For a couple of years, I wrote a twice-a-month column, "Perv," for the site Men After Dark, a premium service of gay.com. Here's a sample of that column. Please note: As much as I hate censorship, the realities of the Web have led me to change some words to a PG-13 level. However, it still contains descriptions of sexual acts, so if you're under 18 or a hopeless prude, PLEASE DON'T READ IT, k?

Perv: The Reverend Lou Sheldon and Me: Going Down!

                                                      by Simon Sheppard

“With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.” - Nobel Prize-winning physicist Steven Weinberg
 

I was on jury duty last week. It was, unfortunately, a kinda boring case: American Express, credit ratings, that sort of thing. No, change that—it was a very boring case. And then the cutest guy on the jury got sick on the second day and was excused. Bummer.

But there was something that made the occasion memorable for me: the chance to share an elevator ride with one of America's Foremost Gaybashers.

There's this guy named Reverend Lou Sheldon, a smarmy little preacher from the vicinity of Disneyland, who's a self-appointed spokesperson for the rabidly antigay: one Website calls him "America's Most Homophobic Christian," which is really saying something. He is, at the very least, one of America's most pompous, prudish busybodies, but somehow every time there's any news story on queer rights, Sheldon gets trotted out to bleat his self-righteous little screed on behalf of "the Traditional Values Coalition,"traditional values" apparently encompassing, fear, hate, and superstition.

So there I am, the day before a same-sex marriage suit is due to be heard in San Francisco Superior Court, innocently heading for the elevators so I can go out for lunch. And there, right there in the corridor, is the Reverend Lou Sheldon, being interviewed for local TV news. I'm floored, stopped in my tracks.

What to do? Make faces? Immature. Interrupt the interview? That would make the rotten Rev a martyr for free speech.

I loudly announced the homophobe's presence to my fellow jurors in the corridor. But the only other queer I knew of on the jury, a lesbian, was already gone, and none of the remaining jurors I talked to had any idea who Sheldon was. I stood around, trying to figure out what I'd say to the pus-bag parson if I got the chance. And then the interview ended, Sheldon was right next to at the elevator, we entered the elevator together. And there I was, along with one other passenger, in an elevator with one of the best-known gay-haters in the world. Going down!

 

Being on jury duty, having to spend the whole day hearing minutiae about credit bureaus, and then getting my writing taken care of at night, was less than optimum for my sex life. I was getting a blue-balls insight into all those poor guys whose day jobs keep them busy 50 or 60 hours a week. But that Saturday night, I had the apartment to myself and decided to go on an online sex hunt.

I'd just put up an ad on craigslist when I got Instant Messaged by my fuckbuddy Philip, a cute blond with a meaty body and an eager butt. He and I first met in a chat room a couple of years ago, and we'd seen one another very occasionally. I thoroughly enjoyed it when we did, though the last time, when I'd boned him on the floor of his office after business hours, it left ferocious rug burns on my knees.

"Hey," he IMed.

"How you?"

"Tipsy. I just got back from a long happy hour." I'd played with him before when he'd been a little boozed up; it had been lots of fun. Lots.

"Horny?

"Yeah."

"Want to head on over and see what we can do about that?"

"Sure thing," replied Philip. "Half hour?"

"Sure thing."

I bade him farewell.

In the meantime, several guys had replied to my online ad. I deleted the ad, figuring I was busy for the night, then opened the incoming e-mail. I found one of the boys who answered my ad to be hellaciously attractive.

"Hey. Still here?" I IMed Philip.

"Yeah."

"Object to third person joining us?" I figured he wouldn't. I was right.

"Nope. Signing off to get ready." His screenname vanished from my Buddy List.

I set about answering my e-mail...

 

When Philip showed up, he was still, er, tipsy, and in an amusingly bitchy mood. He walked into the bedroom, stripped naked, and got under the covers.

"C'mon in," he said, looking cute as hell. "I'm cold."

We'd been playing awhile when Philip said, "Looks like your friend isn't showing up."

"Nope," I said, and went back to eating his very nice nether regions. But just moments later, the doorbell rang.

My visitor turned out to be shorter and chunkier than his e-mailed pictures had let on. He was also sexier. Much.

"Hey, I'm Prescott," he said smilingly to my naked friend Phil, who grinned broadly back.

The newcomer turned his gaze toward me. "Thanks so much for inviting me over," he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. This was going to work out fine.

Prescott had told me he'd wanted to "get nailed," but it didn't take him long before he'd slipped a rubber over his medium-sized, medium-foreskinned, and very pretty penis and was plugging away at Philip's very willing hole. It was so hot, just like a 3-D porn video only better, and I stroked myself gently, unwilling to let the excitement of the night run away with me.

Prescott looked over his shoulder at me. "Come over here," he said, "so I can suck you." Who was I to refuse?

The next few hours were a flesh-filled joy. I took my turn inside Philip, then we wiped up and formed an oral daisy chain, me sucking on Prescott while he went down on Philip, who was deep-throating me. It wasn't till after 3:00 that we three came, wiped up, and lay around, kissing one another. Life rarely seems better than when you have two meaty, horny guys in your bed, right?

You know that's right.

 

Not even a little part of me wanted to let the Reverend Sheldon take his elevator ride in peace. He was, after all, at work, on an antiqueer mission. I looked over at him, smaller and dweebier in person than on the glowing phosphors of the TV screen. "If I could make a lucrative career out of being antifundamentalist, the way you have out of homophobia," I said, trying to keep my voice modulated when all I wanted to do was scream in his self-righteous, doughy face, "I would. After suffering thorough your comments every time there's a story on gay rights, I wanted to tell you that you and your daughter are profiteering mischief-makers par excellence."

That was it—it doesn't take an elevator all that long to go down five floors. As soon as I'd started talking to him, Reverend Lou Sheldon looked away, and now, scrupulously avoiding my gaze, he hurried out through the lobby. One might have hoped that, as a ferocious crusader for hate, he would have said something at least a bit cutting back to me, or, conversely, to have spared a condescending "May Jesus save your sick soul." But no such luck. He was, I surmised, like many bullies, a coward underneath. "Have a nice day," I shouted after him. The butthole. No, wait…that's an insult to buttholes.

Afterwards, still trembling with anger, I began to think of what I should have said. "You're fucking up real people's real lives. I hope Jesus is proud of you." Or, more basely, "Why do you want everyone else's sex life to be as dismal as your own?" If I'd been very puckish, I would have gone over to the security guard in the lobby and said, "Officer, while we were in the elevator, that man touched me inappropriately."

But hey, those are the great ideas you have after the fact. I had to give myself props: with little rehearsal time, I told off the Rev to his round, pink face. But perhaps what I should have told him was about my three-way with Phil and Prescott the weekend before, how relaxed, friendly, and transcendently pleasurable it was.

Okay, I'm not really sure that he'd have been envious. I'm not sure he would have gotten it at all.

What a goddamned loser.
                                                                          
copyright 2005, Simon Sheppard