Go back one page
If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not read this salty tale. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means read on.
© 2014 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
(a true tale from the castro; eat your heart out armistead)
© 2014 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
Now, my path has crossed Larkin's three or four times since my last blog entry. But my fingers needed to rest, and I grew exhausted trying to keep up with the latest reports. But what just occurred only moments ago (around 5:45 PM) on a very hot day (for we are suffering the rare heatwave) demands that I create this missive to All My Reptilian And Humanoid Fans. But first, let's catch up:
I saw Larkin once more at Duboce Park, three days ago...throwing a tennis ball, as usual, for a lovely and mostly-black doggie he tends for another (and hopefully gets paid). Didn't expect to see him that afternoon, as it was later than he usually appears, and I had hiked from my annual checkup at the California Pacific Medical Center (after laser surgery three years ago for an almost-detached retina). When I viewed him on the other side of the field, I decide to cut right across the dog-run area so he'd be sure to see me. As I grew near, I waited politely for him to fling the ball, so as not to interrupt their play. Then hiked some yards up the sidewalk and looked back.
Instead of marching right home, I decided to seat myself on the knoll some thirty yards distant, to enjoy the simple interplay of happy canine and homo sapiens. I must admit, though, I was envious of this dog's welcome affection toward Larkin, rubbing itself against his knees with much joy and trust, as Larkin paused between tosses. (Just as I am envious of Zachary's privileged situation of being Larkin's housemate: what a joy that must be! And super frustrating for This Meager Soul, as they live barely one block distant from my own residence.)
Forward to 3 October:
I had recently invented another duet of priceless bon mots to toss at Larkin next time our paths cross. My plan was to rush up behind him and shoot my salvo in a bellowing timbre. Yet two days had passed without the opportunity provided, so I figured (with a sigh) to snail-mail them. No sooner did I think that, when I looked out the window to see My Frabjous Frankenstein across Market Street, walking west towards Noe and holding a leash which, coincidentally, was tethered to that same sweet doggie he often played with at Duboce Park. Long-furred and mostly black with a few white patches, the darling creature appeared to be a cross between a Cocker Spaniel and a Labrador retriever...sniffing with great enthusiasm every single molecule cast its way.
I desperately yearned to dash out my apartment building and catch up with Larkin, that I may cast My Latest Pearls of Witdom upon those kindly shoulders. But we were in the middle of a nasty heat wave, and the effort struck me as too sweaty and futile to bother. So I remained in my hot-box of an SRO, staring out the window as Larkin vanished beyond the pale and into my wishful deliberations. Yet much to my unexpected delight, My Platonic Paramour provided me with a golden opportunity to castrate him, later that evening:
The day was still bright and muggy (around 6 PM) when I suddenly found Larkin pacing before me barely three feet ahead...this time w/o the company of a dog. ("Where did he come from?" I mused. "One moment I'm alone, the next he's in my face.") I realized then I had less than ten seconds to recite my scripted lines, for he was about to enter Twin Peaks Tavern. His back was turned to me, and remained so for that duration. So I called to him, in a boisterous volume his ears could not shield:
"How often do you have to boink Zachary's stinky, hairy rectum to keep a roof over your head?"
Larkin of course, did not turn about, nor did he acknowledge my presence in any other way whatsoever. I wanted to jump on his back and ride piggyback into the tavern; but I knew such a maneuver would only backfire, causing me further humiliation and hostility. Only six seconds remained:
"Then you're supposed to say: 'Oh, two or three times a month. I don't keep count.' Then I say: 'Wow, that's quite a bargain, does he need a second roommate?'"
Then he crossed the threshhold into TPT, and I remained outside and outcast, chuckling to myself while lingering about Jane Warner Plaza. Couldn't see through the plate glass exactly where Larkin settled down, as the reflective shades were drawn over the windows to block the sun's bright glare. Yet I knew he could see me, thus it was to my advantage that I kept a few minutes' vigil before returning hovel.
Yet as I did so, there appeared Larkin once more, almost bumping into me, face to face. He had just stepped out of The Cafe, which is around the corner from TPT. (Again, I wondered: "How did he suddenly appear like that?") Seeing as I had not yet tossed the second bon mot of this duet, I followed close behind and hollered:
"I'm doing a fantastic job of playing out my designated role as your psycho ex-boyfriend, I should win an Oscar!"
Someone witnessed our altercation and guffawed in great amusement: "Psycho boyfriend, that's good!" (Just wish I had paid more attention to this hilarious witness, 'cause he seemed rather handsome and ready to throw up his legs to receive the benedicton of My Golden Stiffie. But alas, I did not, thus could not seek him out later in the evening to proposition him with a hearty butt-fuk. Or kok-suk, whichever works.)
At that moment Larkin turned 'round to declare with an angry (though I'm sure, feigned) scowl: "Get away from me, get outta here!"
So I retorted: "But I'll settle for The Nobel Pizza Prize!"
With that, Larkin crossed a break in the traffic where he stood on the cobbled island, awaiting a breach to complete his crossing...a method of getting away from me, much to my insult. I followed immediately (with great care not to be struck by an oncoming vehicle) to where he stood, then declared:
"Calm down, Larkin, I'm just going home."
He glared at me: "So go home! Get outta my face, leave me alone!"
An empty space in the traffic flow allowed me to reach the opposite sidewalk, from where I hollered back (while Larkin continued to condemn me with a loud voice and broad gestures):
"How much do you fuk Zachary to keep your room?" I doubled over laughing, as I repeated this roasting two more times. While Larkin continued to excoriate me as cars zoomed by in both directions, keeping him trapped on the island (as my captive audience, I might add).
As if he gave me the perfect opportunity to blast him with my verbal fusillade. For which I am most grateful. He seems to know whenever I have something important or funny to share, that he sets up a mini-stage for my latest improv. So I sent him the postcard you saw above, plus several more mid-month:
Postcard October 10:
Postcard October 11:
Halloween Card October 15:
Postcard October 17:
Care to leave a comment? Click here.