I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

So, I admittedly spend a lot of time thinking about love, being gay, and what to do with my life. All three somehow revolve around each other in ways I’m not sure I want to begin to understand. Today’s grab from the hat is brought to you by thoughts on: gay.

I’ve wondered this for at least half a year now, but why does it seem so many of The Gays are vindictive, petty, and self-absorbed. By no means all, but it gives the rest of the lot a bad name. I guess I’m inspired by the quote – Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds events. Small minds, people. – Where are the great minds amongst The Gays. I’m by no means a snob, nor consider myself a great mind; none of my grandparents completed high school. Well, my maternal grandmother completed her degree when she was 50^ish (dedication to education.) The only reason I bring up that is I’m comfortable talking on all levels. I prefer to discuss ideas (I’m striving to be a great mind, not in the mindset that I am one), and events are easier for most people to discuss. While every now and then I do divulge in discussing people, I feel karmicly dirty and gross, as though I had been playing in the mud and slinging it on someone’s name. Afterwards, I feel disgusted with myself.

And yet, with quite a bit of the gays I know conversations inevitably center on “—- is a slut, a big cock lovin bottom” or “Well, he does x,y,and z not to mention snorted q so hah! I’m better” (No one should feel flattered, I’m not mocking anyone. Well, I take that back and use Perez Hilton as prime example.) On another note of self reference, this in itself is talking about people, but I’m trying to get at the idea behind this, and I’ll take feeling a bit dirty karma wise. The idea being why? I can understand it’s in human nature to talk about people. We’re social creatures, and it helps to share information, especially information on people.

There’s talking about people, whether positive or negative, with no malicious intentions, and then there’s talking about people, slander intended consciousl or subconsciously. To slander someone’s name, with only hearsay and rumors, is in a reprehensible realm and always makes me feel nauseous whenever I partake or am around others who do partake. Of course, there are different levels of these discussions, but assume one isn’t talking about friends. Someone who is but an acquaintance. Someone brings up Gay Dickler, and everybody dishes on all the rumors heard about Dicklerlovin Mc Gay.

This is but a rant, and isn’t really going anywhere, but I do wonder. Also, I think that inspires me for a short story:

Gay McDickler was browsing Craigslist, looking to score some ass. It’d been awhile since he had some, but he was hopelessly addicted. Before, he was a normal gay boy who liked to play with Barbie Dolls and put t-shirts on his head while singing in the mirror. Things had changed ever since discovering masturbation at age 12, and then discovering the joys of putting his penis inside any willing manhole not covered in tar. Gay McDickler was addicted to what his dick did.

Meanwhile, QueerBob FancyPants was waist deep in 9 inch cocks. His job working at Wonderlust was not only degrading as a human being but made him question what he was doing with his life. 25 years old, and handing out cocks as door prizes to those who ventured into the sleazy sex shop. At 25, Fancypants was getting really, really old in gay world. It was similar to girl world, but with an even shorter half life. In girl world, one isn’t considered old and used until either a) a baby popped out of one’s vage, or b) lines began to show, youthful exuberance was gone, and responsibility had set in, usually around age 30. FancyPants knew this was the last year he could call himself a twink, without sounding like a desperate old bottom man. Sometimes, in the back recesses of his mind he thought of them as old men who thought the fountain of youth spurted thick white liquid, and if they lapped up enough of it they too would turn young. In fairness, he also thought this about cougars, but found them sexier. Cougars did it with style. He also wondered whether older men in general were the source for vampire myths, feeding off the sexual energy of youth. These are the things he pondered while handing out multicolored sample dongs to entering patrons.

Most just laughed and then handed them back. The gimmick was to put the patron at ease, and make them laugh while entering the store, all at the cost of QueerBob BigFatBottom’s dignity, although with a name like that one would suspect his dignity had disappeared years ago on the playground. And yet, surprisingly QueerBob wasn’t the target of bullies on the playground. Instead, he fit in alarmingly well. Perhaps it was being named QueerBob McPantsBottom, and surprising luck he turned out to be A Gay, he didn’t feel the need to compensate with overdramatic body language and a high shrill voice. Also, his mother wasn’t the dramatic type so this may have helped as well. Point being, QueerBob TotalBottom seemed like any normal person one would see on the street, not afflicted by The Gay. His hair was moderately groomed, he wore shirts with clean lines without LV plastered all over, and didn’t even carry a manpurse. Nay, he had few of the trappings of The Gays. Except, the mutual love of cock. He knew that once he turned 30, running around looking to bottom for the biggest dick around just wouldn’t do.

Gay McDickler, however, was the definition of The Gays. In fact, the clique he ran with had the audacity to take the title The Gays, thereby defining everything and anything that was and wasn’t gay. It was also terribly confusing to be part of this ultra exclusive clique because, well no permanent rules were ever kept. Gaylord was the equivalent of Cady in Mean Girls. On a side note mention, this also happened to serve as a visual bible for the clique. Really, most gays everywhere identified with some part of Mean Girls. Digression. McDickles, in his mind, had achieved the pinnacle of gaydom. He worked out every day of the week, and ate a high protein diet. He styled his hair with copious amounts of products, conditioned it daily, kept his body hairless and flawless, wore pants (girl pants in fact) to show off his sculpted body and wore whatever was in style. In essence, he was not only a cock whore but a consumer whore as well. In fairness to him, though, everyone whored themselves out in some way.

To sum up Gayle McDickleston’s existence, he was the quintessential gay. But McDickles knew all too well that once he too hit a certain age, those youthful bodies he could attract with his own would be turned off. When he once had pick among all the fresh faced, wel manicured gays woul turn into disregard, empty stares that looked right through him as though he never existed. Queerpants and McDickles shared more than just a lifelong interest in the dick. Underneath it all, they were concerned with the very essence of time. Like vampires and those Spaniards who discovered the new world, they too were looking for a way to stay forever young. Every morning review in the mirror served as a memento mori that time was passing, their looks were fading. To be honest, neither knew what they were using their looks for, other than to score another hook up. But, everyone knows even whores need love too. Except the really dirty ones. No, they don’t deserve love. But these misguided whores, while not really sure what they were searching for other than vanitas and a way of remaining fresh and viable, were searching for something.

 

After his shift ended, Queerpants dumped the remaining cocks into the bin in the back room, glancing at his manager partaking in a five person orgy including the midget man who walked in looking for a bong and what appeared to be a man in an all leather body suit including some sort of head piece and openings only for his eyes, nose and mouth, QueerBob McFancyPants sighed and went to his car.

EDIT: The name McDickles just makes me laugh.