There’s a business in my hometown that services a very unique clientele. If you happen to be online, you might receive an instant message from someone advertising this business. You might be enticed to make an appointment to visit this business, which is run out of someone’s home.
If you do, you’ll approach the house and see a pleasant looking California cottage. Attached to it is a normal, everyday-looking garden shed with a wrought iron weathervane, in a porcine motif, that points you to the door. You open the door, and see another door that leads into the house, with a doorbell marked RING FOR SERVICE. So you do, and you hear a shuffle shuffle shuffle. You look down at the door and see two glory holes, for men of different heights, and an eager mouth appears in one of them.
You unzip, and do your business. As you’re being gobbled, you look up to your left, and just as your mind thinks, “God it’d be great if there were some porn playing right now,” a monitor snaps on, displaying the kind of hot sex you didn’t come here for. As your pleasure increases, you look off to your right, thinking, “God, I wish I had something to make this incredible head job I’m receiving feel better,” and notice a bottle of poppers sitting there, just for you.
As you get closer and closer to an earth-shattering orgasm, you wish that you had something above your head to grab onto, maybe some sort of handles, the better to fuck that hole you’re fucking right now. And lo, you look up, and there they are. You realize then that this person you're doing business with must be a master manipulator, a king/queen of spin, and it frightens you, frightens you to know that someone can play on your desire to shoot a wad so much that you've ended up here ... here ... where it's not exactly a woman who's on the other side of that door and ...
...
Just then, the person you're doing business with does something to your frenulum (tongue stud? omigodomigodomigod), at the precise moment that something very hot happens on the monitor up there, and your balls draw up and you don't care about the gender of this businessman, it feels too good to care, this person who knows just how to please you with nothing (no intimacy, no friendship, no love, no sharing, just cocksucking) more than sex, and you give up to it, for one brief moment you give in to it, you're not minding and maybe, you think, maybe it can be better than this, and maybe you should be honest with the people you love and maybe ...
Then you come, screaming your incredible pleasure in the relative safety and friendly confines of private property. You hear a gulp, your cock is released from the warm sucking place its been for the last ten minutes and you hear shuffle shuffle shuffle receding into the distance.
By the time you’ve zipped up and gotten back into your car, you’ve already forgotten that you’ve just been sucked off by another man.
The people who know about this place, and its reputation is growing quickly, have decided to call this business “The Pig Shack”.
When I tell my straight male friends about The Pig Shack, two questions are invariably asked. The first: “So, how much does this cost?”. When I answer, “It’s free,” the second question is always, always, “And where is this place again?”
You’ve been given the thinnest veneer of plausible deniability … you were watching straight porn after all … and that’s all you need to get by.
…but I don’t feel very proud.
I am hearing certain
phrases with more and more frequency these days, so to satisfy my curiosity, I went to
Deja and searched the
Usenet archives:
Number of times the phrase “speaking on condition of anonymity” appears between May 12, 1981 and September 10, 2001: 7,750
Since September 11, 2001: 4,160
I once had a roommate whom I knew to be gay, though he never said so. He was boorish, loud, self-centered, and hiding something. He had absolutely no sense of self-awareness whatsoever, and thusly nearly everything that came out of his mouth was absolutely the wrong thing to say at precisely the wrong time to say it.
One night, in a moment of weakness, he confessed to me as to how lonely he was, how he didn’t understand why people didn’t like him. I used that loneliness to seduce him, since despite all his faults, he was one hot boy. Even though I loathed him, I wanted to have sex with him. And I always get what I want.
However, right before my cock eased its way into his all-too-willing mouth, I said, softly, hotly, urgently, seductively, truthfully, “You realize that you’re going down on me before I go down on you, yet I’m the fag here, don’t you?”
He came right then and there. It was quite obviously good for him.
I had seduced him, not into sex, but into self-awareness.
…yet somehow, I don’t feel very proud.
Number of times the phrase “undisclosed location” appears between 5-12-81 and 9-10-01: 4,610
Number of times since 9-11-01: 3,130
I once had a male friend who had a long-standing affair with a married man. This gentleman was friendly and personable and fun to be with when ever he visited our house to see my friend. We all enjoyed each other’s company, and looked forward to his visits.
But then one day I saw him and his children during a daytrip to a park. I started to smile and wave, but even though he was looking right at me, he didn’t see me. No, he didn’t look through me, he didn’t see me. He chose not to see me. And so he didn’t.
…it didn’t make me feel very proud
Number of times the name “Osama bin Laden” appears between 5-12-81 and 9-10-2001: 11,400
Between 9-11-01 and 7-31-02: 157,000
Between 8-01-02 and today: 103,000
A young boy, someone I know personally because he’s the son of a family friend, recently confessed to me in an online conversation that he loved, loved to film himself masturbating and then upload the video to the male (mustn’t say gay, or queer, or even curious) friends he’s made online. He is embarrassed to be such an exhibitionist, but people seem to really get off on watching him beat his teen meat, almost as much as he gets off on doing it for them.
Never mind that he never tells people that even though he looks it, he’s no where near the age of eighteen.
Never mind that many of these people are probably older than they tell him.
Never mind that the phrase "beat his teen meat" ceases to shock the majority of those who use the Internet, and almost seems ... quaint.
Never mind these videos are now freely available on p2p applications.
Never mind that a website catering to supposed straight guys wants to hire him as a model. And he’s considering it.
Never mind that his family has absolutely no idea what this boy does with his toys.
…none of this makes me feel very proud.
Number of times the phrase “homeland security” appears between 5-12-81 and 9-10-2001: 98
Since 9-11-01: 30,600
You’re not safe. Not even from yourself, or the people you love. You’re not safe from your parents. You’re not safe from your children, nor from your employer or the people you do business with. None of us are safe, as long as we willingly choose to lie to ourselves over and over and over again and again and again.
…and none of us should feel very proud.
And, from an undisclosed location and speaking on condition of anonymity, I will neither confirm nor deny the factual basis of this account.