Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: The Struggling British Actor on a Trip to Chicago, 37, male, Williamsburg, gay, single.
8 a.m.: I woke right at the point in the dream where you don’t want to wake up. I was getting into a sauna, back in London for some reason.
8:03 a.m.: Ignored my morning hard-on, even though a wank always helps me get out of bed.
9 a.m. Thinking about how if I had stayed in London, would probably be living with my ex. He knew my acting dream wasn’t happening in New York. He practically told me to go. Maybe it was his way of getting rid of me. So anyway, here I am, in New York, single, unemployed, and thinking about him a lot. I miss the attention, but I don’t miss him.
10 a.m.: On subway to the Bronx for an audition, check out a cutie, trendy, confident, young. I prefer an older man. He smiles as he exits the carriage. I smile back. Who would want to date a 37-year-old unemployed actor?
4 p.m.: Audition was a waste of time. Subway. Spot a lovely Latino man, rugged, big hands. Nice. Maybe I just need a hug or a slap! Either one would do.
4:10 p.m.: British porn site. Wank. Feel better already.
6 p.m.: Audition in Long Island City. Isn’t quite the Off Broadway I had in mind. But an audition’s an audition.
10 p.m.: Dinner with friend. He had 500 packaged condoms on table (I didn’t think sex was on the menu). But hey! He said they’re a long story, but did I want them?
11:35 p.m.: Roommate had boyfriend over, other roommate had girlfriend over, and I had glass of milk and went to bed. Too old to be sharing a flat. Feeling very lonesome tonight.
5 a.m.: Woke with a numb hand, thought I had a stroke. Wasn’t awake enough to use it to my advantage and knock one off.
9 a.m.: En route to Chicago. Can’t really afford to go, but it’s booked.
3 p.m.: Have meeting at theater. I was charming, the meeting felt worthwhile. Note to self: Always be charming, it gets results.
8 p.m.: Dinner at Sepia with buddies. My financial anxiety returns when I see the menu. Wonder if I’ll bump into Oprah. I have a salad. Waiter gay but so OTT, server hot but straight. The view is wonderful all the same. Friend pays for the meal, wish I had the pork.
10:30 p.m.: Hit Boystown with friends. Goodness, the men look like men in this town.
11 a.m.: Go to the Field Museum of Natural History. Older couple totally making out. I wonder if they just recently met? Is somebody having an affair? Whatever it is, it’s hot, it’s fresh, and I’m optimistic for my future. I can’t stop staring at them. I say go for it, just not in front of the video installation of the tsunami. I follow them through the rest of the exhibit.
2 p.m.: Starbucks. Need caffeine after all that walking like a senior and trying to stay awake in those warm, darkened rooms watching snogging sessions.
7 p.m.: I hit the gym; this cute guy and I are the only ones in there. I pretend not to know how to program the ultramodern treadmill and politely ask for some assistance from the cute guy.
7:02 p.m.: Cute boy’s equally cute girlfriend arrives, with her mom. I tell cute girl’s very helpful mom I got it. I concentrate on my breathing.
Midnight: Night out. Roscoe’s won’t let us in. They “didn’t like our attitude.” Translation: The door guy couldn’t read the DOB on a non-U.S. government I.D. Hit Minibar. Lose one of our buddies somewhere.
2:30 a.m.: Find the Steamworks bathhouse. I need to shag. Let the gayness begin.
5:30 a.m.: Had some older, some younger, some Asian, some black, some Irish and some just what I needed man action. Feeling much better.
6 a.m.: Missing buddy shows up at hotel. We crash, but have to be out by eleven.
1 p.m.: Were back in Boystown for brunch.
2 p.m.: Go dildo shopping, 20 percent off. What is this, discount Sunday? Friend is looking for large latex dildo to satisfy his new insatiable bi-bottom friend.
3 p.m.: No purchases made despite the discount. Buddies buy shoes instead, with even more discount (not in the same store, mind you).
5 p.m.: We enter the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art. We’re all too hung-over to appreciate it. We power-walk our way around it.
8 p.m.: Back at Big Bowl, food good, Sunday staff really cute and friendly. I heart Chicago.
Noon: Back at O’Hare. Sorry to be leaving Chicago. Hear an English accent as a silver-haired British Airways pilot passes by with a stewardess. I like a man in uniform; I like that man in that uniform. I want to be on his flight, I want to go back to London.
5 p.m.: Back. Beer with roommate in Williamsburg. Get text from guy I met a couple of weeks ago at the Townhouse. Fired, wants to meet up for coffee. Welcome to the recession, my friend, you are not alone.
9:30 p.m.: Go to Finnish friend’s house. Yep, he’s still crazy. Thank God, I need some constants in my life right now.
11 p.m.: We play board games. Fun when slightly stoned.
Midnight: Leave with another guest; we split the minute we get to Lorimer. Really not bothered.
10 a.m.: Job searching … Wash cooker … Clean bathroom … look at porn … job searching.
2:30 p.m.: Decide to go for a run.
4:35 p.m.: Get seriously cruised in the street on the way to meet Fired Bloke. I so needed that.
5 p.m.: In Tearoom in Chelsea Market. Some strange guy says “Hi.” I say “Hi,” and try to get past him. Strange guy says, “You don’t remember me?” “Excuse me?” I say.
5:30 p.m.: Apparently I met Fired Bloke in Barracuda the same night I hooked up at the Townhouse. Fired Bloke is not who I think he is, namely the guy I slept with from the Townhouse. But Fired Bloke is way cuter and a completely different color than the Townhouse hookup.
6:30 p.m.: Have dinner with new, forgiving, cute friend Fired Bloke. Wonder if we’ll have sex.
6:45 p.m.: Fired Bloke has to meet friends, wants me to join them. I have my Plan B friends to meet. I lined them up in case my Plan A meeting with Fired Bloke didn’t work out. We hug, kiss, and split for now.
11:30 p.m.: End up in Cubbie Hole. Encourage straight friend to snog hot Brazilian girl. She does and it is hot.
11:45 p.m.: Text Fired Bloke drunk. I’m English, it’s what we do.
8:30 a.m.: Wake up with a tongue in my mouth, it’s my straight girlfriend’s pug. A little animal action isn’t a bad thing, but never with a pug.
9:45 a.m.: Go to bed for a couple of hours. Wake to think of Fired Bloke and have a wank.
4 p.m: After a couple of hours assisting a photographer in the hood, I have a look around. This guy loves dildos. You’d never think to look at him. He’s suddenly becomes much more interesting. Think I should buy a dildo.
7 p.m.: The 500 condoms are still on friend’s table. He asks me again if I want any of them. I tell him it fucks with my Law of Averages: The more condoms I have, the less sex I’ll end up getting.
7:05 p.m.: My friend finally tells me he bought condoms when he and his ex-partner ran a sex club in their basement in Baltimore. I pour us both another drink and listen as he tells me about their plan to open one in Williamsburg.
7:30 p.m.: Ex-boyfriend calls, first time we’ve talked since I left London. Tell him I’ve just gotten offered a job in a sex club and am living the dream.
Totals: Three acts of wanking; four acts of fellatio at Steamworks; four acts of intercourse at Steamworks; two acts of viewing Internet porn; two acts of being cruised; one phone call with ex from London.