The press release, printed on pink paper and tastefully enclosed in a matching envelope with a gold, floral border, bore traces of what one forensic expert we consulted described as: 'cheap scent and two dollar lipstick'. But Dale assures us that the postmark was from L.A., and as it sounds like something the macho megastar would write, that’s good enough for us. So it’s our pleasure to give our readers an exclusive glimpse into the heterosexual mind of the straight stud every aspiring Hollywood actress would like to bed and some lying scumbags say gay men already have—allegedly.

Dear Dale,

As a member of the press, can you tell the world I’m not gay? I’m not gay, and I’ll sue the pants off you if you say I am… and your shirt too…all your clothes right off so you will stand there naked and oiled up—um—please excuse me while I go to the bathroom for five minutes.

I’m as ungay as they come, and I’m willing to prove it. You probably heard I’m dating Katie Holmes, ha-ha, suck on that all night, you stud, just try me. Anyway, I’ll do Katie in front of everybody. Sure, she could pass for a teenage boy if you bound her breasts and cut her hair, which if I were doing her in public is probably how she’d appear, um—because she’s going to be playing a boy in a movie…anyway, I would never do that as you'll see from the pictures of me screwing her brains out…and no, that’s not Jason Schwartzman, that mole on my cheek was airbrushed in. (Editor's note: two of the tasteful snaps to which Mr Cruise refers are published below. The others, depicting the completely straight actor dressed in fishnet pantyhose and wearing gold-plated nipple clamps appear to have unaccountably disappeared, possibly into the pocket of a leather-clad biker wearing heavy gold chains who was spotted hanging around the utterpants washroom).

I’ve bagged a lot of hot trim in my day. Look at Nicole Kidman. My straight friends—with whom I’ve never dreamed of having forbidden sexual relations in a men’s room stall—tell me that women don’t come any hotter than Nicole. When we were married I used to have sex with her all the time. Even when she was riding my bare butt with her black strapon I never once fantasized she was a guy called Nick and when I shouted out 'Oh, God…Nick, pump that ass some more!', she never thought for one moment that I meant anyone else, because she knew I wasn't gay. It’s simply not true that her tall frame and small breasts made me feel like she was the man and I was the woman, just because she towered over me. I mean, these accusations aren’t even consistent with the other rumours about my gayness.

After my first wife left me because I was supposedly impotent, being the macho action star I am, I couldn’t let her desertion ruin my reputation as a virile, manly man. So, when I co-starred with Nick in Days of Thunder I made an agreement with her. Nicole is straight and I never insisted on doggie when we had intercourse so I could pretend it was anal with the Crocodile Hunter or another hot, young Australian stud. But because I’m gay (so the rumour goes), I'm supposed to have told her that we should get married and become Hollywood royalty. I’m supposed to have forced her and everyone around us to sign airtight confidentiality agreements, only hiring family members and people who could disappear easily if they outed me. The rumour goes that she was reluctant to marry a gay man (not that I am) because she wanted kids, so I'm supposed to have told her we’d adopt, so fans would believe that the 'impotence' my former wife mentioned was the 'shooting blanks' variety and not the 'can’t get it up for a woman' variety.

I'm supposed to have said if she’d marry me it would be good for both our careers, and not only could we fool everyone, but we could both have hot sweaty sex with whatever hunk either of us wanted, even sharing some bisexual guys. Our marriage would never get boring and we wouldn’t be forced to have sex with only one person the rest of our lives, which as good looking as we are, would be a tragedy. She had to make sure no one found out about her affairs, and if caught, we’d split up, she’d find a new man and I’d find some younger actress with the same last name as mine to throw the press off the scent and focus on the fact that our names were the same. I’d put her in my next movie and try to convert her to Scientology to make it look real. So Nicole could never get pregnant because everyone knows my impotence means 'not fertile' and not 'uninterested in women.' When she got pregnant, I made her say she’d been getting fertility treatments in the hope that people would remember it wrong, thinking she was the infertile one, so everyone would assume she cheated, I’m not shooting blanks after all, or she got some sperm from David Crosby.

Of course, it’s obvious how untrue all these lies are…if we never had sex at all, how’d she get pregnant? And those other ugly rumours that I made her go into the bathroom with a coat hanger to get rid of Lenny Kravitz’ love child, because I knew if she bore a mulatto baby I’d be outed, are just plain sick. The truth is we were both having fertility treatment—that’s how I knocked her up so damn good. Mysteriously losing that child before anyone really knew Nicole was pregnant was just so traumatic for us and we couldn’t bear to stay together afterwards. She didn’t have an affair which I sanctioned because I couldn’t satisfy her sexually and only when her pregnancy threatened to out me did I kick her to the curb—just ask my publicist.

Anyway, Katie is pregnant. Yeah, I've pumped so much manly sperm into her tight, little snatch and not up her boyish ass—though I would if she asked me to, not because I'm gay (which I'm not), but because I know boyish-looking chicks like Katie love that shit. Now that she's gonna be losing those slim hips, small breasts and tight boyish ass that don't turn me on at all because I'm not remotely gay, everyone's gonna know I'm the manly, virile stud I play in all my movies. The doctors say I've knocked her up so damn good she's gonna be HUGE by the time she has my triplets or quadruplets or whatever any time soon now. Yeah, So all those lying scumbags that said me and Nick adopted kids because I was impotent, didn't have any sperm or preferred sex with muscle-bound guys in tight leather pants are gonna be so sorry they spread those lies about me.

Besides, would they let a gay man star in action films? They need macho men with boyish good looks; you show me a gay man as pretty as me. Sure, titles like Top Gun, Young Guns, Risky Business, and even Magnolia, are rife with phallic innuendo or sound like thinly veiled gay porn film titles, but I didn’t play gay characters in those movies. Look at my character in Magnolia, a misogynistic, macho poonhound, I defy you to find the gay symbolism in that. Could I do a good job playing a guy who sleeps with a lot of women just to prove how macho he is if I were a gay man who dated a bunch of beautiful women just so people would think I’m macho? What about the Outsiders…a group of teenage boys in a coming of age drama about male bonding among those forced into a closet of unpopularity. What’s gay about that? And Risky Business—what’s so gay about a teenage boy sliding across a floor in his damp underpants?

Anyway, I’ve knocked Katie Holmes up now, and all my heterosexual friends think she’s totally hot. By heterosexual friends I mean the guys whose cocks I would never dream of sucking, even if they begged me like they have in my dreams…er, I mean nightmares. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, which I wouldn’t want to because I’m not remotely gay. Even if I wanted to for a reason other than being gay, like say my friend was bitten on the head of his penis by a rattlesnake and needed someone to suck out the venom, as a friend and true humanitarian, it would give me untold pleasure to suck his cock, but I’m straight. So what if his huge, throbbing shaft began to stiffen, glistening with my saliva as I moved my lips gently back and forth (to find the venom), while feverishly massaging his balls to stimulate the blood flow away from his glistening helmet so the venom wouldn’t enter his bloodstream, and—oh gawd—excuse me, I’ve spilled something wet in—er, I mean—on my pants, I’ll get changed and be right back.

So I’m not gay, and I don’t want you to open the enclosed envelope with the cute little pink boxer motifs on it which contains the secret code to my electric gates, my address book, a door key, a map to my bedroom, my cellphone number and a plane ticket to L.A., so you can sneak into my home at night and take advantage of me, while I pretend to be the heaviest of sleepers. So if you’re gay it’s best if you don’t cum—er, I mean, come. I only enclosed that envelope because I'm straight and thought you might like to do Katie. I mean, I know I knocked her up and we're more in love than mere mortals could possibly fathom, but that doesn't mean I'd mind you having a pop at her. Everyone who isn't gay wants to do her, right? So I figured maybe some night you might drop by and take advantage of her while she's asleep. Did I tell you she usually sleeps on her front? Because if I knew you were coming, I promise it would be her in my bed and not me dressed up to look like Katie to fool you into molesting me by mistake. Just call and tell me either way so I know whether I should not look for you while not dressed like Katie.

Tommy

P.S., let me reiterate, I’m not gay. Now I’m off to do some research in a penitentiary for the next movie I’m doing where I’ll be playing a really tough, manly, not at all gay guy, who gets sent to a maximum security prison and could have his pick of any of the muscle bound men in the place, but doesn’t because he’s not gay, even though he could make any of these bad, sweaty men his bitch and…oh God, something’s come up, I’ve got to go. Also, please forgive the damp stains. I was eating a cinnamon roll this morning and got white, hot sticky frosting all over the pages…if it bothers you, I don’t mind if you lick it off, I won’t tell anyone—pinky swear!

Comment on this story? Click the button to have your say.
OR CLICK HERE TO READ READERS' COMMENTS ON THIS STORY

Story © Dale Petrie 2005. Picture and construction © utterpants.co.uk /070605