Oy in the Hood

| 16 Feb 2015 | 04:21

    Turning away from Rosie's brownnose-a-thon, I think of a man I'd heard of who had quite a unique sexual fetish. He liked to swallow Barbie Doll heads. The truly nasty part is that after he'd gotten the thrill of feeling her little plastic noggin pass through his GI tract (Oh Barbie, you're so-grunt-push-hot!), he'd simply wash and reuse it. Kinky and thrifty!

    Just then, I overhear two obese ladies discussing the free condoms displayed on the waiting room counter.

    "You should grab a few," says Lady #1. "You don't want no sexually transmitted diseases."

    "Honey," comes the reply, "Leonard is 65 years old?he ain't sexually transmitting nothin'."

    Well shit, I say to myself. At least she's got a man. I can't snag a husband at all these days, and the men I've been involved with in the past weren't any prizes. Thankfully, I've always been into safe sex?I swallow, but use mouthwash afterward. I'm sure you've heard of barebacking; that's sex without rubbers. How about piggybacking? That's when they fuck you raw and leave dishes in the sink.

    I used to be attracted to really violent men. I'm not talking about consensual s&m. I definitely crossed the line into sexual psychodrama. My idea of foreplay was a black eye. Honey, if I didn't get at least one broken bone, I didn't have sex, thank you. Fortunately, I got over that real quick (aside from my current erotic fascination with those big 'roid freaks in the WWF, all that roughhousing, sweaty skin and faux-69ing).

    After my doctor's appointment, I haul my flabby, manless ass over to the gym. Well actually, it's the YMCA, and this being 1999, the only action in the steam room involves fungus. The hardest thing about working out is not the actual physical exertion. It's trying to ignore the other people in my sightlines, including foul-smelling pigs who leave sweat all over the equipment; scary women working out in lipstick and mascara; people who throw me shade because I drink espresso and eat plantain chips on the StairMaster. Fuck 'em. Later, in the locker room, I catch a glimpse of one too many perfectly sculpted male buttocks, and I run screaming to the roof of the building for fresh air.

    Instantly, I feel better and wander about, enjoying the view. Looking through a window in the closest building, not 10 feet away, I see a taut, shirtless young man hunched over in intense concentration. First I fantasize that he's drawing or writing, something requiring his total focus. Then he sits up, and I see that he's tied off his arm and is shooting up. He sees me watching, smiles and salutes. I simply nod. In a moment of total honesty, I admit to myself that despite the needle, I would still give this man a handjob.

    At 4 p.m., feeling twisted, I'm on the subway heading home to, God help me, Brooklyn. It seemed a shrewd economical move at the time?my Brooklyn rent is the lowest I've ever had?but now, a year later, I'm starting to gag. It's not just my roommate leaving his funky underwear on the kitchen table, snotty tissues near my toothbrush and a green film in the toilet. It's not just the people here in the boroughs?the men with their cheap cologne, loud talk and midday drunkenness, the teenage girls with attitude, babies, facial hair. It's the fucking inconvenience of it all. I am controlled by the L train.

    I stop my internal diatribe of bitterness long enough to notice a couple of roving subway peddlers coming my way, selling batteries, candy, Pokemon keychains. I suspect that their earnings go to slave masters exploiting deaf Guatemalans, or perhaps to the Black Israelites. Either way, I'm not buying till they start offering heroin and porno.

    Several nights a week I sit at home, stupefied, knowing that if I want to hit a restaurant in my hood the only options involve greasy, fried meat concoctions of unknown origin. Either that, or get on the damn train again and schlep into Manhattan. Usually, I just give up and gorge myself on Cheez Doodles, Judge Judy and a bottle of Night Train. I've decided I'm going to launch my own signature fragrance: Manless?when you don't have a man, but want to smell like you do.

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