While there’s nothing I love more than an afternoon on the couch with a bowl of high-carb ice cream while watching Soapdish for the five thousandth time, there’s nothing I despise more than looking down at my iPhone to see a text from my real-life soap star bestie Brenden.
Brenden is of course not his real name, but if you’re unemployed or a stay-at-home houseboy, surely you've seen his tall, dark and handsome visage of perfection. Yes, sandwiched somewhere in between my daily Kathy Lee and Hoda and Judge Judy viewing, he graces the small screen on a soap opera that anyone with taste loves to hate. And while he’s all hetero on-camera, I assure you he’s all man-on-man once the director yells “cut!”
That said, Brenden’s been in a happy (enough) behind-closed-doors relationship with a DL music mogul for the better part of a decade—or so I thought, because all that happily ever after came crashing down last Thursday afternoon when I received a text message from him that simply read, “It’s over! We’re done! Crash on ur couch...?”
Now, I have always believed in lending a hand to friends, but when said friend is a former Chippendales dancer-turned-overpaid daytime actor, things are a bit different. When Brenden arrived at my home with not one or two but three Louis Vuitton rollaway suitcases and proceeded directly to the guest bedroom—not to the couch as previously requested—I knew we were in for a rocky road, and I’m not talking the Ben & Jerry’s kind.
The sob story Brenden bellowed was the oldest one in the book—he and DL Music Mogul hadn’t had sex in a while. Soap star gets curious. Curiosity gives way to jealousy. Soap star steals music mogul’s iPad, takes it to the store and has the password reset because he “paid for that shit” and “has every right!” Ultimately, Brenden finds a whole lot of fetish porn.
Now, I’m not talking anything illegal, but I am hinting at proclivities that might make those with a weak stomach shake, rattle and hurl.
"You think it’s you! You hit 35 and you think you’re getting ugly and old! You think that’s the reason he has no desire to touch you...! But then you realize that it’s because he wants you to [bleep] his [bleep] with a [bleep]!” he sobs.
A soap star who used to shimmy for middle-aged woman in a loincloth worried about his dignity? Only in L.A.! Ten days later; Brenden remains in my guest room and has now moved in his Pomeranian rat dog. How will this soap-style drama play out? Only time will tell.
I love getting emails from readers, truly, I do. But perhaps I should take a moment and plainly state that I am not a therapist, life coach or divorce attorney. After receiving an email by one “Giorgio D. of West Hollywood,” I feel the need to make that clear.
Giorgio, it seems, is quite concerned that his (now ex-) boyfriend of two-years recently left him to “slut up Santa Monica Boulevard with every guy that stumbles down the street!” Giorgio has also requested that I publish a picture of his ex with the caption “He-Devil Hooker!”
I will not do this, Giorgio. I will not play the he said/he said game with you and your broken home. I am, however, interested in that handsome devil’s phone number.
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Drop your dirty little secrets at [email protected].
And don’t worry, I never give up my deep throat!