September 24, 2010; "Joe"

So there was "Joe."

It was 3 p.m. on the dot and there he was: "Joe," the man Skeeter had hired for...well, whatever Skeeter wanted him to do, I suppose.

The man was young, but not a boy. He was tall, but not a giant. His clothes were loose but they did not hide the fact that he was built like a Greek statue. He had a huge smile that wasn't the kind you buy. And, Lordie!—forgive me a moment of queeritude—he was a fucking hunk. In another time and place, I'd've done him! After he came in and there were the awkward hellos between tradesman and customer, he kneeled down to me and just went to town. He tickled and poked and scratched and petted and turned me into a big pile of jelly. Before you know it I was a slut; dancing and bouncing up and down and just entertaining his motherfucking pants off, figuratively. And that meant I was getting in the way as Skeeter wanted to do that literally. So out I went...the bum's rush to the balcony, like Skeeter used to do when I was getting in the way when the nurses came to take care of him.

So there I was on the balcony while Skeeter and this "Joe" did unimaginable things in the bedroom. Let's just say that Skeet sounded...ick...happy. Then I remembered that I used to be able to watch Skeet and the nurse through the window.

No.

No.

Don't do it.

Stop!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And there I was, looking in.

OH! MY EYES! MY EYES! OEDIPUS! OEDIPUS!

I didn't even catch them doing much of anything, really...it was more like...ick...afterglow. But, Jesus, Skeet looked about 20 years younger. I stopped looking but soon Skeet was opening the balcony door to let me back in the apartment and inviting me to say goodbye. Again, I was utterly seduced and did the song and dance and noticed, despite my confirmed straightness, that this guy was beautiful.

Then he was gone.

Skeeter and I curled up in the La-Z-Boy and he just stared out.

"Was it worth it?" I asked, rhetorically.

There was a long pause and then he said, very quietly, "It's not about sex or love, you know."

"So, what is it about?"

His expression of utter contentment clouded and he didn't speak for another long time. "You have no idea how wonderful it was, for just a few moments, not to feel ugly."

"But you paid for that," I said very quietly because, as weird as this all was, I didn't want to squash the little twerp in his moment of glory.

"Well, little guy, here's the thing: a male body cannot lie."

"I see...and ick." Then something occured to me. "Does Boo-Boo make you feel ugly?"

"Good God, no!"

"Then who?"

"The mirror, little man, the mirror."

You know something? Humans are mightily fucked up. In my world, the ugliest, fattest, droolingest mongrel mutt can look into the mirror and see a gorgeous being because he is, after all, a dog!