I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Death

I am the last person anyone would call a homophobe, given my highly litigious nature, but I admit I am not comfortable with the thought of two men acting like two women together. Which is exciting. No, the two-man thing isn't my thing. Still, I say live and let live, especially for me, and whatever you do behind my back is fine with me. Or in front of my back. It's hard to say which is less unsettling with this particular subject.

So I am not "cool" with manly love, that's my business. I don't know why people find it so necessary to make everybody know all the details of their little private life. Ick. And if they find out you're uncomfortable with gayiety, trust me, they only want you more. The gayists, that is. At least, that's what I suspect this is all about. Mario still says it was the kiss of death, but I can't be sure.

The "Mario" in question the head of the Lambito family, the person Camembert and I met with last week to seek an end to all this senseless death, which I of course caused. To everyone's great surprise, things went better than expected. Mario and I took an instant non-homosexual liking to each other, finding we had many things in common, like our diminutive stature and making fun of Camembert's paralysis. Not only did we largely end the mob war, we became the best of friends.

I was so glad to see the mob war come to an end, if for no other reasons I was tired of getting thank-you cards from the FBI. They claim I took out more gangsters in two weeks than 50 years of RICO statutes, but the FBI is known for their sense of humor, maybe they just thought it funny. Regardless, even without the saving of so many innocent-until-proven-guilty lives, the event seemed a blessing just for making the acquaintance of Mario. Never have I heard so many tales of death and mayhem told with so much laughter. His charm was quite infectious, like the hot tub rash we shared.

True, we did share a hot tub, and went shopping for clothes together, and we saw a few theater plays. I did not take it that we were "dating," but maybe Mario got the wrong impression. I tried to steer things to more manly sorts of things, like working out at the gym or going hunting for endangered animals. It was no good. Like fate was drawing us together, every plan I came up with eventually left us either naked, sweaty, or alone together in a tent on a moonlit night. I'm not afraid of my own feelings, but I worry even a straight man put in that situation might find me irresistible.

It was becoming too much for me, so I had to tell Mario I was only interested in him as a friend, in case he was starting to develop feelings. Plus, I was married. Experimenting sexually with another man when you're single or merely engaged or have recently gotten rid of your wife is one thing, but you can't betray your marriage vows. It was a complicated scene, to say the least, made all the more complicated by the fact some of my gangmembers chose that night to whack Mario's brother, the next in line to head the family. Apparently that was why they borrowed the key to Mario's log cabin from me, but when I pieced it together out loud it only made things worse.

And that was when Mario laid the kiss on me, which freaked me out to new levels, and as you know, good people, I'm no stranger to freaking out. I tried to reaffirm how ungay I am, but Mario insisted at that point it was the kiss of death. I suspect he was just covering, though I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

So the war is back on, with gusto. Still, a few hundred dead mafioso or one sweet man's broken heart—what's the greater casualty here?

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