I haven't met many famous people in my life. I once chatted with ex-NFL running back Roger Craig in a marathon and I recently wrote about meeting game show legend, Ray Combs.

My most impressive celebrity meeting, however, was a famous movie star. Well, by "famous movie star", I mean "gay porn star", and by "meeting" I mean "being so close to his naked oiled-down body that his penis nearly dripped on me". Gather the grandkids around the browser, it's time to hear about the most horrifying birthday party I ever attended.

Around 6 years ago, a good friend of mine invited the wife and I to his birthday celebration. Let's call him Pablo. So, Pablo had planned himself quite a fiesta. First, dinner at an excellent little Spanish restaurant called Timos, then we'd all catch a new show in town called "Jeff Stryker Does Hard Time".

For those of you who don't watch much gay porn, Jeff Stryker is a gay porn superstar whose penis has spawned an entire line of dildos. You can see lovely semi-nude pictures of Jeffy here. Although Jeff has done straight porn, he became a super star in the glamorous world of gay porn.

Dang, is it a little warm in here?

Jeff, like many men with 10 inch penises, yearned for more satisfaction from his career than simple nonstop hot anal action could give him. He wanted to perform in live theater. Whereas most actors in this situation would pursue something along the lines of Hamlet or MacBeth, Jeff wisely chose to produce and star in a campy play about life in a men's prison. Who knows, had Dustin Hoffman been better endowed, perhaps he would have made similar career choices.

Pablo, having a taste for the perverse, decided that he and five of his closest friends should expand their cultural horizons and partake in this fine theater. And so that evening, the wife and I, another couple even less well-versed in gay porn, Pablo, and his gal, J, went to go view "Jeff Stryker Does Hard Time" at a local theater. Although we trusted that this was a reputable production, we sat near the back, just in case random fluids started flying. We noted that the audience was almost all male. Heterosexual couples were, by far, the minority.

The first half of the show was fairly uneventful, as far as gay-and-prison-themed theater goes. There were various jokes about dropping the soap in the shower and a healthy helping of single entendres. I'd have to say that if you were looking for one Jeff Stryker show to bring your grandfather to, this would have been the one. We sat in our seats at the intermission, only vaguely numbed by what we had seen. Our host, Pablo, however, announced that there was a rave that he was really interested in attending, so he and his date, J., abruptly departed for greener pastures.

Four of us remained, two devoutly heterosexual couples, waiting out the rest of this Jeff Stryker vehicle.

Things started to get a little raunchier in the second act. Most of this act centered on a show within a show. For some reason only truly understood by the play's authors, the inmates in the prison were going to put on a musical number. Before we knew it, the show's all-male stars had oiled themselves down and were singing and dancing on stage, completely nude. Jeff Stryker, being the main attraction, was the center of attention, and hammed it up by hopping down into the front row of the audience to mix it up a bit with the audience. He gyrated and wiggled his naughty bits all over the people who were lucky/unlucky enough to sit near the aisles in the front rows.

At this point in the show, I mentally patted myself on the back for sitting near the back of the theater. I feel somewhat uncomfortable in a strip club watching naked WOMEN. During my limited experiences in a strip club, I never quite knew where to stare when a naked stripper was dancing in front of me. Should I stare at their breasts or crotch, knowing that was one of my rare chances to see these normally shy creatures? Or should I look them in the eye and smile warmly so as to both express some appreciation and allow myself to pretend that this is a normal interaction? I once even felt awkward enough to make small talk (I'm the guy in a group who always rushes to fill pregnant pauses). I asked the topless gal what she thought about while doing her job. She shrugged her shoulders in mid-shimmy and said, "I don't know. Laundry."

Laundry??? How much advance thinking does laundry require? Man, either she wears super hard to wash thongs, or this a job that requires a lot of distraction.

Anyway, that's what I go through with female strippers. Consequently, I was quite relieved to avoid the dilemma with a gay male porn superstar.

Then, something horrible happened. Jeff Stryker, in all his naked oiliness, started to make his way up the aisle. He stopped at each row, like a exhibitionist ticket taker, shaking all 10 inches of his money maker at each person along the aisle. I assured myself that I was safe from this treatment. Not only were we near the back, but I wasn't even near the aisle. There were half a dozen, admittedly empty seats, between me and the aisle. "Hah!" I thought to my self, smug in my straightness.

Jeff, however, was relentless. Implacable, even. He continued up the aisle, inexorably thrusting his way closer to me. I started to panic a teeny bit. Background processes in my mind rushed to think up small talk topics with Jeff. Does he dryclean his costumes or would we have a shot at discussing his laundry?

Eventually he reached our aisle. I watched in horror as Jeff boogied and waggled his way over to me. There it was. Nearly a foot of sloppily-oiled penis flesh, flapping around, barely inches away from me. My brain froze. I had no idea where to stare. Is it rude to ignore the purple elephant in the room? Is it rude NOT to ignore it? WHERE IS JUDITH MARTIN WHEN YOU NEED HER?

I smiled my most jittery smile and looked all around, nervously. I did my best not to look at any one thing (PENIS!!!) in particular. Small droplets of oil were flying off his body while he danced in front of me. It was, one must admit, an awkward moment in the life of a straight man. Soon, 20 or 30 days later, Jeff backed up and went down another aisle.

I quickly perused my clothes, to see if any major oil splatters had occurred, then turned to my wife and friends, my mouth still plastered in its jittery smile. They had huge better-you-than-me grins on their faces.

After Jeff visited each of the rows in the theater the show ended soon thereafter. I sat in stunned silence for a few moments and then we gathered our things to leave. I was pleased to have this portion of my evening over. As we neared the door, however, I saw that my new nemesis, Jeff Stryker, had stationed himself near the exit and was greeting people as they left. He wore a loosely-closed robe and was shaking hands like a politician as his fans slowly made their way past him.

I wasn't really prepared to shake hands with the man. I mean, we had practically just had sex, wasn't that enough contact for one evening? I was still nursing my psyche. I mustered a smile, and mumbled a "thank you" as we got to the door. Jeff and I parted for the final time.

The next year I bought Pablo a Jeff Stryker dildo for his birthday. I felt bad that he never got to see the real thing.