Fridae

"The Love Boat soon will be making another run
The Love Boat promises something for everyone."
- P. Williams, C. Fox, Love Boat Theme

I broke off with my ex sometime last year. The bastard had been seeing a soulless pea brained gym rat on the sly for months and actually had the gall to send me to dumpsville via (of all things) SMS.

I needed to get away from the misplaced sympathy of well-meaning friends and any chance of bumping into the scarlet-lettered duo. It has to be a totally outrageous and decadent getaway, an escape to celebrate rather than bemoan my new unattached status.

Like any self-respecting 21st century individual, I turned to the Internet for some inspiration. In between mouse clicks and pinpricks on my ex-boyfriend voodoo doll, the answers to my prayers popped up on my computer screen: an all-gay cruise.

Being an avid fan of The Love Boat and more recently (I'm not ashamed to admit) The Love Boat: The Next Wave, an all-gay cruise is to me, the holy grail of vacations. After all, it combines two very important interests of mine: cruises and cruising.

I thanked my lucky stars that there was a gay cruise setting sail just around that time. The only catch is it's sailing off in the States. But if you think that I'm going to let a little distance keep me away from my dream getaway, think again. After all, this writer has flown halfway across the globe just to catch a certain Ms Ciccone perform gravity-defying kicks in her flaming red kimono.

A week and countless correspondences with an American acquaintance (I knew he'd come in handy someday) later, I was on my way to my maiden voyage aboard an all-gay cruise. I managed to convince Evan, my all-time partner in crime to come along for trip as my cruising partner cum witness.

After checking in, I swear that the two of us stopped breathing for a full minute as we checked out the sight that lay in front of us. Encased in a seven-story domed atrium were shops, lounges, a man playing show tunes on a grand piano and more importantly, gay men everywhere! My gaydar went into overdrive and I was intoxicated by the level of testosterone in the air. It's like The Love Boat minus the pesky booby bimbos. I swore I've died and gone to gay heaven.

Struggling to regain our composure, we managed to find our way to our cabin with the help of a very desirable bellboy. The size of our cabin leaves much to be desired though. To be fair it is luxuriously furnished and reasonably cozy but it didn't take long for Evan and I to figure out that we'd be better off ditching this shoebox and hanging with the rest of the boys.

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After some exploring, I've come to the conclusion that the cruise ship is nothing short of a floating miracle. Enclosed in more than 90,000 tons of steel are ten restaurants, eight bars, indoor and outdoor pools, hot tubs, fitness center, spa, library, casino, theatre and the list goes on. With so many men and so much to do onboard, who will have time to ponder past failed relationships?

Evan wasted no time in hooking up with a Muscle Mary he "bumped into" at the pool. I, on the other hand, being a tad more choosy, was determined to hunt for the perfect holiday fling among the 2000-odd passengers onboard.

Probably the best thing about the cruise is that there were no assigned tables during dining time. This means that you can eat whenever you want with whomever you please. Evan by this time was already joined at the hip (in more ways than one) with his new friend and would be dining with him (incidentally, also in more ways than one), leaving me to my own devices.

Fortunately, the kind people running the cruise also provide the value-added service of bringing people together at meals. Even more fortunately for me, they brought a pan-Asian dreamboat to my table. Somewhere between the canap�s and the entr�e, I've decided what I wanted for dessert.

After dinner, Brad (the dreamboat) and me proceeded to the outdoor party, complete with live entertainment, laser and lighting effects at the top deck. As the night worn on, we moved on from doing the vertical salsa on the dance floor to the horizontal tango in a shoebox (insert sordid details here).

For the rest of our journey, I saw less and less of Evan and more, much more of Brad. And for the next few days, I also met guys of every conceivable occupation. Lawyers, brokers, writers, performance artists, even a guy who cross dresses as a dominatrix and runs his own S&M parlor. Together, we explored the exotic Caribbean ports of call, engaged in campy party games, danced the nights away at the club or outdoor parties and had (excuse the expression) a gay old time.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. As we bade our teary-eyed goodbyes to our summer flings, promising to write (we never did), Evan and I made a pact that we will be back for more.

When I touched down at home ground, I was flooded with calls and messages from my friends. However, there were no more sympathetic how-are-you's but frantic how-was-it's. As they begged for details, I realized that I have transcended my victim status and had unwittingly become the envy of my peers.

With a smile, I gave my ex-boyfriend voodoo doll a final prick on his dick before packing it away for good.