| dewy decimal |
2005-04-15 - 1:40 a.m.
Today I swam the unexpected. Near the baked shores where the homos smear themselves over city sands like lazy manatee, whose likeness is almost total, I must say, aside from the stipulation that this variety of manatee must necessarily be clad in the most immodest of lycra inventions. I am with Twan at Queens Beach. Glory!
Yes, I know it's a bit much to coordinate one's towel with one's swimming trunks but when I looked in the mirror before I left my house I saw someone with sophistication, and style. Yes, ridiculously sophisticated style! When the homos would see me they would be forced into conversation of the implicit pedigree involved in such a well-considered amalgam of beach accoutrements.
Of course when I got there, the manatees could have cared less. Forget YOU Queen's Beach!
Twan and I ogled over the boner-inducing parade of surfers that passed through our latticework of magical manatee limbs.
"I hate it when straight girls say that all GAY guys are hot," I said to Twan.
"They've got it wrong," Twan said back to me.
"So wrong."
"You will never find guys like THAT at Hulas."
"Hellz naw."
"Shit if I could hit that just once�"
Gay men are funny and the way we talk about sex is not unlike that of straight men, save for the whole sex with another man part.
At any rate, it'll probably be another two years before I go to that beach again. Or any others for that matter. I've become a very not-a-beach-going-kind-of-guy. Sometimes I majorly FREAK at the mere mention of malignant melanoma, which sounds very very wry and evil. And that beach in particular, with it's bear daddies and its bulbous muscle trend, always makes me feel very self-conscious and noodle-like. Makes me feel like an invisible twelve-year-old who's awaiting puberty. Which I shouldn't even think of as an obstacle. There are guys who are in to that.
You know the picture of the WORST sunburn of my life on my myspace page? Nearly a year later, there is still a stain from where I was burnt into welts, not to mention the pasty white skin of where my tank top had blocked the UV rays like some kind of tanning stencil. A year later I am STILL a redneck which totally ruins the whole stylish/sophisticted slant that I was going for earlier. Embarassing.
I remember when I was going through puberty with the zits and the raging of hormones, all that confusion and sorrow. I remember listening to The Pretenders song, Kid, wondering if those lyrics were the the thoughts of my Mom, her suspicions.
Kid, what changed your mood
You've gone all sad, so i feel sad too
I think i know some things we never outgrow
You think it's wrong
I can tell you do
How can i explain?
When you don't want me to
Kid, my only kid
You look so small, you've gone so quiet
I know you know what I'm about
I won't deny it
But you forgive though you don't understand
You've turned your head
You've dropped by hand
All my sorrow, all my blues
All my sorrow
Shut the light, go away
Full of grace, you cover your face
Kid, gracious kid
Your eyes are blue but you won't cry
I know angry tears are too dear
You won't let them go