Saturday, January 6, 2018

ROBBLOG #866 W E E K E N D Edition Toucha Toucha Touch Me

 
Toucha, toucha, touch me. I Wanna Feel Dirty
A note that this ROBBLOG might get a little "Gay Smutty". Shirley Feeny -who stamped "smut" on a wide variety of situations when co-habiting with Laverne DeFazio, would not be impressed.
You've been forewarned.
 
There’s been a lot of people (read: men) making the news lately for doing naughty things to other people. (read: women)
 
It would appear that some of these naughty things were done many years ago- 18, 20, 22 years. It just took that long for victims to have the courage to name the bad lads in question.
 
It’s like an updated version of the Salem Witch Trials. However, I am not here to judge ,only to write a blog.
 
Is this a "Naughty Thing?"
So far, there have been many straight men, one Gay man and as far as I can see no ladies named as being possibly being guilty. These shameful things that went on so long ago- and so recent ago, are now making news big time and making huge amounts of cash for lawyers who are representing those wronged.
 
I am not saying that all this touchy-feely stuff in the office, backstage at a theatre, at rehearsals at a party or on a movie set should be condoned.
It shouldn’t be.
It is nasty stuff and for many of these women- or men as in the case of a certain large, well-muscled black actor, they kept silent in order to stay employed or get ahead. They had to put up with ass grabs, boob brushes, dirty talk, genital grabs, innuendo and invitations to sexual encounters.
 
Now, this might sound really, really bad but I can’t help but thinking back to the 1980’s and a Gay Bar- any Gay Bar, in Toronto or elsewhere. It would be an event not to have your nipples tweaked, your ass pinched or your genitals grabbed.
It was the 80’s after all.
Cripes, in Gay Bars in Toronto I would never go to the bathroom alone. I always took a friend to stand guard outside the stall door- if there was even a stall door to stand guard at!
If a handsome well-built, dark-haired, well-tanned stranger approached it was consider der rigger to pat and squeeze and pinch away. Of course, being a “lady” I would expect at the very least a drink first, then a bit of interesting conversation such as- “what sign are you?”
I don’t mean to make it sound like a free for all- it wasn’t…but it did happen and I didn’t really think much of it- slut that I was…
 
When I think of it, today my chiropractor takes more liberties with my body than any stud inside a Gay bar ever did. Not anything that could be construed as unprofessional but sometimes on a dark and stormy night, a girl has a dream- or two. I mean at my age it’s lucky me that a younger man even puts his, strong hands and firm fingers anywhere- even if I do have to pay for it.
Pay for it. That sounds bad- doesn’t it?
 
Anyhoo, I am kind of going all over the place with this.
What I really want to “comment” on was the story of the sleeping airline passenger who awakened to find a fellow passenger had shoved their hands down the sleeping passenger’s pants. Imagine complaining to a flight attendant who answered the call button believing you wanted extra cream for your coffee when you wanted a hand removed from your pants.
 
There was a time that I would find that totally erotic, fascinating and somewhat kinky- not to leave out terribly dirty. Imagine a tall, dark, olive-skinned somebody seated next to one in a darkened cabin on a jet to a far-off destination who considered one “hot” enough to explore the dark, secret area down there without as much as a how-de-do.
~ahem~
 
Now my story.
I remember a young, study creature taking such liberties with me- just not on a plane.
No Sir. None of that stuff under the cover of darkness in a stuffy airplane cabin.
In my case it was under a hot Hawaiian sun, in the warm, salty Pacific Ocean just in front of one of the most lavish hotels in all of Waikiki Beach.
 
One glorious afternoon I was simply minding my own business frolicking in the surf when an athletic young man decided to take it upon himself to frolic with my ~ahem~ man-bits.
 
A reasonable representation of the lad in question
 I was surprized and somewhat taken aback at first.
I left the water.
Soon after, when I frolicked in the surf once again. I saw him jump up from his beach towel and run towards me on sturdy, tanned legs, pounding into the surf then diving beneath the turquoise-blue water to tickle my fancies once again.
 
I screamed like a girl!
Ok, not loud enough to draw attention to myself. It was more of an internal scream of happy glee.
After a few minutes, I ran back onto the sandy beach. I could see his strong, brown torso following me, white teeth gleaming against a ruddy, brown face. Moustache dripping with salt water. His hair all wet and tussled.
 
“This is ridiculous”- I thought. “Can’t a guy frolic in the Hawaiian Surf without being manhandled by a complete stranger?”
Apparently not, for on a third try- I thought of it as an experiment in the surf, it happened again.
Rougher this time but still a “je ne sais quoi” quality about the manner in which this talented fellow with the bulging arms and hirsute chest gleefully touched, grabbed and man-handled my manly-bits as he dove to and fro in the surf both aft and forward of me.
 
Me- screaming like a "Sally".
Did I stand up to this fellow in the shallow surf and say-
“Indeed, young man. What gives you the right to touch me in such a way?”
Indeed. Dear Readers, I did not stand up.
For obvious reasons I couldn’t.
At the very least, it was quite obvious to me at the time- if you get my drift.
 
“So, did you report him?”- I hear you ask.
No. I did not but we did go to dinner and eventually I got to see much more of the stalwart young man- if you are following my drift.
 
So, does this have anything to do with the harassment suffered by many in the plethora of news reports?
 
No. It does not but I did get to tell you a dirty little story of my youth and in that I am well-satisfied.

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