• Coming out of the Closet

    Written by Briana Reed

    Jack Winters, a sensible independent man with a successful career in writing. He wasn’t picky in the department either. In this career he had written several columns in magazines, a few documentary statements, most revolving around traveling across Europe and exploring its history, a total of five best selling fiction novels, and two big hit songs on MTV’s greatest hits.

    Not often did Jack find himself in a predicament where he found himself lost in his own work. He usually had bright ideas bubbling from his brain like a fountain. Now his publisher thrust a job on him that had him scratching his head and pressing the hidden help button in his brain. An article in one of the top magazines in the country and it was about the makings of the perfect man. What should a man do to become a woman’s fantasy? How should he act, talk, dress, perform? What were the secrets to making a successful relationship?

    How the hell should he know all this? Shouldn’t a woman be writing this stuff? He hadn’t had a relationship in over a year. His career soared after college and he didn’t have the time to make casual conversation with the female species.

    So why was he standing in front of his mirror, getting dressed in one of his many authentic Armani suits to attend a GQ party? Beats the ******** out of him.

    Jack Fiddled with his black tie. He hated wearing the buggers, but his publicist always insisted on him looking, feeling, and playing the part of a perfect gentlemen. His hair, hmm, what should he do with it? The midnight strands slung over his ears pin straight due to his shower. Maybe he would just slick it back with tons of glue and call it a night. Maybe even part his bangs to the side and give it a little Italiano schnazz.

    Ugh, now he was even thinking like a woman. Mussing up his hair he took a towel to it allowing the air to curly cue his locks. There, now it was a messy neat and he didn’t fuss with it like a woman. Checking one more time to see that his suit was in place he fastened his watch to his wrist, pocketed his keys and leather wallet, and made his way out the door.

    On top of owning a penthouse apartment in Los Angeles, he also owned a blue Porsche. The Cabroleit Carrera was a beauty and his favorite vehicle. Not only did it have class, but it was stylish and comfortable. He received it as a gift from the Company after saving their asses with an article he did on sports cars. He had oozed and fawned over their vehicles and in return he got their latest model free.


    Maybe if he succeeded with this, Phase Front Magazine will introduce him to some hotties. That seemed to be the only thing missing in his life. Rich, successful, with fancy doo dads, the only thing missing was sex.

    Sure, he enjoyed it on occasion but lately the thrill of it had gone away. Most of the women he knew emotionally scarred him with their whore talk, and easy fixings. They took all the fun out of finding sex. Even when he got what he wanted he usually received the loud ones who yell even thought they don’t feel a thing. Maybe women liked screaming during sex, maybe it was a turn on for them. That must be something he would have to look into during his research.

    Sliding into the Rodeo drive area it wasn’t long before he reached the famous Four Seasons Hotel. He loved this place. Classy and elegant with beautiful skies above the suffocating bustle of the city. The ballroom area was well lighted and there was an orchestra strumming classical music. He dug the full blooming peach roses decorating the center of every table. They added a sense of feminism to the clash of dominating colors of the room which were obviously done by male eyes.

    The room was already packed with people socializing and dancing on the floor. Only a few stragglers hung around the bar and he whispered a praise to god when he found his seat for the night. He ordered a martini and lounged back watching the couples, particularly the men. If he was going to do this assignment he was going to do it right. He looked for clichés in every couple and found that the women were being drawn in by smooth talkers, smooth dancers, and smooth lookers. Most of the gentlemen were business men. Blonde, and tall with blue eyes, or some even green but resembling closer to an ocean. Women getting lost in the depth of muscle and power, and the soft scent of compassion.

    Like a weed beginning to root in a orchard of roses he spotted a male that was unlike the others. He was tall, but dark and rugged. His face was anything but smooth with rigid but strong features in the face making him dangerous and a scowl that screamed “steer clear.” His eyes though were the key in hooking him. They were a pounding brown fierce but rich like chocolate with a hint of caramel swimming around the orb.

    This was his man.