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One of the comments I made in my last column had a reader ask, "what does it mean to 'find validation for a questionable new haircut'?" It's what I reported I was looking for in the park when I met one of the men I discussed having an affair with even though he was straight.

As most of you know, cruising opportunities abound for the gay man, at least in a city as big and diverse as ours. And be it in a park, a clothing store, or a bus station toilet, one can usually find a bit of what he may be looking for (or looking to avoid) just about anywhere, and use it to varying degrees of satisfaction.

Sometimes you just want to get off, and using another guy's hand, mouth, or ass is just a way of saving on Kleenex. In this case, wherever you find the opportunity, the quicker and more string-free the better. Sometimes you want to find a husband, so maybe the Port Authority mens room (Ninth Avenue Side of North terminal, main floor, to the left of the Shortline ticket area, or so I've heard) is not the place for that as much as would be, say, a friend's cocktail party. Sometimes you want to hook up, have some fun out on the town and then head home with a new stranger for a night of naked rampage that may or may not lead to breakfast; providing such is pretty much the mission statement on every business plan of every gay bar in town. And sometimes you don't want to actually FIND a quickie, a husband, or a pajama party.

You just want to know you can.

Now in that prior mention I referenced a questionable new haircut as the pivot point on which my cruising-for-attention escapades were hinged; but there can be any number of questions raised in a man's mind that make him look outside for reassurance that whatever he's bringing to the picture, someone will actually want to look at it. If I'm not sure the new side-swept bangs my hair stylist just talked me into is actually the most attractive new look for me, the easiest way to find out is to road test it: if someone wants to fuck me - with this haircut I'm sporting - then the haircut works. And I mean it when I say that actually having any sex as a result of it is completely beside the point. Understood, the guy on the other end of the validation equation might be in complete disagreement as to how very much to the point the actual sex is, but if I have to be branded the occasional cock tease in order to insure a cut, color and style was worth the wad of cash I've just blown, then I don't really dwell on the wad my foil was looking to blow in me.

I've known men who will engage in this sort of field testing to find external validation for everything from fake tans to new shirts. The most trivial and superficial of changes to our appearance can lead us into major cognitive dissonance as we obsess over the fruitless efforts of ongoing self-improvement or how big a mistake we may have just made. "Buyer's Remorse" after purchasing a car can make a guy pore over issues of Car & Driver magazine and spout an endless stream of statistics supporting the legitimacy of his new purchase. But when it comes to questions such as "have the extra push-ups I've been forcing myself to endure for a month now really made that big a difference," the only authoritative voice to speak on that is the unmistakable glance of a man whose sexual interest is piqued by our presence.

Please don't think that if I ever say "hello" to you at a party or respond with interest to your stare or your wink across the bar that I am thinking to myself "Yes! These shoes were totally worth half a paycheck! You are dismissed." I more than likely am interested in meeting you for less casual or at least less self-centered purposes.

But as evolved and intelligent as I try to be, and no matter how many times I look at myself and say "yeah, I'd tap that," - and no matter how many times I work hard to convince myself that it's what's on the inside that really truly counts - NOTHING says "you're desirable" like hearing it from someone else.

Now to those who truly know me, it is well known that I am ten times more loving of the person's insides than the outsides. So I can't in all good conscience leave you this week on such a note of self-indulgent mirror-gazing.

So I will now turn MY need for validation into a good thing as it leads me to a heightened sensitivity of everyone ELSE'S needs for the same.

Rest assured that the next time a guy looks at me at Web or buys me a drink at Splash, it may well be that he doesn't know if his shirt looks better tucked or un-tucked, or if the three pounds he's trying to sweat off are still showing, or if his hair is turning uncomfortably gray or if anything about him is working for anyone on any level that would make them say "yeah, I'll toss you a roll in the sack."

And that's when a cock tease can become more of a service-oriented individual, filling a truly necessary role in society. Whether I actually go home with you, sir, and whether I actually spend the next several hours making out with you in a dark corner of some club, or sneak past a bouncer into a bathroom stall to get off really quickly and get it out of our systems, or simply lavish you with the attention that says that any and all of that may be possible...

All you need to know is someone would say "yes" to you. And that you're ok. And that you can now focus your attentions on other, more important aspects of your existence knowing that indeed, when you want it, you can get laid.

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Suzily I woe the fact that sometime the only way to make people believe I find them attractive the way they are presenting themselves is to sleep with them. With that more out of the question at this point, I'm glad you have an easier time making others believe the potential yes than me.

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