Log Cabin Republicans exist. It’s a fact. But you don’t expect to end
                        up going home with one—that is until you’ve had a bit too much to
                        drink. Under normal circumstances (normal includes registered
                        Democrats, natch), exchanging sex for a place to crash wouldn’t be the
                        worst choice; but, as it turns out, Log Cabin Republicans are a strange
                        breed.
I always forget how powerful a well-placed Mame quote can be with rich
                        men twice my age. Nothing impresses them more. A few cocktails and
                        rasped songs later—I come from the Elaine Stritch school of song—and
                        Patrick and his U.S. flag lapel pin took off, leaving Thomas and me to
                        fall into a cab to have dinner near his East Village apartment.
 What the whole night hammered home for me wasn’t just that I’m not a
                        little sissy boy, nor am I much into the daddy scene. No, what Thomas’
                        comments made me realize was the utter reliance I have on my voice. I
                        understand that, being lanky and slouchy, I’m not the butchest ‘mo in
                        town. But I always believed that having a deep voice undercut all of
                        it; that if I could make it as raspy and resonant and dripping with
                        self-awareness as I could, no one could possibly think that I wasn’t
                        conscious of the appearance I presented and make a silent joke out of
                        it. Apparently, however, Daddy Thomas didn’t see it like that. Which
                        means that somewhere out there, a middle-aged Log Cabin Republican is
                        picking up a skinny twentysomething in a bar, and saying, “I was with
                        this guy once, who really got off on being spanked and called ‘Daddy’s
                        sissy boy.’” 
 
 Fellow young gay men, I offer my sincere apologies for perpetuating his
                        illusions. But maybe it’s just easier for Log Cabin Republicans to
                        pretend they’re having sex with a little girl than with another man.
A Grand Old Party
                       Thanks to the vodka weakness of one writer, we can confirm that Log Cabin Republicans actually do exist. After spending the night with an older rich man who votes with his pocketbook instead of his personal life, our writer realizes their behavior in the bedroom is just as complicated and confusing as their politics.