scallopedbananas

[scallopedbananas]

father

Being in my father’s arms was more than safe, it was like riding a Harley Davidson. Enclosed and innervated by power, even being held still, I was held still on a cushion of raw power capable of movement over any obstacle at any speed. Faster than a car, safer than walking, it was a mixture of love and power one can only experience as a small child. On his shoulders in the pool, or arms clasped around his neck while he dove, hanging on like a whale rider freight train hopper, my face pressed tight against the blotchy carcinoma across his shoulders.

[scallopedbananas]

I thought she was the one. I tried to do everything right. I complimented her on her clitorous. I took her cat to pilades. I made her a meme. But her heart had already been broken, and she was destined to break my heart. So now, my heart is broken, and, I guess I’m probably going to break someone else's heart. And then it will spread like a virus, across the world, until everyone has a broken heart. Except for a ragtag band of emotionally unavailable survivors who barricade themselves in an abandoned building, living on canned food and rainwater. It will be up to them to rebuild civilization, if they can find a way to survive. I wont be with them, I’m too emotionally available.

We met at a dog park. Our dogs were instantly attracted, and said hello by licking each other’s balls. We talked about light rail, we talked about food security. Her dog was getting eaten out by a third dog, while my dog ran in a circle. One of them flopped down on its back and a bunch of dogs ran up and went through it like a group of frantic TSA agents while it looked around nervously. The atmosphere was electric, to say the least. She took one of those little shit bags and held it by her fingertips. Then she turned the bag inside out by pulling it down around her hand like a sock puppet and she walked over to a pile of shit and she bent over and picked up the shit. She was the kind of woman who could do this without interrupting herself while she was talking. As she walked back to me, she pulled the little bag back over the shit and suddenly, she was holding a little bag of dog shit she had never even had to touch, and it mingled with the smell of her perfume. She was... a complete person.

We started to hang out. Her friends became my friends, and my friends became her other boyfriends. She kept seeing this guy, she said he was just a friend, but I suspected there was more to it because, everytime she went to see him, they had sex.

My parents tried to warn me about her. But they were too subtle. My mom said she was

I don’t want to give you the impression she was the only one, there were many… other conquests. Women who were too young for me. Women who were too old for me. Men who were... not gay or bisexual.

I shaved my chest. I took off so much hair I had to go down a shirt size. But the hair grows in a single direction around my torso so when I walk, the stubble shoves my whole shirt to the left. I really need to talk to someone about this, but man, no one wants to hear about body hair. Being a hairy man rules out a lot of people who just aren't into it. But being a stubbly man rules out people with sensitive nipples. And that sucks because that’s my thing.

I used to believe in love, but now I don't believe in love. Im aware of a tendency to want to touch certain people, but I try not to read too much into it. I'll be walking on the lake trail, or at the grocery store, and there she is: the curve of hips, a splash of exposed skin. I look, I can’t help it. What is it? Im interested but I don’t understand why. Its like I got sent back to puberty. I try to redirect my interest to something safe, like produce. Melons, peppers, summer squash, ahh, summer squash. Such gentle curves yet so firm. It's going to be a long, hot summer… but then I weigh it. 3.99 for a fucking squash? Ridiculous. I've been burned by love again. No, no, no, no, that’s self pity. If I take a breath, I can see I've got some problems that are not out here, but in here. I not only objectified that squash, I literally weighed it and assigned it a dollar value.

I heard that people who can’t find love make good pet owners, but that’s not true. It's people who don’t have kids. I wish someone had told me that before I bought a giant Macaque. They mate for life, they are not picky about species, and they live about as long as people. It was fun for a while, it did this thing where it bobbed its head, and i would bob my head, and we would bob our heads, and I would put some music on. At first I had to see the chiropractor three times a week, but eventually, my neck muscles developed and I felt like it was a good look for me anyway. If I ever wanted to appear strong, I would bring my chin back and flex my sternocleidomastoid muscles and people would respond. I realized Stanley was having a negative effect on the way I interacted with other people. And at the same time my life with Stanley got really familiar, really comfortable. We had these little routines, like we would quote movies to each other, I would say “Im your father!” and Stanley would say “I’m your father!”

I would say “Tomayto.”

And Stanley would say “Tomoto”

And I would say “Potayto”

And Stanley says “Pototo.”

And then one day Stanley said, “I think we should see other people.”

I never learned what sex Stanley was. And, after a lot of thought, I realized I wasn't all that sure what age Stanley was. The previous owner said one year, but I've got no way to know, I’m no bird expert. In fact, I started to question if Stanley was really a bird. Was it possible that I had just been married for a year? Sometimes I think I see Stanley around town, but I’m never sure. I remember names but I’m terrible with faces.

I met this girl at a coffee shop. I thought she seemed like she was into me, and then I realized she was a guy. And I thought, what the hell, Ill make a promise to myself to give him a fair shot, as long as he doesn't judge me for my stubble. We kept talking and I thought it was going to go somewhere, but then I realized, it was Stanley.

I found it really hard to meet women, then I got onto grindr. On grindr I met lots of women and it was really easy, but I couldn't figure out why. Then I looked on the phone of one of the women I was dating to see what her options were. In real life, most guys look better than me, but on grindr, I look better than everyone else. Its because I can make sentences. Its true, no one expects perfect spelling and grammar on the internet, but its an easy way to makes yourself stand out, at least to people who can recognize correct spelling and grammar. Evolutionarily speaking, its not something that would increase my survival, more like being a bird with a big ass tail. Or an elephant seal with the big nose that hangs down like a giant flaccid cock. Its a way to stand out.

I've been around the block, believe me, but I’m new to the dick pick thing. I've never gotten a vagina pic, as far as I know. Sometimes I don't know where my glasses are and I don’t know what Im looking at, so its possible. In fact… yes. I think I did get a vagina pic one time… no. That was an Evite to a tree planting event.

Its never occured to me to take a selfie of a single part of my body, but if it did, it would be my other hand. I’m not comfortable with all this deconstruction; people trying to have relationships using one body part. But I guess if I’m going to keep dating, I’m going to need some dick picks. So I set up some lights, locked the door, and had myself a little photo shoot. I ran into trouble right away. What do you do with the legs? Do you do legs together? It seems like it makes more sense to get the legs apart, so you can see everything, like in a low squat? But what does that say? Am I cooking over a campfire? Maybe something more heroic… Or you can cross the legs and, man, that makes things look really different. I could see the dick pic thing had been grossly oversimplified. It's not possible to take a picture of just a dick. This is probably one of those things you want to have done by a professional so I’m going to go to one of those old west photo places where you get a sepiatone picture in a saloon with costumes. But it would be a miniature one, like a puppet theatre. There’s like liquor and guns and whores, and my dick would either be a sheriff or an outlaw, it's really hard for me to decide. Probably an outlaw. Not that I see myself as an outlaw, it just works better for a dick. A dick should not be a sheriff, no one wants to live in that town.