WTF! What is this monkey-thing clinging to the post; it not only scared the shit out of me but also suggested that there was a neighbour with a mean streak.
It shouldn't be too long before I am getting the respect in this house that I deserve; what I mean by that is that the little jokes from Mook A about Pig Dog and L'il Porky should be stopping. Let me explain. Right now, A is going through a lot of stress because of his operation in six days. Yesterday he went in for his pre-admission examination and came back a pile of nerves. What does A do when he is stressed out? He eats. And he eats. And then he eats again. Anything that he touches—chips, ham sandwiches, pickles, cakes—goes into his mouth and he doesn't even know he's doing it. You know that 35 pounds he was crowing about losing? He's already put one of those pounds back on. Pretty soon, he should be back to his old elephantine self and maybe he'll start leaving me alone about my weight. Maybe, soon, when he grunts when he picks me up it won't be from my size but, rather, from that huge blob of grease he used to carry around his middle and which will, no likely, make its reappearance.
Har-dee-fucking-har-har to you, Fat Boy.
Meanwhile, I am trying to solve a mystery which, in the solution, may solve a whole bunch of other mysteries in this house. The mystery is that of what, exactly, is A's medical problem. Now I know I've seen bits and pieces of it, but nothing is gelling. Nothing sticks together.
The nurse comes in and, through the window—or that one time I snuck into the room to watch what she does—I know she goes to work on his back end. It must be very serious work because she gets mighty up close and personal and there isn't much chatting going on (like all their friendliness ends when he drops his pants).
Now this is odd to me because it throws light on some other mysteries, some of which have to do with that whole queer thing and the nature of the couplehood of Mooks A and B. I thought, for instance, that fags fucked constantly and if they weren't fucking, they were resting up for the next fuck. I figured (considering the rather open nature of their flirting in public) that when they were in the privacy of their own homes they were running about naked and swinging from the chandeliers, filling each other's orificii with whatever came in handy (anatomical or inanimate). But the Mooks seem to have a certain amount of modesty that doesn't seem "normal" (and by this I mean "normal" in the queer sense, not the normal sense). They don't walk around naked, for instance. Though I am very happy about this it also confuses the hell out of me because they are in relatively good shape for men of their advanced years (and until Mook A puts back on all the suet he has so diligently striven to lose).
And this is where the mystery goes back to Mook A. What the hell is wrong with him exactly? Here's a piece of the puzzle, though I don't know where it fits: every four days or so he locks himself in the bathroom after announcing to B that he is going to change his "thing". (He also calls it his "gadget", "kit", a bunch of French words which mean "thing", "gadget" and "kit"; he also calls it an "appliance" which conjures up this image of dragging a fridge or stove around with him which cannot be because there is no extension cord and no electrical hum emanates from him.)
Now it could be that whatever he's changing in there has to do with why he is so modest, but it doesn't explain why B is equally modest too. It also doesn't explain why they don't do anything vaguely similar to what I've seen in porn films (straight or homo).
That to me is the biggest mystery! When, where and how do they do it!? Is there some time during the day when I am on the balcony and they are not when something is happening? Am I asleep? Does it have something to do with this "appliance" (like, they can do it by remote control)? I mean something is clearly going on because if it wasn't wouldn't they be beating up on each other, if only to relieve the sexual tension? Wouldn't they be "wrestling" like I've heard young boys and girls do when they're exploring the...er...possibilities. Or are they just too old and set in their ways and doing anything like that might require energy they don't have anymore or the fracturing of a hip.
Lordie, if that's the case, I don't want to get old because as long as I'm frisky (with or without the balls) I am alive. I mean, take away the hard-ons and what are you left with? A one-purpose skin-tube to eliminate waste...like a nose. And who the fuck needs two noses?
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