cycy@isl1.ri.cmu.edu (Christopher Young) (02/13/86)
I read the following post in the local opinion bboard the other day. I found it offensive, and said so in the bboard. I felt it was disgusting and a perpetuation of stereotypes (one the worse stereotypes, too). Apparently, nobody who posted anything agreed with me. I'm wondering if one has to be gay to be offended by this, and would be interested in opinions. Did I overreact? (By the way, I did play chicken and not say that I am gay. I just said that I felt it perpetuates stereotypes. I feel justified in saying this in that if it had been, say, women being stereotyped, I would have had the same reaction. But it may be also that I'm just still too closeted here, especially since this is a new job for me). Anyway, here it is: Life is constant turmoil for Sidney these days, wanting the rapture of Reggie's love to touch and calm the passionate vibrato of his unfulfilled need, the urgent tingle burning deep within his bowels that only Reggie can satiate with his animal gruffness that seems to Sidney to be an epicurian blend of tenderness and terror. Sidney lurks in the men's room at the bus station, listening to the last drops of the golden cascades expelled by the endless flow of passengers who come and go without knowing Sidney sits in the center stall using their noises to accent his dreams of passionate rage with Reggie, who was so untrue, so false about love with others, who left Sidney now both heartbroken and betrayed, in turmoil for his inability to resolve the two passions he feels so deeply for Reggie. Oh, his love is insurmountable, but Reggie's infidelity leads him to hate even his own thoughts of Reggie as they flit from scenes of warmth and tender caresses to images of Reggie fondling that snippidy Hermie Grimes, the bitch. "Oh, Forbidden Fruit, you have caused my fall from grace," he whimpers to the toilet roll, touching himself again the way Reggie used to do, biting his lip with desire and wishing that some young gallant would come and take him now, forcing him to accept the brutal pain he had feared for so long but now longs for with fear. At first, he could hardly beleive the tiny whelts were anything of concern, nothing more than mild hemmorhoids telling him to reduce the love load, but the pustules began and persisted until his entire hotsocket became massive with pain and oozing such that he could barely stand to look into the pocket mirror at that part of himself he had spent so much of his recent life admiring, pampering, and preparing for Reggie. Now, Reggie is gone with Hermie to Key West, and Sidney cannot bear to think of sleeping with another man, at least not until his present condition is cured and the beautiful brick-tone of his pouting flesh returns. For now he sits there in the bus station, his office of sorts, where he fancies himself doing what so many others do in the privacy of their offices and in the privacy of their thoughts. For what seems the thousandth time, Sidney scribbles his message of forlorn passion on the wall and feels his pulse quicken with anticipation. For the thousandth time, he erases the message as thoughts of Reggie's love bring him back to his higher moral sensibilities. ----- Well, that's it. Was I too rectionary? Please let me know. -- Chris.
krossen@bbncca.ARPA (Ken Rossen) (02/14/86)
My word, those bboards at Carnegie-Mellon are really something!
Or maybe the postings around here are just especially clean ;-)
--
Ken Rossen ...!{ihnp4,harvard,seismo}!bbnccv!krossen
____or____ krossen@ccp.bbn.com -or- krossen@bbnccp.arpa