One afternoon shortly after I returned from my summer in France, I walked into my apartment on 13th Street in the East Village of New York to find a very attractive young man in a business suit on the couch, getting intimate with my housemate Edward.
I was shocked. Edward was a fey art appraiser in his 60s, who rarely dated and never hooked up. And his cardinal rule was: no nudity in the living room.
"Hi!" the very attractive young man said.
"Hi. I'm Boomer, Edward's housemate."
Edward hastily stood. "Terribly sorry to break a house rule. I lost control of myself. Boomer, this is my nw assistant, Andrew Marvell (accented on the second syllable, Mar - VELL). I hired him while you were in France."
"How are ya?" Andrew said, holding out his hand to be shaken.
"Nice to meet you. Not very coy, are you?"
"Huh?"
"You know, Andrew Marvell, the Metaphysical poet? 'To His Coy Mistress'?"
Andrew stared blankly. "Where are my manners?" Edward said. "Would you like to join us? Please be my guest."
The uncensored story, with nude photos and explicit sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood.