Tuesday, July 3, 2012

ROBLOG #429

My Darling Readers. Here’s a little story of Pride. It gets a little descriptive so if you are a little old lady who wouldn’t say shit if your mouth were full of it… well, just be forewarned as opposed to foreskined.
That is all…

Rod- the Maître’ D, clad in tight black shorts, matching flip-flops and no shirt, seated us on the patio at Café Okanagan.
“Tony will be you in a just a second girls!”
He spun around and trolled back to the lineup at the front of the café.

It was sunny as only the Okanagan can be. Umbrella’s fluttering in the breeze making it quite comfortable. A pie-shaped bit of shade fell across one side of the table. We had a great view of the Pride Festival right in front of us on Church Street. Muscle-Gods, flags, Fags, Queens, Leather Boys, topless Lesbians and straight folk.

It’s the straight folk who come to gop and stare. Some of them were at the parade earlier in the afternoon but most come to the village in the early evening. Straight men grab on tight to their girlfriends- just in case they are perceived as being Gay- even for just a minute.

Across the way from the patio- outside Priape a Gay Store, blonde, straight girls in designer shades ogle the Priape Boy’s semi-naked bodies. Wearing just underwear, the boys allow the blondes to have their pictures taken with each of them. The gals push polished index fingers into muscular pectorals and giggle all the while. The boy’s tit’s flex and their stomach muscles undulate in the hot summer sun. To our left, across the way from Priape, even more straight gals vie for position with the half-naked, gloriously-muscled men of Trojan Condoms.
I mean a Fag hasn’t got a chance!
Honestly!

On the crowded street in front of the Café Okanagan, Italian men shove their wives aside so they can stare at bare-breasted Lesbians.
Why?
I don’t know.

We settle ourselves in and Tony comes by all smiles and flirty.

“Hello Boys! What’ll it be? Besides me- of course!!”



We all laugh.

“A Strawberry Daiquiri for me and an iced tea for him. I point to my husband on the opposite side of the table.”

“Back in a jiff!”- says Tony as he sashays away.

What a beautiful day,
What fun!

Then, it happened.
The two boys at the table next to us pull out their Players (Players? Who the fuck smokes players beside a hydro lineman or a fisherman at Peggy’s Cove?) and light up.
Shit!

I smiled across at the younger of the two.
“Happy Pride!”- I said sweetly enough.”

I paused. He smiled back and mumbled- “Hpyrd Pdiepe.”

Gee thanks. For the warm wishes.
A cloud of second-hand, nicotine-laced smoke drifts across my face.

I glance at the younger of the two and say-
“Dear, do you know that smoking those things favours your semen?”

“What?”
Nice comeback youngster.

I tried again. “Do you know when you smoke, your semen- your “gism” is flavoured with nicotine?”

He takes another puff. His “companion” turns to me as well- “what’s that?”

“I say, do you know your semen…oh what the hell…Your fucking cum tastes like an ashtray when you smoke those cancer sticks. Of course how would you know when you are both so addicted? Funny, neither of you look like addicts to me!”

“No way!” They reply, obviously not believing me – or not wanting to.

“Way!”
What else could I say?

“How do you know?” –he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Look cutie, just take it from me. Your “gism” is tainted. Even for female smokers. I knew of a gal once- a beefy kind of gal, who kept smoking through her pregnancy. After the child was born she was breast feeding one day when the baby took a break from her teat. The poor wee thing had to burp!
It smelled like cigarette smoke!”

Their mouths dropped.
“What? The fuck you say!”

“Yes!” I continued in copy-cat style, “The Fuck I do say!”

“That’s gross”- says the younger of the two men.

“I know!”- I added re-assuredly wanting to hug the younger of the two to my heaving bosom, while lightly patting his head telling him things would be just fine.
 “So why not fling those things away and cum clean- if you get my drift!”

“Oh! No worries.”
There was a pause.
“I only smoke during Pride.”
A passing Drag Queen overheard.
She stops, leans over the table and says- “Girlfriends, I only smoke after sex and I don’t mean on a cigarette!”
She throws her head back laughing loudly and teeters along on 7 inch heels.
“Byeee!- she says over a delicate, white shoulder.

I too paused for a moment and with a lovely Gay lilt to my voice, I turn to the boys and I say- “How nice for you. Well, you’re fine then. Never mind.”

I turn to my frosty, pink drink.
I take a long sip looking up to smile at my husband who had been listening intently.

“Nice try!”- He says.



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