Y: 10/11/02

Work Diary, 10/11/02

We own the DVD, "Scary Movie," as well as the sequel, "Scary Movie II."
For those of you who have never seen these films, they are a cornucopia
of politically incorrect vignettes, so offensive that people actually
got up and left the theater after paying the $8.50 ticket price. The
premise of the movies is simple: Take all the horror flicks, the teen T
&; A films, and the plot-driven suspense thrillers since the 1970s
and combine them into one bad movie. Throw in the Wayans brothers as
directors and principal actors and you have a truly American
production: Nothing original, needlessly shocking, and ultimately
entertaining. At least, I found them entertaining, once I realized the
movies were made to piss off everybody.

This is not a movie review, however. I just wanted to bring up a
particular scene in the original "Scary Movie": One of the Wayans
brothers, who plays a dumb jock with thinly veiled homosexual
tendencies, leaves his girlfriend to watch "Shakespeare in Love" while
he goes to the theater bathroom. He hears a strange sound in the stall
adjacent to his, so naturally he puts his ear next to a hole in the
stall wall. A very realistic caucasian penis comes through the hole and
tickles his ear. "Tee hee," he giggles, "Do it again!" The penis does,
only this time it enters one ear and comes out the other, grossing out
the entire audience and effectively summing up the black man's plight
in America, all in one fell swoop.

This has happened to me, only I'm not black, I never touched the penis,
and it certainly never got a chance to aurally lobotomize me. Also I
wasn't in a theater bathroom; instead, I was taking a much-needed break
before a biology class. Fortunately, the toilets were located in the
same basement as the classroom, in one of those old, damp buildings
that universities seem to specialize in. I sat down, got down to
business, and twang! Out popped a pinkish penis from a peephole hidden
beneath the paper dispenser.

I am rarely at a loss for words, and quite frankly an erect penis is
not particularly distasteful to me. But at that moment, mid-BM, I
wasn't particularly enamored of my insistent little guest, either. I
mean, really, what was I expected to do? Had I unknowingly found myself
in a den of sin? Much like a failed parachutist whose life flashes
before his eyes before he hits the ground, I pictured myself sitting in
biology class while all sorts of sordid events took place right next
door (events that, in hindsight, would've been imminently more
interesting than the soporific drone of my instructor. Biology was
happening right under our noses while we were watching slide shows on
amoebas).

"Uhm, pardon me?" I squeaked. The penis - a clearly Germanic model with
a peculiar bend that attested to its overuse - seemed to bob in
answer.

What to do? For reasons unknown to me, I stomped my foot on the tiled
floor. I felt like a toddler in the midst of toilet-training, demanding
that his mother come in and finish him up. But it worked; the penis
disappeared like a snake in the grass, I heard the door open, and I was
left to attend to my own needs.

That was my first experience with "indecent public exposure." There
have been many since, occasions that will not be discussed here as I'm
torn in my feelings about anonymous public sex. I believe the English
call it "cottaging," which is so much nicer a word (to me, anyway. For
all I know, the English rate "cottaging" right up there with "incest"
or "rape."). Still, is it any surprise that men - specifically, gay men
- would meet for sex in places that offer some security and have the
added advantage of attracting other like-minded men?

And if there were a place where heterosexual males could go - say, a
public park or unisex bathroom - and have free, anonymous sex with
willing females, wouldn't they be likely to attend more often than
not?

Just a thought.