LOOKING FOR MR. GAYBAR

It's a colder than normal in Manhattan. I mean, it's mittens and scarf weather. I had just come from a painfully dull straight person party - all wrinkly faces and bad clothing choices. I couldn't wait to leave. Once home, with the cold winds blowing against my cheap rent stabilized windows, I began to feel lonely - and horny.

It was too cold to go out looking for love, so I turned to the Internet; and within minutes, I had found a trick.

The man that showed up at my door was beautiful, but when he opened his mouth, Fran "The Nanny" Dreiser came dancing out.

"I'm just a queen from Queens," he laughed in a nasal voice when I inquired his origins.

OK, I strategized as I looked at his muscles and cute dimples, let's get this over with as quick as possible and with little or no talking. With my mouth clamped over his, I led him into the bedroom. Once undressed, his Internet pictures did not lie - his body was rock hard with a bubbled ass and a dick that was both gargantuan and beautifully shaped.

Things were going as scheduled until he questioned the music in the background.

"Is that Dusty Springfield," he squeeled.

"Yes," I said running my hand over his lips trying to get him back into the moment.

"I have her greatest hits," he said. "But she isn't one of my big three - Cher, Elton and Whitney. Oh, I just love those three. I used to love Barbra Streisand, but she didn't answer the fan letter I wrote to her last year."

OK, the sex was over. I had now discovered the piece of the puzzle to this beautiful man's singlehood.

He then went on and on about his love of all things Bette, Celine and even Reba.

I couldn't get rid of him fast enough.

I mean, it's fine to be a big queen, but for the love of God, please butch it up a bit for an Internet hookup.