When we asked The New York Blade EIC Trenton Straube to pen an article for The Youth Issue, he practically bust a nut. It's particularly timely, you see, because Miss T said he's had youth on the brain as of late - but, sadly, no other body part - due to the fact that he just turned 178 38 years old. He then proceeded to give us way too much information:

I just read Tennessee Williams’ reissued Memoirs. What a slut, that Tenn! So inspiring - except for the sad slow death and public displays of addiction. Enabling my addiction to Tenn, my family, who knew I was reading that book, planned a trip to Tennessee Williams’ grave site, in St. Louis, when I was in Missouri for Christmas.

We thanked heaven for the reprieve and were about to make a quick getaway when Straube went on about his other inspiration, John Waters - who, not coincidentally wrote the introduction to the new Memoirs and has a new Valentine's CD coming out.

Straube babbled on:

I am constantly inspired by both Tenn and John Waters—and I have proof: this (pictured) picture of them haunting me at my birthday.

Anyway, I was playing a review copy of A Date With John Waters and reading the liner notes—hilarious—when it became clear that I should force myself to date a bunch of young guys for research on my piece.

When we informed Trent that our readers were gay and young, he said, “Perfect! I’ll ask them out on a date!” When we mentioned that we're young and hot, too, he pretended not to hear us and got to work on his piece, instead. Bastard.

Now, without any more of our babbling, here's what Mr. Straube came up with:

Well, hello cutie. Come in, come in! Thanks for answering my ad and stopping by. I gotta admit, I didn’t think you’d actually be as young as you claimed in your profile. You are legal age, right? Just to be sure, I need to see some I.D. Thanks.

What? Oh, the bedroom’s in there, but let’s just chat for a minute, get to know each other first.

No, I’m not “into” younger guys. Personally, I was always attracted to older guys - not like grandpa old, but more mature, which I associated with interesting and worldly. Guess I wanted to escape my own age bracket. But lately I’ve been curious about younger guys.

Why? For one thing, I turned 38 this month, which sounds old to me. It’s a bit hard to wrap my mind around that one. In case you’re wondering, your thirties are a perfect age for sluttiness: you can sleep with hot guys 10–15 years younger or older and it isn’t considered “weird”.

Another reason I’ve been thinking about youth is that I recently hooked up with guys who were, like 22. Pure coincidence. The first time, an actual date, freaked me out, like, “That’s too young; I’m not into chicken.” Thing is, the guy was cool, smart, cute, funny. We got along great. The insecurities were all in my head. I met the second guy - also intelligent, with a wry sense of humor - at a, um, club. After we exchanged cell phone numbers, ages and names, I decided I would ask him out and see what happens. He never called back. No big deal. A friend of mine says 23-year olds are too young for me anyway. Apparently there’s been a ruling: half your age plus seven. In other words: 38 divided by two, plus seven. By that math, my threshold's 26...

Seriously, I don’t fetishize youth; I’m not like Larry Clark or Mark Foley. Are you familiar with them, the filmmaker and ex-Congressman? … No, I don’t think you’re stupid just because you’re young. … Okay, calm down. So you came out at 15, your parents and friends all know and you’re on the honor roll and the basketball team. Good for you. Guess you put me in my place…

You’d like to do what to me in my place? Why, you naughty, naughty boy!

Sure, I like to do that. It’s just that, well, I feel kinda weird about it right now. I’m the older one. Isn’t it against the laws of nature for you to be the aggressive top? Come to think of it, when I was younger, I was mostly a top, too. And I managed to hook up with some really hot men. I realize now they were probably just big ol' bottoms who were just happy to find a guy who could top. Tops are a rarity in this town, I hear. I actually didn’t learn to enjoy being the bottom until I was older and more experienced.

In fact, when I was in my teens and early twenties, I was too insecure to really appreciate sleeping around, let alone properly relaxing and giving it up to another guy. When I was your age, I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. I was cynical about everything. I rebelled against the omnipresent “establishment” and “beautiful, popular people”. How silly is that?

Being a skinny alterna-fag with a laptop is just as big a cliche as a shaved Chelsea boy with a dumb bell. But when I look at photos of me from then, I think, “What was my problem? I Iooked cute. Why did I make my life so fraught with anxiety?” I mean, I did a lot of fun things and had great friends and all. But there was something –as they say - “intense” about that phase of my life. Maybe because that’s when I was truly coming to terms with being gay, discovering what I wanted “to do when I grow up,” all that stuff.

You’d think that I would have loved my twenties: the age when it’s alright to live a bohemian life and experiment with sexuality, right? Nope. Just wait till you’re still doing that twenty or thirty years later. Or you find yourself 50 pounds heavier, credit cards maxed out, involved in a lackluster relationship - with yourself! - working a deadening job. … No, that’s not me. Thank God! I’m just sayin’. It happens to the best of us. And you know what? I’m sure that when I’m 50, I’ll look back on 38 with some equally crazy insight. …

What did you say? I think too much? Guilty. It’s an occupational hazard. So, enough chatting. Why don’t I show you that bedroom you were asking about?

What do you mean you have to leave? … Oh, your mom has dinner ready and you have homework? Well, I don’t want to keep you from that. Be sure to eat your vegetables. And take a vitamin-mineral tablet each day. And wear sunblock—and condoms!

Wait! Before you leave, I just have one more important question: What does your dad look like?

Trenton also sent us this picture of him at Tennessee Williams' grave. We thought it too priceless to shrink down to fit in the text, so we decided to out it here. If you can't read it, the tombstone reads, "The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks".