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My dogs are homosexual. They came out of the kennel a couple of years ago by felatting each other in the lounge room at breakfast time.

“Wow!” I exclaimed when I walked in and saw that the poodle was on top. “This is not what I expected.”

Will, the Jack Russell, had a look of mortification in his eyes that I know all too well. He has spent the following years trying to eat Toby, the fluffy power top, but his attempt to display masculinity only made me conclude that his is The Jealous Type.

 

Toby, who has an array of outfits and accessories to keep him stylishly warm in the winter, came to terms with his sexuality long before he decided to make amateur puppy porn in the same location I save for eating macaroni & cheese out of the saucepan while watching The Golden Girls. Little girl fluff balls would strut past him and he would show little interest. I always thought that maybe he was just career orientated. But I was wrong.

When Will was welcomed into the family, Toby started doing the down dog position more frequently than any Pilates devotee knows is safe to do. The Jack Russell, a male dog almost by definition, tried to ignore him and sporadically attempted to use him as an appetizer, while always aiming to convince onlookers that chicks are his kind of thing, and that anything to the contrary is a moment of weakness.

But, even I think that Every Day is more than a fling or a habit. It is a lifestyle.

 

While every boyfriend I have ever had has venomously disliked Toby [possibly for politically incorrect reasons], I have always applauded his acceptance for Who he really is. Will parades around like Nothing Ever Happened and I have never bought it or had a lot of respect for it.

Similarly, whenever I have seen human beings hide who they really are, I want to scream, “If my four kilogram poodle can accept himself, why can’t you?!”

 

My London girl friend was dating a boy who was quiet clearly Toby trapped in Will’s body. We always joked that she had masculine qualities and so when she started dating a boy who used more exfoliator in one day than I have used in my entire life, we found it to be a match made in fucked-up heaven.

“We haven’t had sex in three weeks,” she complained one day, four weeks after they set up house together. “What should I do?”

I wanted to scream, “Unless you grow a penis, there really isn’t anything You can do!” But I refrained. I hate being held responsible for things that are physically out of my control and so I don’t like to point it out to other people.

Instead, “This is what you should do,” I told her. “Get out of the shower, walk around naked while trying to find something to wear and, trust me, he will throw you against a wall [in a good way] within forty-five seconds.”

“Really?” She was desperate. “That will work?”

“Honey,” I reassured her. “It has a one hundred perfect success rate. Trust me.”

 

Three days later, London girl friend called me while Toby and I were watching Oprah.

“I hate you,” she deadpanned.

“You, every man and his dog.”

“I walked around my lounge room for forty-five minutes last night. Naked.”

“Liberating!”

“And my boyfriend sat on the couch reading quotes from Hello! Magazine to me.”

I wanted to point out the big pink elephant in the room to her. But when talking about someone strutting around their house nude, bringing a one thousand kilogram animal into the conversation is never wise.

“He finds me unattractive, doesn’t he? Should I loose weight? Or get a spray tan?”

I had no advice that I knew would work. So, I took a wild guess and told her to wear something sparkly next time while free dancing to disco music.

 

It didn’t work. Which is unfortunate because His current boyfriend wears glitter while dancing all the time.

 

Coming to terms with ones own sexuality can take up the majority of youth.

“Do I like boys?”

“Do I like girls?”

“Do I like boys and girls”

“Do I not care but as long as it is every day, I will have a happy lifestyle?”

I feel fortunate to have known my sexual orientation while I was still in the womb. I think I sat there for nine months occupied by images of George Clooney. However, similar to a gay dog trapped in a straight dogs body, I have often struggled to be proud about my certain lifestyle choices and live up to the hype.

“Really, you have no moral objection to one-night stands?” I have been asked.

“How can you believe that sex can be meaningless?” Someone has screamed.

“You did Who?!”

But then, a coupe of years ago, I realized that people will always have a mortified look no matter what you tell them. Relaying the story of what I didn’t do has shocked listeners just as much as stories about what I did do. I learned quickly that importance lies in owning what you do and just as much as who you do it with. It is a liberating feeling that you don’t have to be naked to enjoy. And if my poodle can own it, why can’t I? 

 

I woke up to a dog snuggled on either side of me, making me a fucked-up sandwich filler of sorts.

Toby stretched and posed in the down dog position. Will rolled over. And I decided to start telling people that I sleep with two boys every night. Just to see the reaction.