A Perfect Life

            I want a family; I have this idea about the future, my life and my relationships with others.

            I’ll be sitting on the couch, much like any other day when I have a second to relax; normally with a glass of ice cold green tea in my hand reading the news online. I got home early from work because my crazy boss lets me do whatever I want. Work is amazing and I love what I do, but my family is even better so I rush home everyday for them. I decided to surprise my husband with a home made dinner from scratch, we both work and our child is in day care during the day. We think it’s good for him to interact with kids his own age. Earlier in the day I had picked my son/daughter up from daycare/school and we rushed off to the super market. We pretended the car was a spaceship and made funny noises the whole way to the store. Today is special because we have plenty of time to goof off. We had fun playing with the little toys that you get from the quarter machines. We even got matching unicorn tattoos, the kind you put on with warm water! The two of us, now “too cool for school” picked up all the groceries we needed. We found some great flowers for dad and smelled every one of them. We got white and yellow daises because they live for a long while. My son/daughter is proud of the flower we picked out together and is arranging them while I sip my green tea; this is going to be such a fun surprise. We have fun cleaning the house and listen to all types of music. We also made brownies together and I let him/her lick the bowl because, Well! That’s what I always liked to do when I was a kid!

            We put on some cartoons, like Penguins of Madagascar. My daughter, “Natalie” or son “Patrick,” had a fun day at school and can’t wait to tell me about it. Just then Dad (I’m called Papa btw), gets home. He’s exhausted, yet surprised and thrilled that the house is sparkling, much like the famous scene when Sally Field gets home in Mrs. Doubtfire. I go greet him and he pulls me in for a long romantic kiss and we laugh as our child yells, “yay! Did you like the surprise!? Did you! Did you! Did you!!” He gets his spastic nature from me. Right at the end of the kiss I suddenly yell, “Casserole!” I run to the kitchen, frightful that I’ve burnt dinner which I’ve already done on a couple occasions. I open the white cabinets, some completely white and a couple that have glass inserts so you can display things. I find a mitten and pull the casserole out of fired hot oven and on to by sparkling black granite countertops. Did I mention I had a large farm house sink? The casserole came out just in time, a lil crispy on the edges, but we like it that way. While it cools down a bit, I pop the veggies in the steamer. Our child helps get the plates and sneaks our dog some food without me noticing.

We live in a house, next to other people with houses not too far from a lake or where there are lots of trees. Our neighbors know us and drop by regularly. We don’t worry about money but we don’t always have a lot of it. At dinner we swap stories about our day. We even talk about world issues and politics from time to time. Culture is important to our family and we may not agree on everything, but we respect each other always. After dinner we play board games and then it’s time for bed. We all read a bed-time story or even a story at bath-time. We brush our teeth together every night and make growling toothpaste foam faces at each other, running about the house like crazy people. Ahh… we have fun! At bed time we tuck our little one in and never let a night go by without them knowing how much we love them. We may even have a funny way we say goodnight to each other.

My other half and I sneak off to our bedroom on the opposite end of our send floor house. We worry together for our family and listen to ideas and thoughts from each other. We’re supportive and encouraging, and we’re so in love it’s hard for us to keep our hands off of one another. We make sure the door is locked and throw it down like lovers do. The next day is a Friday and I have the day off. I help my husband get ready for work but he decides to take a sick day instead. We all go to the zoo or a movie or a park and have a picnic. We races boats, play fetch with our old dog, and fly a kite. I let them play together for a while so I can get a chance to read a book or write a little. The dog is next to me panting in my face. I really didn’t even want a dog to begin with but my child’s eyes persuaded me otherwise. I’m a sap like that and give in every once in a while. My child picked out an old dog instead… he’s a lot like me and I’ve taught him that we all play a small but significant role in the world. It’s important to do good things whenever you can. So my child picked out an older dog so they wouldn’t put it down instead of the puppy that has a better chance of finding a home. We wound up with a 7yr old mutt that lays around pretty much 24/7.

It’s our life, we don’t think about it being a “Gay Family.” We are who we are and we’re thankful to have each other. We have ups and downs just like everyone else; but these past two days we were a memory… a perfect memory I just haven’t had yet.

The General

My hand finally woke up after a long stay in my Uncle David's death grip. It was squeezed so hard that my dainty meta-carpals started to kiss each other.

My Uncle always seemed to have that big personality, like that Gilbert Gottfried guy from that "Aflac" commercials. He'd usually bark across the room loudly, "come over here you little shit head!" to which I could only respond with a long winded sprint to someplace high my Uncle's short stubby body and large sausage fingers couldn't reach me. When he did finally get a hold of one of us, there was only one way to free your hand from what seemed to be the repeated feeling of getting your fingers smashed in a car door.

"Please Uncle David! Please! Please! Please! Let my hand go!" My hand was still throbbing and my uncle showed no sign of letting up. "Tell me who I am you smelly troll!" he'd say. I was never as brave as my brothers and gave in immediately, sometimes before he even reached for my hand to shake. "OK! OK! PLEASE!!" "Please Mr. Five-Star General Sir, please with a cherry on top!" as I thought, "Let go of my fucking hand you crazy old bastard!" He would only let go of your hand if you acknowledged him as "Five-Star General Sir." As he squeezed, his olive-colored Italian face would scrunch up as he folded his tongue back and bit down on it as if he was juicing the last drop of a lime into a Mad Dog 40/40. He enjoyed tormenting us and now that I have a nephew who's almost one year old... I'll soon be paying it forward.

I hope someday to have the opportunity to be the type of uncle that my uncle was to me. Uncle David was a little nuts, and by a little I mean in comparison of the Atlantic to the pacific. It's a lot of crazy, but nothing compared to the rest of the family.

I had to of been about six years old when I finally learned that my dad and step mom weren't actually looking at imaginary birds on the ceiling. They had some problems, who knows, maybe they over-heard my brother's and I some nights as we described how we'd run away and the lengths we'd go to do it. Luckily they recognized their issues, well, at least enough to know that they needed help. My dad called my Uncle and had him watch us for what seemed to be about five months as they sobered up. My grandfather was in Rhode Island, living it up with his some-what recently married wife at the time so we stayed at his large home in the quaint town of Baird, TX.

I had already switched schools twice by this time and now I'd be at my third school, where I had attended kindergarten actually. It was nice to be back but they put me in special classes so I wasn't too happy about that. I had missed a bit of school and it I never cared about my studies before because my parents definitely did not. My uncle helped me get back on track, whether I liked it or not.

I had more discipline in second grade then most of the guys I’ve dated in my twenties. The first morning we woke up I could see why my Uncle always wanted us to call him Five Star General Sir. We had to make our bed military style and report to the mess hall by o’ five hundred on the dot to begin our day of back-breaking labor. There was a freak cold front the night before that left the entire city under a blanket of sleet and slow about three inches deep. My hands took another beating that week as we went from the city hall to neighbor’s yards picking up pecans. Now that I think about it, these experiences explain my mild case of carpal-tunnel syndrome. My Uncle sold the pecans to a wealthy man in the big city who owned a pecan grove. This man’s shop is now owned by an Asian family that sells knock off t-shirts and shoes of Adidas and Nike. On occasion he would pay my Uncle to come out to his property with us to scavenge the property for pecans. He paid my Uncle well and gave my two brothers and I five bucks each and an extra five to whoever found the most pecans. I’ve had a severe un-diagnosed case of ADHD my entire life so focusing on a mundane task like picking pecans did not resonate with the old noggin.

Picking pecans was really just the start of my uncle breaking many child labor laws. We might as well have been placed in a sweat-shop outside Rio de Janeiro. Sewing and steam-pressing hand woven scarves would have been more ideal than waking up at the butt-crack of dawn to sale $1 figures at a local flea market. My uncle would order all of these aluminum, cheaply made, quarter to half of an inch tall figurines and hot glue them onto smooched down colorful marbles. He also sold all things American. Flags, T-Shirts- and hats, but mainly just small flags; I believe my Uncle has never had a “real” job for most of his life.

“Back in my day,” it wasn’t unusual for children to run around a flea market alone and visit with all of the other local flea market-teer’s. The couple across from us sold bibles, crosses, and made funnel cakes. Once they tried to sale me a bible but gave up and just gave me one. I read most of it but it only had a map in the front of what the Garden of Eden was supposed to look like and the rest of it was about old people. Where were the ninja turtles and power rangers when you needed them!? Another family sold fresh produces that they grew in their massive garden as well as video cassettes which were always too expensive for my uncle to buy. We were one of the only market-teer’s that did not sale any type of beverage or food. At this early age in my life I saw an opportunity for growth in the “Glaze Enterprise,” mainly, we were missing a crucial niche in the market and my Uncle did made kick-ass hot dogs! I tried to convince him to sale hot-dogs and pickles, “We’d make a killing Uncle David!” my twin brother would say in an overly excited screech as he’s backing me up. He’d pushed his bi-focal thick plastic faux-wood glasses up from the tip of his nose with his pointer finger. I think my Uncle didn’t have the vision it took to take the “company” to the heights that my brother and I thought it deserved.

After school, when I wasn’t too tired from picking pecans or going to the flea markets. I’d come home from school, work on my homework, eat at the dinner table with everyone and then watch “The Munsters” on Nick at Night’s TV land. This is the most functional childhood memory I can depend on to remind myself of the determination and stability that an adult should give to a child. Things were going pretty well one week and sales were at an all time high so the General bought some sirloin steaks and made them medium-rare, you know… the right way to cook a steak! My uncle was big on getting value for the things that he bought. Somehow I managed to get the steak that had the biggest piece of fat draping to the side of it. Usually I had the appetite of a polar bear in the arctic after an “honest days work” as the General would call it; however, we’d taken the day off to celebrate our short-lived wealth. Shit-Balls!!

The seasoned beef blood pulled together in a puddle on the side of my ceramic plate as I took the last meaty bite of my steak. The large piece of white fat just sat there, where’s the family dog when you need him? All we had was a Chihuahua and that flamboyant little bastard only ate deli ham.  My Uncle gave me that death look like, “you better eat that fat or I’m going to sock you in the face.” After this stern look he says to me with his tongue folded in after he had bit down, “eat that meat or I’m going to sock you in the face.” Chew and Chew as try, the fat would not deteriorate! I don’t know why I started with such a large piece. I could feel my stomach already deciding not to accept this as an acceptable form of nourishment. I started to gag as I chewed and my Uncle just yelled at me, “don’t you throw that up,” “DON’T THROW UP!” Pieces fell from my mouth and my eyes started to water, I started to sweat and at this point it was clear to everyone (including myself) that I was about to spew chunks all over the dining table. Right as I was about to throw up my Uncle advised that if I threw anything up he’d punish me and I’d get a “whooping,” which is basically the male equivalent to a spanking. It just doesn’t sound right when you say your Uncle gives you spankings.   

Creepers in the Gym

An important thought to remember is to not judge and I try to live with this frame of thinking throughout the day. This however can be hard when you’ve left the 24hr fitness off of Braker and 183 in Austin. It’s been almost a year since my last blog, so maybe we’ll try to whip this thing into shape with a review of my gym.

Any particular night after work, one may see me tinkering away with some free weights, pushing it on the elliptical, or even just mouthing the new Lady Gaga track in the sauna at the gym. So why is it, not one person has noticed these creepers in the locker room; or in the sauna, the pool area, and especially the showers. Come to think of it, the only place one wouldn’t be able to recognize these creepers would be the actual gym itself. “I’m a sinner, I am saint, I do not feel ashamed” is the theme song these guys live by.

It all started a few months ago when the new year rolled over. This happens for me a little early every year around the 28th of December. I get overly excited about many things only to see the momentum sucked from beneath my wings. Believe it or not, 24hr fitness takes the $33 from my account every month whether I go or not. So I crash landed in the Jacuzzi area after a quick swim and ended up in the sauna at some point. While sweating the toxins (alcohol) out of my system, I soon noticed an old man pouring sweat and drop by drop it landed right on my foot. He was stretching right in front of me, did this 70 something guy just leave a belly dancing class? After a hard, stiff stretch and a cracked tibia “Adidas,” as I call him, proceeds to ask many questions. In fact, beyond any control of my own, Adidas seemed to find me in the Sauna, the showers, or near my locker for weeks to come. I changed up my schedule and he’d change up his approach. As I looked at his face all I saw was his mind racing. What was he thinking? What was I doing in his head? He wanted to know if I was a swimmer, if I worked out there often. Did I run all day or was I just running through his brain all day?  These are obvious answers. Did this guy see my rolls? I told him I hadn’t hit the gym in quite some time and I tried to stay away from water. I think we lost something in translation because now he believes I have a daughter.

All of this would be fine if I didn’t leave the shower ever night, reach for my towel, and see his sagging wrinkled cheeks up top and on bottom reaching for the next person to take a peak at. Why did he stand in the middle of the shower area for so long? Why was my stall the place he left a key or towel everytime? I’m not a shy person, but this guy smelled and my balls shrank every time is saw him. That can’t be a good sign!! This guy stuck out within my mind but he is definitely not the only one. Below is a list of violators.

Beer Belly Hispanic Guy with the Fanzi Fro:

             He spends entirely too much time in the locker room. When I show up I can see that he is just entering the showers. The guy is in there for HOURS!!! It takes me an hour to finish everything upstairs, after the pool and sauna I’ve added another thirty minutes. Can somebody please tell me why he is just now doing his hair in the mirror trying to make uninterrupted eye contact with people he doesn’t know? I see this guy in the locker room more than Adidas!! Being barefoot in a guys locker room that long could really cause some permanent damage.

Old Stubbly White Faced Beard, Hair on Back Guy:

            I just call him OS.W.F.B.HOB.G for short. Ok, there is a hole in almost all of the shower stall areas! Call me naive but for the longest time it never occurred to me that people were actually looking through that hole until one day when OSWFBHOBG is poking his finger through the slot like it’s a glory hole! The hole isn’t big enough to get a whole pinky finger through; did he think this would impress me? As I looked down at the hole I could see his finger leave and an eye ball peer in. I was flattered at first then disgusted. He followed me out of the shower and got dressed right in front of me. What do people see when they look at me, do I seem that easy? This whole time I thought I was more of a Charlotte and it turns out I’m perceived more as a Samantha!

The Asians!

            For the most part I’m not interested in Asian guys and it seems like the feeling is mutual. Every time I go to the gym I’m expecting some pervert to stare me up and down and do all of the “signals” from the other stall. I get in there, I get out. My showers are more of a sprint these days at the gym. There is a large Asian population that goes to this gym and many are gay. They find other older Asian guys and do their thing. I’m not sure what happened the other day but apparently I was in the wrong stall because one Asian guy waited outside of my stall and began to throw his sandal on the ground causing a fuss. This made me very uncomfortable so I just left the stall and went to another one. “Just another weird guy at the gym,” I thought.  When I left the shower I looked to see if he was still causing a scene and the guy was jacking off right in the open where anyone could see him. Another Asian man was in the stall right next to him doing the exact same thing. What has this world come to? I haven’t gone to the gym in a while because of this, and because of my love of Mexican food.

The gym may hold many surprises for even the most timid. Be careful and always be prepared to rinse and dash, you never know when you’re getting eye fucked from old Creeper at the gym.

My Anniversary Blog

It’s been about a year since I started this blog and nothing substantial has really come of it. As I started to read some blogs from later dates, I noticed some serious spelling and grammatical issues. The kinks on those posts will be worked out as I plan to start writing again. The last real set of blogs I wrote were back in May of 2011. That’s a long ass time ago! So here are some subjects that are soon to be posted. I’ll try to get at least one up a month!

The Possum, The Flood, & The Break-Up

My Uncle David

Family Vacations

Dexter, my dog & serial killers

The power of premonitions

My Job at Advantage

The Best Updated List in the world!

Uncle Rick & Aunt Dan & my first ideology about being gay

Damn Pot Smokers!!

Old Roommates and Neighbors

Politics & Paula Dean

Creepers in the Gym

The Zombie Conspiracy

I’m constantly preparing myself for the Zombies to attack. In the past I would keep a bag in my car that had extra clothes, a wooden stake, and an extra credit card in it in case of emergencies. Looking back, the credit card probably wouldn’t have come in handy if Zombies did actually ever attack.

There are different types of Zombies and it all depends on if you’re in the U.S. or not. If you’re in the U.S. the Zombies are going to be stupid and slow, mainly because the people who became these Zombies most likely had horrible health care and were too overweight to ever run at a decent speed in the first place. Another type would be the U.K. Zombies, and depending on where you’re at and if you find the situation comical, they tend to be more vicious and terrorizing. These zombies in the U.K. are pissed off, they’ve been stuck with the Queen of England prancing around like a circus side show and now they have to put up with the royal wedding. Who cares about the Price of England and this fore-head he’s married? If I had it my way, they would have both turned into zombies on their wedding day, but only her at first. I can imagine the Prince leaning in for the kiss; she lifts her veil and presto! ZOMBIE BRIDE! She takes a bite out of his throat and snaps the Priest in two. There’s no end to the madness after that. Once you get to the Queen, the rest of the world is screwed. Their wedding would have been front page news, everywhere you look the news is reminding every man, woman, and child that zombies can get married but gay people can’t legally get married.

Some people make fun, some point fingers, some are just plain rude, but you can’t listen to the names that people call you. Like, “hey you tard!” “Zombies don’t exist!” Who are these people, and where have they been for the last 80 years? Haven’t they heard of WWII or the Cold War? Crazy biological warfare has been invented, and if ants can become zombies it’s not a far cry to think that the government won’t come up with someway to make human zombies for mind control purposes. Once these Zombies are created, you have to protect yourself.

Step one would obviously be to panic. Yes, you need to panic immediately and get it out of your system. If zombies are attacking it will be on YouTube steaming within the first few attacks so you’ll probably be safe for a little while, then take your bedroom and closet doors off the hinges and break the wood up so that you may board up the windows. Water is absolutely the most important necessity you will need to survive. You have a shower or bath tub… fill every container up with water as soon as possible. About 30 gallons of water will fit under a queen size bed. Weapons! Get some! It doesn’t matter what kind, just get some wooden stakes or a gun but be sure to always have some kind of weapon that you won’t run out of. A gun runs out of bullets and then becomes useless; make sure you have some sort of machete or laser gun depending on how far in the future this is. If you’ve read this and the Zombies do attack, come back to my blog. In the beginning the internet will not be lost; I will give directions to my Zombie Fortress. Now let me explain this to you.

In a world full of Zombies, many people will try to go where they feel it is “safe,” to places that have not been contaminated. This is mistake number one, when you travel long distances you put yourself and others at risk. Think about it, there’s always that one dumbass that has got to be in charge, and there are always people on the way that will steal from you and put you in harms way so that they have the upper hand. This is exactly why I am going to have a sustainable home no more than 100 miles outside of Austin. This home will be made out of concrete and steel. It will run on solar energy and have a system where rain water will be collected from the roof into a system that stores and provides an irrigation system for the garden and chickens that will be located in the court yard of this facility. The facility will be monitored by cameras and will have mines set up out side of the complex to kill any roaming zombies and also trip wires that will set alarms off. This is a great idea founded in the movie 28 days later. The balconies of this building will have gun torrents, and the basement will have a safe room that has a small hole one can open to shoot through and also it will have medical aid, non perishable food and access to the water supply along with security camera access.  This would be the ideal spot if Zombies were to attack, at some point these mangy bodies will decay and the zombies will die within time, but until then one must fight them off.

Keep your eyes peeled for more zombie blogs, I could go on for days about this issue. Remember, remember, a real zombie attack is impending, it’s important to be prepared!

Random Shit

So the cleaning lady for the Super 8 I'm staying at obviously didn't notice the DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door. she knocked for a good 3 min. Housekeeping... over and over and over... "surely she'll notice the do not disturb sign" i thought. She opens the door and i'm laying in bed screaming at her! "Do not disturb you stupid bitch!" I think she owes me an apology. :) Never wake a gay man! LOL Oh i just ate two cookies right as I was headed out to the gym. ..

Have you ever thought that the world was actually full of robots? Did you think that you were the only real human and the rest of the world was “in on it?” If you’ve ever thought this same thought than you’re not alone. I’m also a real human and you should find me because all of these robots are really getting on my nerves. Sometimes I think that these robots get programmed every night, with information on how to ruin my life on a daily basis.

As a child I saw a movie where this boy’s parents killed their co-workers, ground their meat up into sausage and fed it to the boy as his dinner. Once the boy found this out he desperately tried to stop his parents but his father, Randy Quade, had become obsessed with human flesh and then decided to kill the boy. I lost a little respect for my dad after seeing that movie, mainly because he would make these hot dogs with German sausage that absolutely hated, and force me to finish my entire plate. I always thought it was human flesh and felt horrible after every meal containing sausage.

I’m part of the calculator generation, forced into a life of computers at a young age and video games. It’s hard trying to remember all these passwords, I could have it worse off though, I could be part of the manual labor and cigarettes’ generation. I played Sonic the Hedge Hog on my Sega video console as a child, let me just say, this was no good for me. My perception of reality was completely off track when I was younger and playing video games didn’t help matters. Every time I was in the back seat of our beat up station wagon, I imagined I was running at the same speed of the car I was traveling in, hopping off of things just like Sonic would do. I’d imagine sometimes that the car had left me behind and I’d have to “wind up,” imagining that I was tucked inside a small ball, spinning like a wind up toy car, then I would magically shoot off with the speed of like and catch up to the car.

I constantly forget things. I can’t hear and I buy in bulk. Sometimes I think I’m either a crack head or an old person. Same difference really. I've never really been a drug user. It's not for me, I've always been high on my own, I don't need drugs to make me more interesting. I'm an old soul, I'm still a gentelman on some occations and I always wish things were as simple as when we didn't have the internet. I also own multiple amounts of deodorant at any given time and enjoy movies with Racheal McAdams. That's why I'm old. Listerine also reminds me of old people.

The Clinic

   

The burning sensation showed no sign of slowing down as I sat parked in front of the RBJ Clinic. A Mexican Man in his early 40’s wearing a rustic blue collared shirt tried frantically to open the doors to the clinic where his STD’s would be treated. I remember the man’s chest hair was white and black, mainly white with the finesse of a mangled shaggy dog. His tan seemed fake from the bronzer in a bottle squeezed excessively onto his body and I chuckled as I noticed one button desperately trying to release itself from the pressure of his enormous belly that pushed against it. He eventually gave up, though it is important to get there early, he got back into his car to go back to sleep. I was almost certain he had an STD just by how nasty, and filthy he appeared.

I had previously gotten angry with an employee at the clinic on a Friday, three days earlier, because when I called at eight in the morning I got an answering machine that said the hours were from eight to five excluding lunch. I continued to get that message til about 8:15. People, there is a time to be persistent and in the event of an STD, a desire to kill the itch is the most important fixation of all. The people that work at these clinics should understand that their patients could be met with a life and death situation. The well-being of my penis was in danger and if there’s anything I will always protect, it’s my penis… and my balls, those are also pretty important. The point is that they should be on time, it’s just so irresponsible not to be. Anyways, I set my appoint that Friday and on Monday showed up early. It came as no surprise to me that the doors would be locked at eight when I got there for my appointment. About ten minutes later a woman in paper thin blue scrubs walked right through a door I hadn’t tried opening. I walked in and noticed two waiting rooms that mirrored each other. A Hispanic lady, most likely a receptionist was sitting in the Limbo of these two rooms stared at me with a wide grin. She motioned for me to come over, yelling “STD?” at me from across the room. “STD’s are on this side of the clinic, you can check in over here.” When I got to her sliding glass window I told her my name was Jordan and that only my really close friends call me STD. She was oblivious to my sarcasm and went into the details about where in the clinic I would travel to along with the map I would need to find my way.

Unlike Frodo from Lord of the rings, I had zero companions to help me on my quest to Mount RBJ CLINIC WAITING ROOM, or more widely known as “Candy Mountain.” After about ten minutes of searching, I started to imagine I was Gandalf, with a large staff and a light at the end of it, headed to my doom. I would fall miles and miles, past a place where fires burn, into nothingness and back again, landing in a cold dank spot called Clinic Waiting room. I sat there in silence, looking around I could see that this place wasn’t meant for me. There were about five or six others in the waiting room. Two sisters, shouting into one phone, at a man they were both upset with. Apparently he had befriended them both in bed and left them with a similar parting gift. They yelled white trash remarks into their pay as go flip phone, minute were running low. I noticed it was quite, I looked their way to see one of the girls texting extremely slow, trying to understand what words mean. There was a young Asian guy dressed in business clothes as if he was headed to an interview afterwards, a Hispanic couple seemed way to flirty to be in a STD clinic, the ugliest black man on earth with whom I’m sure STD’s originate, and a younger Hispanic kid with his mother and 2 little siblings. He must have been about seventeen, and anyone could tell he was completely embarrassed to be at an STD clinic with his mother. His little brother and sister played on the floor for a while than started screaming and fighting over a pamphlet informing youth about Chlamydia.

I was the only person aware or even disgusted about the STD porno the clinic had airing on the television above our heads. It was a complex story about 4 different people, all worried about getting STD’s, the problem was that the content was rated PG13 at best, there were some “R” rated love making sounds for sure. All of these people were smiling at the end of the video, three of the four ended up being fine. The fourth person, the only one who decided not to use a condom got a couple STD’s, got pregnant and ended up with AIDS by the end of the video… even she was smiling at the end. Because when does Chemo-Therapy not make somebody burst with joy?

An older white woman in her fifties with dirty blond hair called me in to get examined. She asked a lot of personal questions, to which I replied “gezz, what are you, my mother!” Immediately I knew I had fucked up. She had me strip down, completely naked, and inserted a long thin Q-Tip down the length of my penis. It stung and I could tell that this was the highlight of her job. I thought we were done after that, I was wrong. She had me bend over and then she stuck a finger up my butt. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to sex with a woman, and I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy it at all! She gave me pills that made me nauseous and sent me on my way; I was going to be ok! I didn’t have anything that couldn’t be cured and the numb feeling from the Q-Tip was supposed to go away within a few days. As I limped up the Mountain, back into reality, I felt a since of control in my life again. I was worried that I may be just another gay guy with an STD, that thought has stuck with me ever since and I hope I never have to visit Mount STD Clinic ever again.