Friday I had the fine pleasure of meeting my muse. It all started Friday afternoon, without any prior warning. It all started with the respective owner of the following hat...
Let me welcome you to my Friday afternoon. I was finishing a blog post while simultaneously sending out my resume to prospective employers, all while enjoying the rays of sun on my balcony. As I was finishing up, my friend Hank - a neighbor in my building - sent me a text requesting my immediate appearance up on the roof at our pool. Hank informed me he had a friend up there who I would like to meet. I just assumed Hank was trying to entice me up to the pool. I had promised I would be up an hour earlier, so I figured he was just rushing me.
As I exited our deathtrap of an elevator, with its simulated "earthquake experience" as it approaches the fourth floor, I stepped out onto our rooftop patio, Diet Coke and towel in hand. Hank was in the pool with two friends reclined on the poolside lounge chairs. One of the two was another neighbor of ours, Matt, while the other gentleman seated was a young-en. I waved hello to Matt and Hank and approached the third member of this afternoon pool scene. I put my hand out introducing myself. As he extended his hand out to me, he said: "Hi, I'm gay", followed by a childish chuckle.
Disinterested with this boy's fun, I took that as an introduction and walked away, setting myself up by the pool. As I submerged into the water, he explained that his name was Jason. To be honest, I wasn't so concerned with his name. He explained: "I just always want to be up front with people, so everyone should know I'm gay." As Hank and I began to chat in the pool, Matt and Gay-Jason were facing us directly from their chairs. The first thing I set my eyes on was Gay-Jason's bathing suit - or lack thereof. Now, I am not one to shy away from itty-bitty bathing suits, but that was not the jarring spectacle here. No. His bathing suit, while being substantially itty-bitty, was not what I was admiring. I was admiring his "package" which was proudly on display here. It was not just a well-fit speedo or well-filled pair of trunks, but rather the entire outline, in 3-D form was on display for all of us. A virgin nun would have walked away from our patio with a full understanding of the male anatomy. While the view from the pool was jarring enough, Gay-Jason wanted to share his kibbles and bits with us up close as humanly possible. Hank had a pack of Marlboro lights by the pool, right next to my towel and Gay-Jason made his way every 5-10 minutes to gank a cigarette and kneel down to the ground with his pride in view. The proximity of Gay-Jason's junk to my face was too close for comfort. There was no question in my eyes that Jason was, in fact, Gay-Jason, the first moment I set eyes on him.
Within about five minutes of Gay-Jason talking, I realized I was in for an afternoon for the ages. Boy was not the brightest bulb in the heat-lamp yesterday. It was Gay-Jason's first story that really set the target moving. It turns out that Gay-Jason is a studying flight attendant for one of the lesser airlines. This brought him to Los Angeles by way of North Carolina/Southern Florida. As he proceeded to share his experiences with us, which all seemed to be a step outside the Gwyneth Paltrow film 'View from the Top', his air of intelligence was slowly flying away.
Dumb statements followed each other, one after another. Then, Gay-Jason explained his true dreams with the airline: "I really wanna have a crash. You know? If YOU crash, YOU get paid for life. I gotta get in with the Pilates. This could pay for the rest of my life." Yes, that summed up our afternoon well enough.
As it was quickly apparent to me that Gay-Jason was a mess, I began to throw some harmless shade in his direction. I'm not a big fan of stupid, so if I must be present, I figured I may as well have some fun with it. Anything I threw his direction went right over his head. He told us he had moved to Culver City, a Los Angeles city South by the airport. With LA traffic, its a far drive from our pool. I asked him: "What's it like in Culver City? Are you sad you didn't get to move to Los Angeles?" He didn't catch the reference or understand the shade. Our neighbor, Matt, was having a field day with my shade and it became quite clear to me that he was in on the joke. This only propelled me further. It was all in good fun and I never expected it to go as far as it did...
"So, were there any straight guys in your training class?" - I asked.
"They were mostly straight, actually. I was one of the only gay flight attendants in our training." - Gay-Jason.
"But, isn't it a predominantly gay field?" - Matt.
"Yeah, I don't know if I've ever met a straight flight attendant... This challenges everything I know..." - Me.
"Well, there were 12 guys in the training class and 6 or 7 were gay." - Gay-Jason.
"So... that's about 50%. That's not a majority of straight guys. You do know that, right?" - Hank.
The conversation went over Gay-Jason's head.
Then Matt decided to equate the gay predilection for the field of flight attendants to that of a "Go-Go Boy". At this point, I assumed we went overboard. Matt and I were having to much fun with this ripe ol' boy of 24 - still wet behind the ears. Just as I was starting to feel bad, Gay-Jason sprung to his feet, did a twirl, and shrieked in excitement: "I'm a Go-Go Boy too!" There was never going to be enough fun shade for this boy, who clearly had the most extremely ridiculous answer to everything.
As Gay-Jason left to place coinage in the meter, Hank, Matt, and I offered our observations to one another and discovered that we were all in agreement: This boy was both a mess and an entertainment solution for the afternoon. Matt equated Gay-Jason to an aspiring Porn Star, given our experience with him thus far.
Upon Gay-Jason's return, it had already been established that he was to be our court jester for the afternoon. As we prodded him with sticks - figuratively, of course - the conversation took a new turn. We asked him many further questions about his "Go-Go Boy" profession. He explained the rules to stripping as it varies from state to state. Gay-Jason had been part of a Southern Stripping tour, gaining experience in gay-borhoods throughout the South. Upon arrival in any city, Gay-Jason would first ask the most important question: "G-strings, Full-back, or fully nude?" In some cities, Gay-Jason would spend three hours naked in a bar hustling strangers for a dollar. Gay-Jason explained that he "is a top (The "top" or "pitcher" in a gay intimate relationship refers to the sexual act of penetrating, having the "top" acting as the penetrator.), but would bottom for a dollar" (The "bottom" or "catcher" is the one penetrated.) This guy was all over the place and one step away from porn.
All the while, as Gay-Jason was touring the South, his main home base was in North Carolina with his family. When we asked what their thoughts or involvement were in his dancing aspirations, he explained: "They think I'm a traveling Bar-back." To which Hank responded: "Traveling Bare-back, my dear..." (Bareback Sex refers to sex with the absence of condoms.)
Shortly after that, I introduced the topic of Porn: "So, would you ever think of doing porn?" I expected a yes or no answer. Instead, Gay-Jason explained his benchmark dreams through the porn industry. "First, I'll make a name for myself as a TOP throughout my films. Do a couple hundred and really gain a fan base. Then, I'll do an exclusive film where I BOTTOM for top dollar! Everyone will want to see it! Then, I'll dabble into Bareback porn for top dollar again!" His dreams were fully realized. If only we could all be so lucky. Hank and Matt got involved with all of the fun and the questions were swirling around our pool. I foolishly then asked: "So, if you make a real name for yourself in porn, you wouldn't need to be a flight attendant anymore. You could really make out well, money-wise, right?" Gay-Jason looked at me like I was crazy.
"I have to think about my future. Porn is short-term. Airplanes fly forever."
This answered all of my questions. This boy was not just a dull light-bulb, but rather a broken one.
A little while later, Gay-Jason approached the pool, while Hank and I were submerged. He informed us: "Guys, I have to pee, so I'm gonna get in the pool." Hank and I refuted this instantly. I made a joking suggestion that he urinate off the roof. For the record, I was kidding. Hank instantly said no to that, seeing the gullible glare from Gay-Jason. Then Hank offered he pee in an artificial potted plant on the roof. Neither of us thought that Gay-Jason would agree to this. Clearly Hank and I are not all that bright. The plant had a netting overlay where the dirt of a natural plant would be. As Gay-Jason stood before the plant in his allusive bathing trunks, I still didn't believe this was going to happen. As he began to urinate, he started getting splashed back up his legs due to the netting. Gay-Jason found this hysterical, giggling as he explained to us that this was happening. I was horrified and mystified all at the same time. Shortly after, the urine spilled out of the bottom of this potted plant surrounding his feet in a puddle. He continued to urinate despite this self-made puddle. It was rather foul, to say the least.
As the afternoon came closer to a close, it became quite obvious that Gay-Jason was not going to leave anytime soon. As he was not my invite and I had zero interest getting stuck with him through the evening, I parted ways and went back down to my apartment.
When I asked Gay-Jason the title of his autobiography when he makes it big, he exclaimed: "Whore in the Sky!" His words, not mine. I curbed the title of this blog post for the conservative audience that isn't reading this anyway.
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