Girls Gone Wild?

You know one of my guilty pleasures was the show Dateline on NBC where they would find someone interested in having sex with a teenager, have him go to a house and expose him on national TV. It would be fun to see some of them arrive with liquor in one hand and condoms in the other ready to strip and do the do with someone they had never seen before.


However, that smell of sweet young pussy that they thought was in the air, was actually the smell of the moderator’s Old Spice soon to replaced by the smell shit as the alleged perpetrator soiled themselves when they figured that they were not only caught but on camera. I laughed at how some of them would protest their innocence swearing that this was just an aberration and would not happen again. I would smile knowing that they were about to get a knee to the back of the neck as the police arrested them on the ground. Another sexual predator would be behind bars and all would be well with the world.

Today I read on MSNBC that there were 3 teenage girls in Pennsylvania that were suing the District Attorney in Wyoming County to prevent him from charging them with child pornography and the distribution of such material. Apparently the girls had taken pictures of themselves partially dressed using their cell phones and as will happen with kids, the pictures found their way to the cell phones of their class mates. This, the DA says, was illegal.

Now I’m not sure how this will come out, but I wonder if it doesn’t come out in favor of the girls, will they have to go around for the rest of their lives listed as sexual deviants, listing their addresses with the local authorities each time they move? And if so can it happen to me?

I really don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, but a few years ago I was on one of the free and dirty beaches under the Pitons in St Lucia I took out my camera to take a scenery shot and the ex in the water. Some of the local boys who were playing on the beach decided they wanted me to take their picture and ran in front of me and started to pose. “No big deal,” I thought. I’m not good at taking pictures of people but the sooner I got this over with, the sooner they’d leave me alone. They would take a position without me prompting them, I would take a picture and they would run back and see the results.

I think it was the 3rd or 4th picture that I noticed that one of them was taking off his trunks and that there had been another who was already naked. I should have asked myself why they needed to get naked for me. Was this something that they did before for other people for other reasons? Where were their parents or why did one of them had a black eye? No, instead what I did think was that I was going to jail. I would probably get 10 years in St Lucia or life plus 10 in the US. To this day, even though I use one of the pictures on one of my credit cards, I still twitch expecting a knock on the door from the FBI.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not for sex with children or child pornography in any form, but I wonder where do we draw the line and if the line was drawn already, was it done in the sand, where it's moveable and or easily erased? Will we stop at arresting little girls for being foolish and childlike, or will we go further?

Men and their Toys

What is it about electronics that that turn men on so? Why do men always have to have the latest gadget out there with the most bells and whistles to make them feel fulfilled? Why are men so easily led into the trap of wanting something with a few blinking lights more than the last thing and really not needing it only to find out later on that’s really not good enough? Okay, maybe that’s a generalization that may not be true. It just may be something that I use to justify my own impulse purchases, to satisfy my own vanity. But they are questions that I do ask of myself, ususally only after I’ve bought something and realized that the reason and justification that I gave for buying it was as bogus as a $3 bill. Take for example the cell phone I bought yesterday.

From since the beginning of the year my cell phone has been acting up. The phone can no longer hold a charge for more than 2 days, and if I use it for more than 30 minutes it starts to beep and blink low battery for the next 2 hours which usually drives me crazy until I turn it off. My contract with Verizon had been up since February I think but I was eligible for a new phone at no cost to me. I would just have to renew the contract.

Since I have never been one to talk that much on the phone, I have always opted for minimum plan just above where you don’t have to pay for each call. So I don’t really need a fancy phone just one that will do the job. But looking at the list of phones that would work with my plan, I noticed there were Blackberrys listed (or is it Blackberries) from $50 to $150 with my discount that I could get.

Now I have seen many members of my gym use their Blackberrys , on the floor, on the elevators and in the lockers rooms. They would read their email, send text messages, do stuff that I didn’t know about. Actually, they were probably just doing shit. I mean, the courts are closed after 5pm, so they weren’t doing legal stuff. I can’t believe that they were summoned for medical emergencies by email, so they aren’t doctors and if they are trading stocks in Sydney or Hong Kong whatever stock exchange is open 5pm EDT, I’ve never seen them pull out the charts or reports that people use for trading. So that leaves just one thing. Shit. They must be doing shit. Texting “Honey” that they are on their way home. Or reading a message that “Honey” has left telling them to make sure they bring home that gallon of milk for the kids. I will sometimes laugh at them silently at their fake ass attempts to seem important.


So of course I ordered one online. It should come in about 2 business days.

Why Ask?

So Patrick for some reason wants to wait for me in the lobby and walk out of the gym with me tonight. We usually leave at separate times and go our separate ways. But not tonight he wanted us to leave together.

Now I’ve known Patrick for about 12 or 15 years. He is an Italian-American and kind of dark. Sometimes I’ll have fun at his expense and tell him about his ancestry and the supposed obvious African influence that must run in his family. I will sometimes speak of his one, or so he says, relationship with a black man, James, and that it was inevitable only because of like attracts like, birds of a feather and so on. I will warn him sometimes that if his mother ever found out about him and James she might be so pleased for acknowledging his heritage or just shoot him because of the shame he’s brought down on her house. I don’t think he likes me to speak about her that way but I enjoy it. It might be a little sadistic but I only do that when he says something silly or racially insensitive and he needs to get his left nut tweaked a little.

“Is there some reason why we are meeting here?” I asked as I saw him sitting watching the TV in the gym lobby.

“No,” he says.”I just wanted to walk out of the gym together.”

Thank God, I thought. The idea had crossed me that perhaps I had agreed to go to dinner or something and that I had forgotten a promise that I had made.

Anyway, as we leave the building, I tell Patrick that I want to go to Naked Chocolate and get some cup cakes. There is nothing in the world like doing a really intensive workout and then pigging out on stuff that you shouldn’t be eating in the first place. But what the hell you only live once and I don’t want to say on my death bed, “I should have had more cake.”

So we head in the direction of the store and he starts to tell me of maintenance man where he works and that he thinks that he’s Russian, and that whenever he works late, the man always comments about how he is working late. At least I think that’s what Patrick tells me, but in all honesty I had lost interest in what he was telling me as soon as he said, “let me tell you.”

I realized soon enough that Patrick was starting to get upset when he suddenly complained that I wasn’t listening to him and that what had taken him 50 seconds to tell everyone else was taking 15 minutes to tell me. I could have said that this wasn’t the Johnny Carson show with a boring ass monologue at the beginning but a dialogue and that my so called interruptions were making his crap interesting, but we aren’t that close.

Well, I finally got from him that the Russian had one night followed him into the men’s room and while he was at the urinal, the Russian had reached out and touched his earring. Then later on this month, the Russian and he were in the elevator together and the Russian proceeds to adjust his own family jewels. Not in the way that you do when one of your testicles slips out of your briefs at an inopportune time, or when you wear boxers and the material has bunched up so much that you feel that the circulation has been cut off. No, this was a deliberate move by the Russian for attention and Patrick wanted to know what to do.

“Report his ass so that this doesn’t happen again or at least if it does there is some record of it happening,” I said.

“Noooo. I don’t want him to lose his job,” Patrick said.

Alright enough of that story. I am upset now. I just wanted to know, why do people do that to me? Someone will always go out of their way to ask me shit and then when I give them my answer, completely dismiss it. It’s like the whole point of asking me something is just to get me to think about bull that I had no interest in and then yank the rug from under to me to see how I fall. Come to think of it, I think I’ve had to tell all of my ex’s at one time or another, if you don’t want my answer then don’t ask me shit. I guess that’s one of the reasons I’m by myself. But damn, there no chance of Patrick and me bumping dick together, so why do that to me? Is this some kind sick game that I’m just unaware of?