Hey folks, my girlfriend Sierra & I are sharing a run-of-the-mill travel blog with occasional absurdist episodes from Southeast Asia. So far, we’ve experienced the tourist side of Thailand and all it’s multi-faceted scams & schemes. Next up: The Golden Triangle, Laos, & Burma.
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Today I was rolling a number on a park bench, bag on my lap, right outside the Tampa Bay in Florida. The sun is shimmering in the sky and we’re blazing right through the day. Not too hot, not too cold. There are families riding bikes. Kids running around. Couples walking pit bulls. All this action on a puny little trail near my grandmas house. I’m feeling introverted and respectful of my surroundings. I have my “polite citizen” mask on underneath my Hanson-meets-Tarzan locks of knotty long hair.
This fat bald old guy with a lisp approaches me. He’s from Manhattan, living in Florida talking about “blahblahblah” small talk, he lingers a while so I think he’s gonna ask me to buy some of this stinky hash I’m rolling and somehow this conversational bridge happens:
He says he’s from Manhattan so I play the small talk game,
“I’m from the sticks in Vermont but I had a girlfriend from Manhattan, her family is mostly native New Yorkers. I got to meet all them, they’re pretty cool; lived around the city for generations.”
“Oh yeah? You still with her?” Fat Bald Guy asks.
“Nope. I’m footloose and fancy free.” I reply with a grin.
“Well that’s good, you don’t need ’em. You can just take a cold shower and masturbate and you’ll be fine, trust me.” Fat Bald Guy advises me.
I nod my head in polite agreement.
Fat Bald Guy goes on, “Yeah, well you know, if you need to take care of yourself, you take care of yourself.”
“Whatever works man.” I say. I sense where this is going.
“And you know, you can have someone help get you off too, there’s nothing wrong with that.” He reminds me.
“Yeah man, I sure enjoy the soft touch of a lady’s hand, but you know what they say: get it done right, gotta do it yerself.”
“Oh, sure, but sometimes you need it where you’re at. Sometimes ladies aren’t around, you know?” He raises an inviting eyebrow. The smile on his lips looks all melty like cheap nacho cheese on a polish sausage.
“Right. Well, I’m more into love than lust right now.” I try to end this. I should be pranking him, fucking with his mind… but I’m not. I just want him to leave me alone so I can get this hash and loose smoking herb into this damn half-hollow cigarette already. Forgot my rolling papers at grandmas house.
“Yeah but there’s nothing wrong with getting a hand job in the park from another man, is there?” Fat bald guy plays his hand, cards on the fucking table.
I put mine down,
“Yeah man, whatever you gotta do but that’s not how I roll. I’ve been offered money by a handsome guy to suck my dick before. I just laughed in his face and gently told him I wouldn’t be able to get hard. First off, my dick gets hard for love. A man has never given me that spark. This body,” I point my thumbs to my chest and grill him down, “needs feminine balance to function. The male arrangement simply doesn’t do it for me.”
He chuckles and replies,
“Well why’d he want is so bad, did you whip it out and you got a ten-inch dick or something?”
I chuckle, keeping the ace up my sleeve,
“No, he just liked me and wanted me. He was horny and drunk. It was awkward and uncomfortable for me. I don’t like being hit on like that. I communicated to him that I am not interested in physical intimacy with another male.”
“Well… how do you know?” he raises another curious eyebrow. His mouth makes the shape of a fleshlight.
“The same way I know I’m interested in a lady. Instinct.” I conclude.
He gives me a look of mild defeat, and says,
“Have a nice day.” and the Fat Bald Guy kindly fucks off.
I was way too nice to this potential child molester.
He was passively pushy, not catching the hints I dropped.
Not sure what the lesson is exactly.
Tolerance? I tolerated this creep so I could finish rolling and get the hell out of there?
I mean, if I do ever touch another guys dick, it certainly won’t be his.
But why do I want to do that? Dicks are gross. Except for mine.
It seems like every time I get contemplative & introverted, the some sort of feminine side of me becomes apparent. This is easily mistaken for gay to the layperson. Lay person. Ha. Our culture mistakes feminine behavior in men for homosexuality. Gay men don’t own the feminine spectrum as it is expressed through men.
Men in america are afraid of being overtly feminine because once-upon-a-time they were ridiculed for being gay. That mentality is still alive, unfortunately. Because I am a non-threatening gender-equalized male with a skinny body and long hair, I am treated like meat by horny gay men. Maybe I’m going about it all wrong; maybe I should be a gold digging cock-tease and fatten my pockets from all this attention, never putting out. Funny to entertain but that just ain’t me.
To all the beautiful ladies under lustful masculine observation, I feel the tip of the iceberg nipples of your pain. Men without creative outlets are overbearing, horny fuckers. Old and young.
The game of sexual conquest isn’t helping anyone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for hippie free love but I don’t keep notches on my bedpost. Sex is easy: non-attachment and non-aversion. The same for love. When I feel it, I live it. When I don’t I speak it.
Call me old-fucking-fashioned but I like to play things from the gut and keep it simple; animal-style.
And… uh… that’s the headline for the day. Thanks for playing.