As long time readers know, after my unceremonious dumping by Gregg there was a long dry spell (10 years and counting) with no hot sweaty man on man lovin’ until Michael.

But I forgot to mention the one that got away. (No, not Donald.)

His name was Evan. 46 with salt and pepper hair and matching goatee, intense green eyes, and this incredibly wild bush of black hair that crawled out of the collar of every shirt he wore, he was the physical embodiment of every college professor fantasy I’d ever had.

We met innocently enough at the comic shop while waiting in line. He jokingly dissed my choice of superhero — Spidey and the Flash — while I sniffed at his obvious devotion to all things X-Men. After making our purchases, he invited me to join him for cocoa at the coffee shop around the corner. We sat there totally fan-boy geeking out: which heroes would we like to see added to the Avengers roster; who who be the ideal writer/artist team for WONDER WOMAN; who was the perfect woman for Peter Parker. (Um, hello — Gwen Stacy! Dead or not, sis-tuh got it going on on…)

But I digress.

Evan was handsome. Evan was smart. Evan was funny. Evan loved all things pop culture. Evan was too good to be true.

“I had a really good time,” he said as the conversation was winding down to its natural conclusion. “Any chance you’d want to get together again?”

Let’s see: smart, sexy, funny man who likes superheroes and wants to hang out with an uber-nerd? That was a no-brainer. I tried to act all cool and shit, crying “yes, yes, a thousand times yes, you gorgeous piece of furry man candy!” (Actually it was closer to a mumbled “yeah, whatever…sure…that’d be okay…”)

And so began our brief courtship. We enjoyed a couple of dinners, a movie, several enjoyable conversations about the Buffy universe, and a dvd at his place, culminating in a kiss.

Yes, indeedy, things seemed to be moving along just fine at long last for Mr. Dirk Mancuso.

Cue ominous music.

It was a Friday and we had plans to stay in. Evan would be making his “famous” lasagna and salad and afterwards we would watch BATMAN RETURNS, a mutual favorite. But Mother Nature, ever the vengeful bitch, had other plans. By mid morning, the January sky darkened and soon rain began to fall. By noon, it was mixed with sleet turning to ice.

Since Evan lived about 35 minutes away, we both agreed decided to postpone dinner and a movie.

“I’ll be online after 6,” he told me. “so at least we won’t have to forego the conversation.”

* * * * *

I logged on that evening and sure enough, Evan’s name appeared on my messenger amongst my online contacts.

Hi.

Seconds later, he responded.

Hi! Glad you could make it.

Something about the greeting struck me odd, impersonal. It’s hard to put my finger on even now, but having talked with the man for hours at a time, it just didn’t sound like Evan.

How were the roads going home? I asked.

No response for several minutes.

Evan?

Sorry, Dirk — I was changing my clothes.

No prob. How were the roads going home?

Again, silence.

And then, it appeared.

A tiny box in the upper left hand screen. ******** has invited you to view his webcam. Do you accept?

Having only had my cam for a couple of weeks and still not having taken it out for a test drive, I quickly clicked on “yes.” It looked like we could spend the evening together, even if we were several miles apart.

The box appeared and my jaw dropped.

Evan sat at his monitor, shirtless. Fur covered every square inch of his chest, creeping up over his shoulders and clearly onto his back. Hubba hubba.

I could think of nothing to say, so I reached into my bag of stupid fucking comments and pulled out this one: Hi.

Hi. I need a drink. BRB

I watched as Evan stood, revealing his totally nude form. As I suspected, his back was indeed furry, and he was also in possession of a firm, delectable furry ass. And in the cock department, let’s just say deep throating would not be an option — it would be mandatory. He left the room and returned shortly with a glass.

An empty glass.

He sat back down, a weird grin plastered on his face. That’s when I noticed his eyes. They were darting all over the place as he stared at his monitor. I sat there, unsure what he was doing. I watched as he typed frantically, but nothing appeared in my IM box. He laughed. He stood up and cupped his balls in one hand as he grabbed his cock with the other for the camera. He sat back down, grinning from ear to ear.

A minute or so passed and then once again, Evan stood. This time he tweaked his nipples savagely, biting his lip in discomfort. He took his seat and entered more text. I was about to ask what he was doing when he looked at the camera and gave the thumbs up sign and raised the glass.

Rolling back in his chair, Evan stood up. Confident both his face and cock could be seen at the same time, Evan lowered the glass and proceeded to piss in it.

I sat there dumbfounded.

I continued to watch as Evan took his seat again, the glass still in hand. His eyes darted about — obviously reading the multiple messages he was receiving — and that loopy grin appeared once more.

And that’s when it happened.

Evan raised the glass in a toast, then placed it to his lips…and drank his own piss. In one continuous gulp.

My stomach sank. My smart, funny, sexy would be suitor was guzzling his own waste on camera — apparently at the request of others. And while that was disturbing in and of itself, the only thing I could focus on was the fact that I had kissed him. God only knows what else he’d imbibed or eaten for his viewers.

I sat there, unmoving. Evan leaned into the camera and stuck out his tongue, then lifted an arm and licked a very hairy armpit. I closed the box.

* * * * *

The phone rang about 9 that night.

“Hey, Dirk.”

“I saw you on cam. What was that, Evan?”

Complete silence.

Finally, he issued an exasperated sigh was followed by an obviously annoyed explanation about having an “open cam show” of sorts where regular viewers could instant message him requests and he would perform various activities. It was all harmless fun, he went on, a way to connect with others and make a little money on the side.

I’ll be honest — I’m no angel, but I can say without hesitation I’ve never partaken of my own wastes either on or off camera for financial numeration. I sat there, quietly trying to process what he was telling me. Before I could form a response, he blew up.

“Who the fuck are you to judge me, anyway? You were watching like everyone else!”

“I thought the invite was to talk…”

“Give me a break, Dirk! I know you aren’t that stupid — what do you think people do on cam?”

I felt so stupid at that moment. I should’ve known that a guy like Evan would only show any interest in someone like me if he were either a ruthless puppy fucker or the host of his own internet show (“where the you the viewer calls the shots! You decide what happens! Where urine you’re in control!”)

“Evan — I honestly never imagined anything like what I saw this evening…”

“Yeah, right. Tell you what — don’t call me anymore! I don’t need you judging me with your altar boy bullshit! Fuck you, Dirk.”

And so, as quickly as it began, my whirlwind romance with a urine guzzling stud came to a crashing halt. But deep down, I had known it was destined for failure from the get go.

A man who loves Spiderman in a relationship with an X-Men fan? Puh-lease. Everyone knows mixed marriages never work out.