Ethan Gray writes about his "date" with a porn actor:

... Orchids. The sweet smell of purple orchids and my name written on a small envelope. Breathe in. No one's ever sent me flowers before. Who's it from? A phone call. His voice on the other end of the line. An invitation to dinner and a movie.

He picked me up in a convertible. A quick drive to the theater. No, he wouldn't let me pay. Not for the tickets, not for the popcorn, not for the French food or the California wine. He was shy, sweet, attentive. A gentleman who drove me home and parked the car so he could walk me to the door. A hug, a kiss on the cheek, a bashful smile. A date with a porn star.

What! Am I being lead to believe that porn actors not only are people, but also go on dates? Hmm. Sounds like your average outcall service to me, even with the all-inclusive orchids and boxed wine.

Oh, who am I kidding - Ethan went on a date with a porn actor and I'm jealous. Whatever, dude. I have my own little get-togethers with Michael Lucas, Chad Hunt and Bruce Beckham every single night - and at least things end with an orgasm!

But back to the orchids. Ha. So cheesy, right? So cheesy, and yet so rarely given, at least to guys - gay guys, especially. Flowers are just so obvious - too obvious - that we think of other ways to convey affection for our boyfriends. Expensive dinners at fancy restaurants, expensive clothes from fancy stores, expensive bracelets from fancy jewelers. The $10 bouquet is just so ordinary that it's never even factored into the equation.

I remember the last time a guy gave me flowers. The last time was the first time. It was my 19th birthday (only three years ago, people) and when I came back to my dorm room from class, there was a small bouquet of flowers on my desk. "Frankie left those for you," said my awful, awful, awful roommate, who was there to accept the flowers in my absence since he'd never leave the room. "And there's a card, too." Cool.

I opened the card and - um, wow. You know, I don't remember what was written inside the card! It was something really touching and sweet, I know that. But I honestly don't remember what it was. Ha! Finally! I am one step closer to getting over my second-semester-freshman-year boyfriend. It's about damn fucking time.

Anyway, what I do remember is the intoxicating rush of butterflies I felt in my stomach, just from having been given flowers from a boy. It was such a simple, charming, perfect gesture that I imagined the only logical denouement to be a shared milkshake at a diner. Make sure I'm home before midnight, Frankie. And get that hand out from under my blouse.

Ah, those stupid fucking flowers. Boy, did I fall for it, or what?