I'm not gay, I'm just a trendy pro athlete

The word bi-athelete is getting a new meaning, according to buzz swirling about in New York gossip circles.

As a four time world male solo synchronized swimming champion and a special olympics hammer throwing bronze medalist, I must hurl my hat in the ring and make a comment of considerable insight. I'm neither confirming nor denying any speculation that I may or may not have: while on a 37 hour coke fuel South Beach bender bedded a vacationing American football player; had a March Break Cancun threesome with a both-way-batting baseball star and a first year Vassar education student who claimed she majored in sex ed; nor fulfilled a role play sex fantasy in the condo of a New York-based athlete, who, to keep up the illusion of heterosexuality, insisted that I skirt up like a hot 14 year old Thai prostitute complete with spray-on tan, assumed broken English and 2-foot high backcombed bangs. None of these rumours I care to comment on as they are clearly outside the scope of this discussion.

But when I saw the following apple of discord thrown carelessly into the shark infested gossip sewing circle by Page Six doyene Cindy Adams, I must provide guiding thoughts.

Info around about super-athletes swinging both ways. They're not homosexual. They're just sexual. With such money and power these guys can have anything. And that's what they want - everything.

And if that includes a distended rectum and companion donut shaped inflatable seat cushion, then so be it. I make millions in endorsement deals, my ego is the size of my $5 million dollar mansion, and my trophy model / actress / pop singer girlfriend prevents me from being labeled an outright queerboner. Should I choose to engage in some ocassional man-on-man fornication with similarly strapping hardbody athletic jockstrap types, then that's what I want. And what I want, I get. Period. Or my agent gets it for me. Whatever. The point is, we superstar athletes are above you puny mortals. Let the prudes and politicians agonize over the morality and religious implications of a little backdoor queerness. We overpriced athletic scholarship types get to sample the taboo nectar of the gods and you quivering clenches are just too afraid to go there. Do you really think all those brainy Greek philosophers got it wrong? By the way, my signature line of sportwear is so in this season. And when you wear my signature line, stud, you are so much closer to my sweet rippling ass. Hot!  ¶ posted by earnest @ Sunday, March 28, 2004 | |