Abandon Decency All Who Enter Here

When you invite the hooker to dinner.

When you invite the hooker to dinner - an awkward tale of awkwardness. 

When I turned 21,  I went on an once-in-a-lifetime trip to Amsterdam with my (then) best friend, his (then) husband, their boozy queen of a friend and a straight man (whom I nicknamed Straight Sam). Despite being pickpocketed the first night, I still had an amazing time. I found out they put the hash in milkshakes, so I wouldn’t have to smoke it (yay) – that lead to a nearly three hour hysterical laughing fit back at the hotel to the comic wonder that is Dutch television. I skipped the sad, guilt ridden Anne Frank house for a more lively tour of the Sex Museum. I saw a live sex show sans donkey. I was stalked by a guy who wanted to sell me drugs, I got lost once and was accosted by a very rude homeless man, I ran screaming from a sex shop in the red light district when I picked up a porn with two cute guys on the cover petting a dog – I turned it over and saw they were doing more with that dog than just petting! There are some things even the internet cannot prepare you for. The funniest (well it’s funny now), most awkward moment was when we went to very small club, whose name I do not remember. The club was low key, no loud music and no frenetic dance floor. It oozed a kind of subtle sophistication, so I was instantly uncomfortable. That isn’t my kind of place, I like loud, trashy and where someone is getting sucked off in the bathroom stall. Little did I know that the place was essentially a brothel, selling very attractive men for an evening or for just an hour. There was even a book on the bar; very similar to the kind you see when your local bar is doing karaoke. Inside were all the “available” boys and if the one you wanted wasn’t at the bar they would call him and see if he could come down to service you. Gives new meaning to be “on-call” huh? So after a few drinks my friends approached me to inform me they had procured me one of these gentlemen as a birthday gift.  Now I was raised to never turn down a free meal, a free drink or in this case a gift.

               Listen, I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (even though I have no clue the meaning of that phrase) BUT if you are going to essentially, and let’s not mince words here, pay for the act of sex. I feel it should be with a person who fulfills some kind of fantasy you could not otherwise have. In my case if you come to me and tell me you have bought me a boy I should turn to see He-Man himself standing there. I want muscles; I want smoldering good looks, dammit! I want romance novel cover boy hotness standing in front of me. I want the personification of every fantasy I’ve had, and since it’s being paid for I do not think that’s too much to ask. What I do not want, is some super skinny, only medium cute guy whom I could easily score without paying, taking my hand and leading me into the “love room”. Now I have had some hot sex, and I have some awkward sex – but this was beyond awkward. I was not attracted to the guy in any way. Perhaps that should not matter when someone is paying for sex, but I was not paying in this instance, so an attraction to the other person is fundamentally required. I was less thrilled when he pulled down his pants. When I am packing more than the guy paid to service me – I want a fucking refund. I want there to be something in those pants that says “this is worth your money!” There was some touching, and he undid my pants and, you know. I wasn’t really feeling it, maybe it was the sleazy room (which normally wouldn’t have bothered me) or maybe it was the heart shaped Jacuzzi that we got into that failed to raise the temperature of our tryst. Then came the defining moment back on the bed, the good fellow doing his best to earn his coin began to position me for coitus, as the receiver!!! I quickly had to spin around and set some things straight, mainly it being I am no catcher. I am the pitcher and the only way I do the other is you give me all of three F’s – fuck, finance and feed. And while he was doing his best to attempt the first, he wasn’t paying my bills or taking me out to dinner. So none of that for you, dear boy paid to have nookie with me, none of that indeed.

So we just sat on the edge of bed wondering where to go next. Even though ol’ what’s-his-face was a paid hooker he did not go that way either. Which made me stop and think of how not being versatile is basically just bad for business when your business is selling yourself for pleasure. We ended our entire awkward sexual tryst with a little more oral and some mutual hand manipulation. Then quickly got dressed and I was ready to put this whole ordeal behind me, well until my friends, who thought that ol’ what’s-his-name was just the fucking bee’s knee’s INVITED HIM TO JOIN US FOR DINNER.  See the way it worked over there was that the boys would hang out with you, go to dinner, go dancing, all with the knowledge that over the course of the evening they could persuade you into coitus and thus rake in some more dough. You can’t blame them, they have bills to pay.  So ol’ what’s-his-name seeing a golden opportunity for a more gratifying sexual encounter and a chance to earn more coin agreed.  

               You think that you have had some awkward moments in your life? Try having dinner, sitting next to someone who was just paid to have sex with you – awkwardly awful sex at that, while your friends fawn over him, drunkenly. I did not even have a chance to share with them the events that occurred within the “love room” – they were so drunk and ready to go that we got whisked off to the Hard Rock Café before you could say ‘chicken finger platter please’.  I drank the rest of the night, heavily. I was so uncomfortable, I really just wanted to go crawl in a hole and wait for the evening to be over. I felt so dirty – and that’s hard for someone who has gone down on people in a truck stop bathroom for blow. Despite my very visible discomfort my asshole friends were throwing themselves at ol’ what’s his face. I could only think one thought “If you liked him so much, why not just buy him for you and let me pick someone else out of the book?” I do feel even if He-Man had brought himself to life the end result in the ‘love room’ would have been the same. Awkward, paying for it is just awkward. I’d rather seduce some drunken dude who was going to regret it in the morning – that kind of ‘morning after’ awkwardness I can deal with.

My friends were also so drunk they believed they could get him to fuck them for free. -Um, not happening. Though I am sure if they asked to see his menu of services they could have gotten a group rate discount. Ol’ what’s-his-face was a trooper though, trying hard to supplement his income that night. He followed us to a couple bars that we went to, thinks get blurry after that – I do know this: Ol’ what’s-his-face got a lot of free drinks, I got into a fight with the queeny friend who accused me of trying to cock block (WTF?) when I pointed out ol’ what’s-his-name isn’t going to fuck for free. Ol’ what’s-his-name really liked my jacket and kept wanting to trade me for his (um, no) and that he finally wandered away from our drunken, yelling troupe at around 2am, never to be heard from again. I was accused of being a cock block all the way back to the hotel by the queeny one. Just jealousy I guess, they all wanted ol’ what’s-his-face tongue darting their stinkholes, and I was the only one who got him. I decided to not share what happened in the “love room” with them, instead I merely shook my head in agreement to every question they had, which painted a kinky tale of depraved coitus in their minds. They were besides themselves with delight - Hey, at least someone enjoyed it. 

David Berlin’s: Snow White & 7 Well Hung Dwarfs

  I offer a warning: the following is crude, vulgar, racist, sexist, foul language, sexual situations and just plain bad taste:

     Once upon a time, there was an Evil Queen who lived in a beautiful castle with her husband and his daughter, Snow White. But she never paid them any attention for all of her love and devotion went to the pristine cunt lying between her legs. She would spend hours upon hours in her bed chamber locked away looking at it, playing with it, talking to it in her large bed. Her Magic Mirror, which always told her truthful answers to anything she asked, was placed at the foot of the bed so she could admire her pussy for hours.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who has the fairest cunt of all?”

“Why only you my Queen and no one else, has the fairest muff in all the land.”

And so this is how it went, for years until one day when Snow White reached the legal fucking age in the kingdom. On that afternoon, the Queen locked herself away and pleasured herself for hours, before finally regaining enough strength to ask her mirror about her cunt. But this time the mirror did not tell her what she wanted to hear, this time it’s word were cruel and harsh:

“It ain’t you bitch!!! It ain’t you!”

“Then I demand you show me who has the fairest cunt in all the land” she bellowed at the Mirror. And instantly he returned with the image of Snow White, fingering herself, vigourously, by a wishing well. “That fucking whore!” she cried and flung herself onto the bed, sobbing and screaming. She wasted no time in summoning her royal Huntsman into her bed chamber. She handed him a small ivory box with a pussy engraved into the top.

“I want you to take the bitch, Snow White, into the forest and kill her. Bring back to me her cunt in that box.” Her words were cold as ice as she ordered her own stepdaughters death. The Huntsman bowed and stepped back, he thought of speaking against the heinous act, but knew better of it. The Queen had several boxes with the penis’ of others who had failed to satisfy her.

The next day, the Huntsman took Snow White on a stroll through the forest, leading her deeper and deeper into them. It took Snow White a moment to realize she’d never been that far in the woods before and turned around to see the Huntsman standing there, his pants around his ankles and his penis standing erect like a small soldier. Well Snow White wasted no time in falling to her knees and tackling the erection like a trooper.

     Once the Huntsman shot a thick, copious wad into her mouth, he reached for his hunting knife. He held it above her, his hands trembling slightly. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, no bitch who gave head that good deserved to die. He quickly bent Snow White over a log and began to explain to her the Queen’s villainous scheme all while having his way with her back door. Once he shot another load onto her soft white backside, he ordered that she run off into the woods and never return, except on the third Sunday of every month so that he may teabag her in the clearing in the woods. He watched as she disappeared into the woods, a single tear clung to his cheek; there went the best damn poo-tang in the kingdom. Before returning to the queen he found a deer and killed it, using it’s vagina as the one of Snow White.

     Snow White wandered the woods for hours, growing more and more tired and was continually having to fight off the horny animals of the forest. She thought she almost wouldn’t make it when she came across a small house lying quietly in a small clearing, next to a small river. She entered the house and looked around to see a small table, seven small chairs, and seven small place settings on the table. She went up the stairs to find seven small beds lined up in a row, each bed had a sign hanging above it with a name engraved in it:

Sleazy, Cummy, Dopey, Sluty, Grumpy, Pudgy, and Cock

She figured they must be the names of the small men who must sleep here. I will only rest for a moment, she thought as she sprawled herself across the seven beds and hiked up her gossamer dress and began to furiously work her clitoris. Once she female ejaculated across the room, aiming at and hitting a small picture that could have only been the seven small men’s mother, she passed out.

     She awoke what must have been several hours later to the sound of voices around her. She opened her eyes and indeed saw seven small men in cute little outfits staring down at her. At first the Dwarfs were angry and demanded to know why she was in their home and sleeping on their bed. And why the picture of their mother was sticky. Snow White wasted no time explaining her plight to the Dwarfs who all huddled together afterwards to discuss the situation. They quickly came to an agreement and as the walked back toward her, Snow White could see these Dwarfs were packing some serious meat in their small trousers.

They asked Snow White if she would like to stay with them on the condition that she cook, and clean and become their living cum dump. She said yes without hesitating and quickly tore off her dress and watched as the Seven Dwarfs quickly unleashed their massive members from their trousers.

     “My God! You’re all tri-pods” she cried in excitement as the Dwarfs each approached her. “That’s amazing and you’re not even black!”

She laid back as they each took their turn pounding her soft white pussy, which had the reddest lips they’d ever seen, and the blackest most beautiful curls of pubic hair around it-but not too much hair, Snow White liked to keep it tidy.

     And so it was, Snow White spent months cooking; cleaning and taking it up the ass. She almost forgot all about her Evil Queen stepmother, who at that very moment was once again locked in her room admiring her vag in the mirror. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who has the fairest cunt of all?”

“It ain’t you bitch, It ain’t you” the Mirror replied, once again sending the Queen into a terrible rage, when he showed her the image of Snow White being Tea-bagged by the Huntsman in the woods.

“Why does she still live?” She cried as she made her to her secret laboratory where she wasted no time in transforming herself into a ghastly old crone, and brewing a batch of vagina shaped poisoned apples. “One bite of this and she will be as good as dead.”

     It was the next day when Old Crone approached Snow White who was sunning her perfectly shaped love box in the clearing by the house. “May I help you?” Snow White asked quickly standing to her feet.

“I’m selling apples today my dear, special apples.”

“I’m not really supposed to buy anything, unless you’re into a little girl on girl. The dwarfs really are into that for some reason.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s just the apples today my dear, are you sure you wouldn’t like one, they are so wet and juicy.” The Old Crone held out a vagina shaped apple and placed it into Snow White’s hands. “That one is free my dear, don’t be afraid to bite down into it, get its juices all over your face.”

Snow White hesitated for a moment, but then thought what the hell, she needed something to get the taste of cum cock, and Sam Adams out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and bit down deep into the vagina shaped apple, letting its sweet nectar flow across her lips and down her chin where it came to rest in the small valley between her perfectly shaped bosoms. It was then that Snow White instantly felt ill and fell to the ground, through her blurry vision she saw the Old Crone melt away into the Evil Queen as she stood cackling over her.

“My cunt will now be fairest in the land, you dumb bitch.” She cried as she threw the rest of the apples onto the ground and made her back into the woods and toward her bed chamber where her new crystal 12 speed dildo had finally arrived and was waiting for her

     The Dwarfs returned home hours later from a long day in the mine, only to find their beloved cum dumpster lying in a heap on the ground. They did not want to believe her to be dead, and quickly began taking turns trying to fuck her back to life. But it was in vain, for they to found that the poison has shriveled Snow White’s pussy into nothing more than a small dried out raisin.

     The mourned for seven days, and then decided that she was far to beautiful to bury, so instead they would lay her in a glass coffin in the clearing so that all the world could come and admire her beauty – while jerking off to her cold, lifeless body. They built paper towel dispensers into the glass coffin for admirers to wipe up their goo after they finished, but they soon learned that it was folly. For no one could face looking at the beautiful Snow White once their seed had been spilt.

     It fell upon Cummy to clean up the mess daily, the worse being the Deer’s who would come a great deal and prance off back into the woods without even attempting to clean their goo up.

“Fucking Deer’s!” Cummy cried, “I’m gonna kick your ass Bambi if I see your small cock around her again!”

Due to his lot in life and possibly because he had such a shitty fucking name, Cummy became addicted to the bukkake, and often ate it right off of the glass coffin. It was this unfortunate addiction to bukkake that would later turn him into a flaming queer, only to be killed early in his queer life after a gay bashing by some straight bears who didn’t want Cummy saying anything, after they’d pounded his small dwarf ass. Cummy would be buried in a small ceremony and his death would lead to the first “Don’t Hit Homos” bill passed among the Animals for Ethical Treatment of Queer Bastards. But that’s another story for another time.

     Then one day, as Cummy was licking the bukkake off the coffin, a young prince walked up to him.

     “Who is this fair Maiden?” he asked looking into the coffin.

     “That’s just our whore, Snow White.” Cummy replied, “I’ll leave you alone with her, please use the napkins after you’re done.”

     The Prince had already undone his trousers and had his small cock in his hands, but he only managed a half jerk when Cummy heard the all too familiar “splat”

     “Damn that was quick.” Cummy said walking over and cleaning the glass. Cummy looked at the semen sliding down the glass and then back at the Prince. “Jewish, huh? That’s okay we get all kinds around here.”

     “Why, how did you know?” The Prince had died his hair bright blond and refrained from joining any profession that had him counting money.

     “All that kosher shit you people eat, makes your cum thin and soupy.”

     “May I ask a favor, may I kiss Snow White?”

Cummy looked at him, no one had ever asked to get closer to Snow White, and mostly they shot and left. He told the Prince he would have to discuss it with the others and immediately called for the other six to come.

     The Prince stood aside as the Dwarfs stood in a circle and mumbled to themselves. Finally Grumpy emerged and looked at the Prince. “You may kiss her, but it’s going to cost you.”

     “Very well, I will do anything to have one kiss with Snow White. What is your price dear Dwarf.”

     Grumpy eyed the Prince up and down, “You know what we want.”

     The Prince let out a nervous laugh and looked around nervously, “that’s just a story, we don’t really have it.”

     “We want the Jew Gold!”

     The Prince gave in and threw the satchel to the Dwarfs who quickly began to count it. “There’s no need for that, I count it four times a day, and it’s all there. Now may I kiss her?”

     “You may, but not on the lips. You must kiss her cunt.” Grumpy said, as the other began to lift the lid of the coffin.

     The Prince so excited about this prematurely ejaculated again, this time hitting the stone slab on which Snow White lay.

     “GOD DAMN YOUR JEW GOO!” Cummy cried as he dove to the ground to collect it in his hands and secretly devour it when no one was looking.

     The Prince approached Snow White and lifted her dress, lowering his head past the mound of her over-grown pubic hair, and was about to kiss her when he saw a shriveled raisin where her love box should be. He quickly brought his head up and looked at the Dwarfs, “Fuck that!” he cried, “Gimme my gold back.”

     “Please dear Prince, will you kiss her on her cursed cunt. Maybe like in all those stories you will break the terrible spell she is under and she will awaken and go off to be your bride. Otherwise you’re just trying to get it on with a dead woman and that’s just plain fucking sick.” Dopey pleaded his eyes wide with hope. “We will give you half the gold back.

     At this notion the Prince wasted no time in diving down and kissing the shriveled raisin. It only took a moment and with the power of his kiss, and the thought of getting some of his gold back, Snow White began to open her eyes.

     The Dwarfs were overjoyed when they saw this and each one took his penis out and let it slam onto the ground with a loud “thud”. Birds began to sing, the Deer pranced to and fro, and even the trees began to sway wildly in delight. The Prince too became excited and before Snow White could even sit up, he’d shot more Jew-Goo onto her dress.

     “MOTHER FUCKER!” she yelled, “I’ve not even been awake a minute and already you’re spraying me with your Jesus juice.” She began to wipe it off and looked down at her hand, “You’re a Jew?”

     He nodded his head and smiled, surely she would want someone clean, able to handle their finances and who had a circumcised penis, even if it was small.

     “I can’t go off with you,” she said sliding off the stone slab. “It simply wouldn’t work, not that I got my pussy back I need to use it. I need to spread my legs and welcome everyone across the kingdom to enjoy my sweet juices. Plus, I mean look at those Dwarfs dicks, I mean come on, who wouldn’t want all that man jam.”

     The Prince accepted defeat and half of his gold back and rode off into the forest.

Snow White joined the Dwarfs back at their small cottage in the clearing and enjoy nights of harmonious fucking with all six of them, Cummy had turned queer on them.

As for the Evil Queen, Snow White found a witch one day in the woods and told her all about the Evil queen’s plots. After tonguing the Witch’s beef sleeve, the Witch helped Snow White cast a powerful spell that would make the Evil Queen’s cunt shrivel up, like she had done to Snow White’s. Devastated by the loss of her beautiful hatchet wound and all the pleasure it had given her. The Evil Queen ran to the tallest tower in the castle and leapt from the top, plummeting to her death. The Magic Mirror was so happy that Queen was finally gone and that it would no longer be forced to show her, her own cunt. He could finally focus on what he really wanted to watch – Cummy getting ass plowed by the Three “Straight” Bears and some little Blonde girl with a strap on.

Retrospective of work I’ve yet to do - a blog.

As a writer I am constantly thinking up random ideas. I have a hundred ideas for stuff I would like to eventually write.

So here are few pitches for projects I’d like to work on, let me know what you think:

Sweet Sally’s Crazy Abortion Adventure: Sweet Sally is 15, kind of a slut, and is now in a bit of a pickle. You guessed it, she’s knocked up! Follow Sweet Sally through her crazy day as all she tries to do is get across town to the clinic and back in time for school dance later that night. All while avoiding a rabid group of militant Pro-lifers bent on saving the baby – at any cost. She will have to watch out for the Womb-Raiders, single, lonely women in their 40’s desperate for a baby and armed with their keys, and her boyfriend(s) who all want to have talk with her at the top of some stairs. Can Sally juggle it all and still make it to the prom in time for the electric slide?

You’re gonna love Sweet Sally, the down home girl with a can do attitude in this, her wackiest adventure yet!

HERMAN AND THE HOARDER: Herman is depressed, and for good reason, he’s dead – more importantly he’s a ghost. Now with his whole afterlife ahead of him Herman is ready to start haunting his first house, the house of Philomena Bill, a hoarder. Her house is packed to the gills with junk. Boxes of Old toys, broken TV’s, magazines, old Snickers wrappers, and about a dozen undiscovered cat skeletons. Despite his best efforts poor Herman’s haunting goes unnoticed. Resigned to living in hoarding hell, Herman is about to give up. Until a TV crew comes in to help Philomena tackle her hoarding problem. Can Herman make his presence known amongst the hysterics when a simple receipt from 1974 is thrown away? Can he spook the TV crew who are hiding behind hazmat suits? It’s up to Herman to save the day and scare the pants of off someone…anyone in this house of hoarding horrors!

BILLY AND THE EASTER EGG HUNT:  Billy is 11, and his favorite holiday is approaching – Easter.

Wait till you read the wacky fun when the neighborhood molester, Mr. Rivers throws an Easter egg hunt for the all the kids. There’s no chocolate this year – those eggs are filled with Nyquil!! Now it’s up to little Billy to save his passed out friends and their butt holes! Billy will have to overcome his dyslexia in order to read the clues that lead to Mr. River’s Basement of Uncomfortable Fun. Push his asthma to the limits to overcome Mr. River’s Gauntlet of Touching! And face off against Mr. River’s and his camera in the -we-don’t-tell-anyone-about-this-secret-room room. He may have four pairs of underwear on, but they might not be enough to protect his boy parts. Through it all Billy were learn the true meaning of Easter, something to do with Jesus, and attempt to save his friends with as little psychological scarring as possible. 

I chronicle my rejection, cause I am cool like that.

Why does my rejection come in pairs? 

Rejection 1 - recv’d monday -

Dear Mr. Roman,

Rejection 2 - recv’d wed,  (it was nice of the universe to not kick me in the teeth on tues, my bday) 

Hey there Eric,

Thanks so much for giving me a shot at your novel.  I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t connecting wholeheartedly with your writing, despite its poise and polish, so I ought to step aside, but I truly appreciate the look, and I wish you the best of luck!

Sincerely,

—WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???  That’s the second agent to say that - so I can only deduce that he meant to say this:

“your book is shit, I read those first ten pages, puked on them, and after my eyes stopped bleeding spent 45 minutes trying to find something nice to say in a reply email to you. Please do not even send us anything again, you no-talent hack.”

I call thyself rejection, cause what else can I be?

Dear Mr. Roman,

John Waters why won’t you love me????

            I planned on seducing John Waters. Why? You ask. Well two reasons really, one: he is fucking John Waters and if you are going to swallow a load why not one from someone you’ve looked up to since your teens. Two: So that every time I watch his movies, and trust that I watch them a lot. I can lean back in the chair and simply say “fucked him.” to the awe and maybe repulsion of my peers around me. In fact I have a list of celebs from some of my favorite 80’s and 90’s movies that I want to have sex with for just that fact. As I waited in line to finally meet the Pope of Trash, the Sultan of Subversive Cinema I had a plan formed. But then out of the blue I was triple dog dared to kneel, and address him as Prince SummerFall WinterSpring. Which if you read his book ‘Role Models’ you would know that name is one he is quite fond of. I had not fully yet read ‘Role Models’ yet, even though I knew our meeting was coming a few months ago. I wanted to wait until the book bore my name and his signature, then and only then would I read it. That was my first mistake. How foolish I had been.

Last year I met another one of my icons – Meg Foster. You may know her from several things, like John Carpenter’s They Live. I remember her from “Masters of the Universe” the He-Man movie where she fiercely portrayed the live action version of Evil-Lyn. Using my charm and humor I explained with a minimum of gushing how young, lonely gay Eric obsessed over Evil-Lyn. Using Meg Foster’s performance as a springboard for how I thought fierce bitches should be. You probably have seen the movie, but I doubt you have examined it as I have. Watching her gazes, the sweep of her arm, and the delivery of her lines all perfection. She was extremely gracious to me at our meeting. Considering this was a near thirty year old movie she only did so her son could see her is something. And she did something celebs rarely do at these conventions, she came all the way around her table and gave me a full –on real hug. There was truth in her hug, and I knew my charm and humor had won over an idol of my youth. My charm and humor however did not win over John Waters. Because I never even got to use it! I was nervous meeting Meg Foster, but I was far more nervous, to the point of nauseas to meet John Waters. I build things up in my mind because I am a writer. Every meeting or conversation I have with someone is usually preplanned in my head. If I call you on the phone to discuss something, chances are I’ve already had the conversation in my head. So did I think John Waters would find me hilarious, ask me to meet him after his show and then whisk me off on an adventure worthy of one his movies? Hell yes I did. I have wit, charm and a big penis dammit.

My big penis was not enough in the scenario. The triple dog-dare was to kneel down, address by the name above and pronounce my love. This did happen, and there is video proof of it. He responded with a smile and a very sweet ‘thank you.”  This is where it goes down hill. I stand back up and slide my ‘Female Trouble’ cover art over for him to sign. Now did I tell him how important ‘Female Trouble’ is to me? Did I tell him that it was the first and for the longest time only movie that I came across where it was okay to be gay. If you’ve not seen it (and shame on you) the marvelously over the top performance of Edith Massey as Aunt Ida is Oscar worthy. In the film she begs her nephew Gator to please be gay. “The world of heterosexuality is a sick and boring life.” It was like rays of sunshine had poured into my dreary gay life. You mean it was okay to want to suck off every boy at school? For the record at no point in ‘Female Trouble’ does a character promote sucking off every boy in school – but I read between the lines. Did I tell John Waters how much the movie helped me overcome some inner turmoil I had. ‘Female Trouble’ as a life affirming movie – who knew, but maybe he would tell me a story of another lost gay whom it helped. Maybe he would say it was the first time he heard that and inquire further.

 Sadly the above conversation did not happen. What happened was; he asked me my name. I said it. He then asked ‘do you spell that with a C or a K’ and I went mind numb and just thanked him for asking and said C. —  I thanked him for asking how I spell my name??? Talk about losing your cool. See I said the ‘thank you’ in a way that probably seemed like no one had ever asked me anything before in the history of the world. I was the first person to ever utter the words ‘Thank You.’ – I hated myself. This is the man who hangs out at bars I am too afraid to go into. This man wears clothes that get him laughed at and he doesn’t blink an eye. And my simple, overly-enthusiastic ‘thank you’ was going to be the ammunition to secure a possible bedroom tryst???? Oh gentle reader it gets worse….

 I then slid the already signed copy of ‘Role Models’ to him. He opened the page and saw his signature leering back at him - “Oh it’s already done.” – I then giggled and asked if he could personalize it. GIGGLED, like a stupid fucking Japanese school girl. Did I smoothly make a joke about not being some Ebay whore, and wanting it to be addressed to me to make other people envious? Did I make a joke about being such a bad fan that I made him work twice. Nope, I just fucking giggled. (I hope this is not on video – though it might be.) I GIGGLED!

We then posed for our picture in which he thanked me for coming out, and I said “no thank you for coming here.” – Smooth right. Did I take this last moment with him to quickly regale him with the story of the time I and friends went to the Holiday House, the biker bar from his film ‘A Dirty Shame,”  yes it is a real biker bar, though not as rough and wild as you would think on a Thursday night. It took the few patrons that were there a moment to adjust to us but then hell we fit right in. We even helped a toothless woman celebrate her birthday and ate her store bought birthday cake with her. Only in Baltimore, am I right? I think this story would have amused him, maybe even got him to comment back or tell a quick story of his own. But nope, I smoothly just thanked him like a damn yokel and wandered off, head still spinning from being in his presence.

That was a sure fire attempt to seduce the great John Waters am I right? I am sure he has no time for giggly faggots who get on one knee. My attempt to seduce him was doomed from the beginning I learned after reading ‘Role Models’. It is highly unlikely that he would bed a random fan in line. I of course knew this on some level I am sure, but my penis is capable of amazing things. You know kinda like Harry Potter. Also retrospectively he, I am sure, was not pleased with my outfit. I am a khaki shorts and polo type of fag – if this was Cry-Baby, I’d most likely be a square, daddy-o. Though I do suck cock like a teenage rebel. No I am sure my buttoned down preppy looking shirt and khaki shorts bombarded his senses and offended him. I am sure my fumbling nervousness was obvious and I am sure on some level John Water was thinking, “Pull it together faggot.” But I will try again….I will carry on my quest to seduce him. Maybe not all the way to the bedroom now, my snafu out of the seduction gate my never be corrected. But a drunken blowjob in a back alley in Baltimore sounds good. Or maybe even just a real conversation in which I could actually convey how much his work means to me – and then a blowjob.   

I call thyself rejection. part deux

Thanks so much for your query. 

I’m afraid your book just doesn’t sound like the type of project I’d be interested in representing at this time.  

I wish you all the best with your career and hope you find the right agent match soon.

Best,

(at least they wished me their best…I guess. PLUS I only sent them the query because they were interested in the subject my book is.)