2000-09-07 | 03:42:59

the verdict is in. to get a boy like the one i described in my list yesterday, i must get a gay boy.

this verdict came from a friend of mine who is gay, so he knows from boys. a straight friend seconded the motion.

yep. guys that great exist, but they are gay. except for maybe one or two, and i'm sure they are already taken.

well, that's just great. just great. to find my perfect mate, i will need to live as a beard.

i guess i'm just gonna have to pull a coco chanel.

yes, i will just have to resign myself to the fact that i am an attractive woman of a certain age who will have to please herself with a series of desirable bon-bon boys.

i will take to wearing extremely long strands of pearls. i will begin to smoke. and not only to smoke, but to smoke with a silver cigarette holder. and i will languish on my chaise lounge and pout. pout. pout.

i will seduce strapping yard boys...luring them into my white satin boudoir. i will peel their linen workshirts from their wide, sweaty backs and gaze in admiration at their throbbing manhood. then, after a tussle on my bear skin rug, i will send them away to finish the hedge-trimming, dreamy-eyed and sated.

i will be squired to wonderful soirees and dinners out on the town by graduate students with pensive glasses and thought-provoking pecs. they will toss back their heads and laugh at my outrageous, yet sublime, wit. they will put their hands on my silken knee under the table and beg to have me. right there. right then. i will toy with them. i will order dessert and eat it very, verrrrrrry slowly. i will lick the whipped cream off the cherry on top with my petulant tongue. their eyes will cross with desire. then i will summon my driver and have my way with them in the back of the rolls. charles is ever so discreet, you know. he's been with the family for years.

ah, yes. there'll be torrid trysts on yachts tucked into greek island inlets. our tanned bodies writhing on the deck like playful dolphins.

there'll be hand-holding at premieres in cannes. there will be horseback riding in the italian countryside. candlelit continental dinners. the finest of wines. and lots of sex. yes, please. lots of sex.

then i will tire of the boys, or they will fall victim to their inevitable a.d.d. and leave me for some cow-eyed village lass. i will weep at their loss for a day at best, and then return to longing glances exchanged with the tennis instructor at the country club.

yes, this will be my life. glamorous. alluring. solitary, yet satisfying. no dirty underwear on the floor. no sports on the tv. no burping or belly scratching. just me, pleased as punch in my cashmere robe, reading alain de botton by the fire. smiling demurely at the remembrance of an untamed interlude with gustav, the morroccan tile layer, that very day in the shifting light of the late afternoon.

call me coco nictate. i'm delighted to make your acquaintance.

yes. delighted. enchante, my boy. enchante!

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