The Gawker or The Gawkee?

Five years ago, Josh – my personal trainer/entertainer – warned me. He said “be ready, you’ll turn from a Gawker to a Gawkee.” His point was clear; he would turn me from a scrawny geek to a hot guy that would look like the love child of Takeshi Kaneshiro and Gerard Butler.

It was true. Before training with Josh, I was this scrawny guy with dorky glasses. Whenever I went to a gay bar, I would be the shy guy standing on the corner waiting for some compassionate geriatric to hit on me. I was the Gawker.

Occasionally, I’d get hit on by military guys who were on their home leave from Korea and wanted to get their fix of Kimchee on this side of the ocean. I wanted to scream “I’m not Korean, you quiff!” But the testosterone build-up was unbearable, so I succumbed. I became the Cio Cio San for the US Army 2nd infantry.

I wore sweater vests and button-down shirts so I looked less scrawny. My collection of pants were mostly pleated, a necessary tool to cover my non-existent tush. Even in the hottest day of the summer, I wore two undershirts in my desperate attempt to look a bit built.

I toyed with the idea of going twinky. Besides, the heroin chic look was somewhat fashionable at that time. I changed my mind after seeing how those twinks aged. They pruned, shriveled, and became geezers. Besides, the type of guys who dug twinks usually looked like Jeffrey Dahmer.

After three years of personal training and $3000 worth of protein shakes, I became somewhat chiseled. I can feel the DL brothers at my gym mentally hump my legs whenever I flex my arms. After doing a lot of power squats, my ass can nicely fill a low rise Rock & Republic jeans. My transformation was completed by Dr. Yuri, a Russian trained dermatologist who believed in industrial-grade treatments.

Along with the physical transformation, my career took an upturn. After two grueling years in business school and long hours in investment banking, I landed a cushy job in the elusive world of LBO funds. I began to have a nice disposable income.

Consequently, my position in the pecking order of homo society changed. Whenever I went out to bars, I hopped from one circle to another. I learned the skills of exchanging air kisses and brief (but pointed) pleasantries. I flaired smart quips that I heard at places like Kudeta, Therapy and The Abbey. I started to hang out with the beautiful crowd. People gawked me; I became the Gawkee.

I got invited to parties with gay appropriate themes. Last year alone, there were at least three parties with colors as the theme (Lavender and Pink were the faves). I attended fund raising parties for gay causes, ranging from Stop Fugly Gay Abuse to Eradicate Gay Lisps.

Being a gawkee was fun until you realized that you were still a gawker at another setting. A friend who worked for a major agency in Hollywood took me as his plus one to an “industry” party. The judeo-homo crowd led by David Geffen was there. So were the aging divas and the flock of Ashton/Ashley clones.

There I was, a plus one at a Hollywood power party. Everyone seemed to be more connected, more powerful, and more beautiful than me. The low was unbearable; I left after a queeny skankerella said that my watch, which was a college graduation gift from my parents, was tacky.

At the end, it was a humbling experience. I closed my power-broker practice. I resorted to keeping genuine friends despite of status and looks. Just like Buddha, I have found my homo inner peace…