Let's see, we've got Studly Seymour goin' down on some chick at the Viceroy in Santa Monica. Does that interest you? A little, you say? Well, it was quite impromptu, nothing planned (like in a bathroom stall or anything). Box-office deliverer S2 and his latest gal—for the moment, I assure you—just wanted to share a scream or 15 in the ballroom, that's all. So what if other folks crashed their sweaty party?
Toothy Tile, on the other orgasmic hand, does mind. Or maybe not? Hmmm.
As any reader of this filthy column knows damn well by now, our boy Tooth—much like Seymour, above—likes taking chances. He does it in the parking garages of Hell-Ay's more bourgeois shopping centers. On restaurant balconies—hell, wherever there's a chance of getting caught.
Just like he did last weekend. Parking lot right off the Strip. T.T. and his b-f (for whom, I'm told, Toothy has considered very heavily coming out of the proverbial media closet) were "hard-core" doing the diddly, say their concerned amigos.
Only problem was, a security cop called the real coppers, who hand-slapped T.T. something good. Alas, somebody's somebody called the head somebody at the police station, and the whole thing got covered up—just like most of the fun stuff does in this ass-greasing enclave.
So, don't expect Mr. T. to bare his bisexual soul anytime soon. I hear his relationship with the same-sex partner is suddenly not quite as gung-ho as it has been for months previous. Toothy got so friggin' scared he's edging back in the closet. And—you guessed it—the opposite-sex ex is soothing Tile's bruised psyche.
Hey, don't sweat it, Tooth. I once did it on the Long Island Railroad with my then beach boy, and the conductor happened by. Oops. Didn't ask for my ticket, funny enough.
And it ain't: Johnny Depp, Michael Vartan, Sean William Scott, Johnny Knoxville, Seth Green