, dark, successful blah blah blah you know the type. We have drinks after flirting shamelessly on our phones and it seems as though the conversation is going very well! Success! Maybe I picked a good one! We say our goodbyes at the end of the night and continue talking for the next few days… texting back and forth trying to coordinate another day to see each other.

Giddy with excitement that I might have possibly found another gay unicorn like myself who isn’t insane, I invited him over to my apartment so I could make him a fancy dinner. For any of you New Yorkers out there, inviting someone back to your approximately 3 square feet of personal space is a big deal. This is also my black widow technique that no one can escape; if you are eating my food for a date you are most certainly coming back for seconds in more ways than one.

This is where it all went downhill. I make a fabulous dinner, and we start getting hot and heavy since that was the whole plan in the first place. I’m a respectable gay man, but still a gay man nonetheless.

Shirts are flying off, pants are being thrown to the floor and the kissing gets much more intense. And just when I thought I was about to possibly let this man see my Britney, he goes and whispers “Hi”…forgetting Sarah Marshall style “Hi”.


Ok, so I let it go the first time, but he continued to do this multiple times. Maybe he’s saying “Ay” like “Ay Papi” (Still pretty weird, but a little more normal…I guess). So after about time number 6 of him whispering “Hi” to me as though it was proper bedroom talk I finally said “WHAT THE F$^% ARE YOU SAYING?!”

Total and complete boner killer.

Needless to say I killed his boner too by yelling at him. Woops! ::Cue Pink’s You and Your Hand Tonight::

Everyone has weird quirks like these, but I was raised in a Roman Catholic household where pushing down weird urges is innate and I express them in normal ways when I’m alone and watching porn. Come on people!

Maybe Mr. Hi will find Mr. Hello Back, but it most certainly isn’t me.

Sometimes living an awesome life doesn’t feel so epic, especially during moments like this. But then you remember that you don’t say “Hi” to people for absolutely any reason during sexual encounters. That my friend is #winning.