"Don't I know you from somewhere?" I asked the young stud in my arms. We groped in dark broom closet at the Lounge on Elm Street, the only spot in Dallas where rock's elite can meet, greet, and, in the shadows, snatch a moment's glory with anonymous rough trade.
"No, baby, no," my beau replied. "Now, unbutton my pants, darling. They're simply bursting."
"All right," I consented. "But I'm sure I know you. Didn't I see you in Dealey Plaza on November 22, 1963?"
"It wasn't me, baby," my lover insisted. "Now slide off my underwear. I'm quite constricted."
"All right," I relented. "But didn't I catch a glimpse of you in the window of Texas Book Depository with Lee Harvey Oswald on that fateful day?"
"It wasn't me, sweetie," my macho man replied. "Now, quick - cup the balls. You know how I love that!"
"All right," I agreed. "But weren't you wearing sunglasses and a skinny tie on the grassy knoll in the Zapruder film?"
"It wasn't me, sugarbuns," my young buck replied. "Now, don't neglect the shaft. The shaft needs your love too!"
"All right," I conceded. "But are you sure you never conspired with Jack Ruby, Clay Shaw, New York's Five Families, and/or other mafia contacts to assassinate a President unfriendly to organized crime?"
"It wasn't me, honeycakes," mi amor replied. "Now, don't forget to use your mouth. You know how I like it when you use your mouth!"
"All right," I sighed, getting to work. "But you absolutely must promise me that you never meddled with the Warren Commission, convened secret meetings with LBJ or FBI, and were not named in Jim Garrison's On the Trail of the Assassins or Oliver Stone's JFK as a possible conspirator."
"No, I was not involved in JFK's murder!" my beautiful boy exclaimed. "Remember how busy I was plotting the assassinations of RFK, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr. in the early 1960's? Do you think I had time to plan a fourth?"
Previously in Tangents:
- 12/28: Terrible Boyfriend/ Girlfriend Generator.
- 11/2: PHOTOS: TAXLO Halloween (feat. Chain Gang of 1974)
- 10/10: #OccupyWallStreet
- 8/10: PHOTOS: Lawn Mover Racing, Eastern Seaboard Regionals @ Bowles Farm
- 7/26: Special List: Things the BYGays Want Now That We Can Marry In DC (and NY!)
- 7/20: PHOTOS: Artscape
- 7/19: Miho Hatori's Guide to New York City
- 4/11: Cirque Du Soleil: Totem (A Review)
- 12/29: War, Reenacted
- 12/29: What in Hell is Slaughterama?!?
God loves a cheerful giver.
dumb
Justin & Stud
(Scene 3: Apartment on 17th Street. Bronski Beat playing on the background.)
Justin:
Tell me, tell me why they don’t heart my aesthetics, Stud?
Stud:
They? Who are they?
Justin:
They! The haters, you idiot.
Stud:
I can‘t begin to tell you.
Justin:
Do you hate me, Stud?
Stud:
Well…
Justin:
Don’t hate me, Stud. Please, don’t hate me.
Stud:
I don’t hate you, Justin, it just you're annoying.
Justin:
Okay, you can hate me Stud. Hate me. Hate me now,
Stud.
Stud:
As a matter of fact I happen to be quite constricted this very moment.
Justin:
You can hate me, Stud. Hate me. Hate me hard, Stud. Oh Stud...
---------------------------------------------------
(To be continued)