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continued from page 3 .

Passing under Babe’s belly, I noticed
that not only did this ox have the seed,
he also had the means with which to
plant it, if you know what I mean.
Discretion can't have been all that
prominent in the
minds of Babe’s
builders.

Arriving at the
pendulous blue sac, I
hastily undid my
pants, dropped them
and, with a trium-
phant lunge, threw
out my hands and
fell against the
monstrous pouch. I must have looked
like a member of some kinky, exotic
cult, supplicating before the reproduc-
tive orgafis of this giant blue idol. I
paused a few moments then hoisted
my pants back up and jogged back to
the car.

I leapt in and added to the laughter
already spilling from Justin. This was
the best shot yet. But as we pulled
away, he seemed hesitant.

“That was great, wasn’t it?” I said.

“I'm not sure if I got a good shot of
it. I was a bit too far away.”

“Ahh, well what's the use of it then?”

What, indeed. The memory wasn’t
enough, we needed evidence. We
needed the shot. Justin didn’t say
anything. This was clearly my call.

“We can’t leave now,” I ventured.

 

“Not after going to this much
trouble.”

With a nod, Justin wheeled the car
around and parked again.

“No time to waste,” I blurted, and
with a leap I was out the door. I was
bolder now, having already done the

Passing under Babe's belly, |
noticed that not only did this ox
have the seed, he also had the
means with which to plant it, if
you know what I mean.

deed once. “Make sure you get the
shot,” I yelled over my shoulder as I
started jogging towards the ox.

I was about halfway there when I
heard the voice. I’ll always remember
the sound of it: an 11- or 12-year-old
boy’s voice, and you could hear the
excitement in it, thrill laced with a
sort of giddy disbelief.

“HE’S GONNA DO IT AGAIN!”
Suddenly, everything shifted into
slow motion — sometimes life is like

the movies. Without breaking my
pace, I slowly swiveled my head
towards the voice. There, maybe 20
feet from me and in plain view of
Babe, was a minivan. The boy was in
the back seat, gaping out the side door,
which was wide open, exposing the
van’s contents as plainly as I had mine

a couple of minutes earlier.
His little sister peered over
his shoulder. In the front
passenger seat, mom stared

“out her open door. And dad,
a pudgy Tom Arnold-type of
guy, leaned around her to get
a better view.

In the split second that the
boy’s words echoed in my
ears, I thought, oA shit, and
cringed inwardly as one is
wont to do when caught with
one’s pants down. But then I
saw the excitement in their
eyes, every one of them, and
the traces of laughter still
showing on their faces from
my earlier trip to the ox, and
I realized: titillation knows
no bounds. What the hell, 1
thought, still running. They
saw it once.

This time, I made sure I
was in plain view and held
the pose until I heard Justin
yell, “OK, got it!” No need
for subtlety now. Again,
hiking up my pants I jogged
back to the car, cackling like
a maniac. I glanced over and
waved at the family; they
waved back, and for a brief
moment I shared a laugh
with this family of strangers.

‘To this day I wonder if they
moment for
n't notice any _ be sitting in, who knows, Iowa or

managed to ca
their

  
  
   
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
   
   
    
        
    
   
   
       
    

Getting in touch with the unnatural world

camera at the time, but they could
have had a bloody Handicam running
for all I know. As I write this they may

some such place, reliving that time
when some long-haired freak ran up to
Babe the blue ox and, half-naked,
fondled poor Babe’s privates.

 

  

 

4 February 18, 1998 The Other Press - Sexuality Supplement