Except he called back a little later, and said to my voice mail,
"By the way, bring a copy of your zine tomorrow morning. That seems like the best way to get to know the guy we might be hiring."
He knows what a zine is? And he knows that I'm a zine guy? That's peculiar, because I keep those worlds separate. The flyers don't say that I write and publish a zine, and I certainly hadn't mentioned it. Not sure I want to work for someone who's read the zine, and knows exactly how often I change my underwear (not very) or get laid (not ever), and so forth.
♦ ♦ ♦
There are plenty of characters in the Castro, where I work when I'm working for the shop. The green cape is an attention-getter, and I enjoy the attention, so I've danced with several men on the sidewalk, and some women too (though I'm a terrible dancer). I've even been kissed! As jobs go, it's sorta fun being flyer-boy in a wild neighborhood.
To counterbalance that, though, this afternoon I was sorta molested. I've seen the perp before — a short, skinny black man in a purple jacket, who does little karate kicks into the air for no particular reason. Maybe the high-kicking should've warned me, but I twirl around in an insect's head, so who am I to judge?
He started by admiring the cape, and we exchanged some pleasantries, and then he reached out and put his arms around me. Nothing unusual so far; people get touchy all the time. It seems to come with the cape.
Then he hugged me tighter, and I felt his erection pumping through his pants, between my thighs. Ever been dry-humped by a dog? It was like that. When a dog does it it's a laugh. When a man does it — I pushed him away and told him to go fuck himself.
My revulsion might be, to a microscopic degree, something akin to what a woman feels when a man gropes her without an invitation. It felt like an insult, like I'm the hors d'oeuvres on a platter. At the moment it just freaked me out, but afterwards it started really pissing me off, and I regret letting him walk away laughing. He would've beaten me up, sure, but I should've slugged him.
From Pathetic Life #11
Thursday, April 6, 1995
This
is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago,
called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but
might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting
things, so parental guidance is advised.
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