I was talking to my Flagrantly Gay Friend Roland about the nature of the world at Verb Café, joyously pontificating each point with erratic hand gestures, as if conducting some sick pedantic orchestra, and bringing my conclusion home with somber and austere vocal tones, using the baritone of my voice to solidify my opinions about life and love, to not paying rent on time, and finally, my new novel.
Roland, smoking a hand rolled Amsterdam Shag cigarette, blows a large puff of smoke in my general direction, and asks:
“Are you drunk already, Matthew?”
I pause, the wind taken out of my sails, and look like a kid who just got his bike stolen.
“Fuck you, Roland. What’s been with you, man? You are totally not listening to me. Literally, we’ve been here for over an hour and I have been making some remarkable points about life and love and sex and god knows what else, and you’ve been sitting there with your legs crossed with a goddamn smirk across your face and your eyes glazed over like some heroin mannequin. Now what the fuck?”
Roland, downright docile, leaning over to snub out his cigarette on the patio floor, looks quite innocently up at me and whispers:
“Vincenzio.”
He closes his eyes and drifts away for a moment, as if whispering this man’s voice was some kind prayer.
“Vin-who?”
Roland opens his eyes, and the devil is back in his sparking blue eyes.
“Vincenzio.”
“Yeah, what about him? Is he the next victim in your war for cock?”
“He. Is. Perfect.” He hums these words like a Buddhist Koan.
“Roland, please, the straightness in me is getting awkward.”
“Don’t let the Catholic in you fuck up my daydreaming.”
“Allright. But what’s the story?”
Roland straightens up (no pun intended), and starts rolling another cigarette. He speaks with the fever of a man who’s just discovered Gold.
“We have a little game we play.”
“And what’s that?”
“Well, Mr. Matthew, we both get completely dolled up to the nines and meet, separately mind you, at the cleanest, most classiest hotel bathrooms in Manhattan to which we rapidly, and ferocious, fuck the shit out of each other, keeping our hands over each other’s mouths, in these well locked bathrooms. It is, by far, the most perverse thing I’ve done in the last 3 months. But the joy alone, Matthew, the mystique, the excitement of being caught, absolutely priceless.”
“That sounds fun,” I say, thinking of all of the straight women who would certainly NOT participate in these activities, even if I asked nice.
Roland’s leans back, lights his cigarette, and goes back to daydreaming.
“I love getting my dick sucked in library-voice!” He says, (this is a direct quote).
Now this phenomenon is not rare. They even have nifty little terms such as Dogging (a British nickname for sex acts done in public places), Cottaging (another wonderful euphemism for sex in public areas, like little ‘cottages’, or public toilets), and Amomaxia (sexual acts done in automobiles).
Then, there is this strange little phenomenon called Anasyrma. This is quite popular in the art of the Greeks and on modern college campuses. It is the gesture of lifting up a skirt or kilt and showing the public one’s buttocks. Though it is important to note that this is not done like a classic exhibitionist (as for sexual pleasure), but more for the effect on the onlookers.
Another odd but slightly interesting activity is the act of Candualism, which defines when a person exposes his/her partner in a sexually explicit manner to the public, which seems to me a very illicit form of braggartry of a lovers ‘assets’.
Now, just for comedy sake and why I love the Internet so, here is the result of an experiment performed with 185 exhibitionists when asked the question:
What would you do if someone exposed their genitals to you in public?
The answers are perfect.
35.1% answered they would want to have sexual intercourse right then and there.
15.1 % answered they would show their genitals right back.
14.1 % answered they would experience ‘admiration’.
3.8% answered that they would actually feel ‘anger and disgust’.
Bravo!
Now whatever your perversion is, let it bubble to the surface this fine Cruel Summer 0f 2011. It is mid-July, and we are right in the thick of it. Summer is already half-way complete, so before you feel that first brittle cold of Autumn crawl up your spine, go out and find a person perverse like yourself, and share in those private (and not so private) moments together.
Till next time!
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