Writing Is Hard On My Husband

I took a Creative Writing course a couple of years ago, and my
good-looking husband, Michael, sure is glad that's over! The poor guy
was dragged all over the place with me, left to sit waiting for me, and
worse yet, he was included in some of my assignments.

One time my assignment was to go to a place I normally didn't frequent
and find colorful characters to write about. I wasn't sure where to go
first, but I asked Michael to accompany me, and we went to downtown
Portland on a Friday night. I didn't want to just walk around from
place to place until I'd found colorful characters, so I stopped the
one person I thought would know first-hand where to find such a place;
I asked a policeman. He didn't even have to think about it before
answering me.

"Go to The Embers, it's a bar and it's FULL of colorful characters!" He
smiled as he assured me that this bar would provide plenty for my
writing class.

We found the bar and walked in to find it was pretty empty, but I
wasn't discouraged; it was only 7 p.m. and bar-life doesn't really wake
up until after 9 p.m., so we got a table and a drink. We watched the
people in there, and even before it filled up I knew the officer had
been right! I started taking notes.

There were several transvestites in there, and they were gorgeous! Some
of them even had bigger breasts and prettier hair than I do, and it was
interesting to watch them socialize. If one of them had just bothered
to get a close shave before he'd gone out, we'd never have known he was
male. He had great poise and graceful mannerisms, and was very
feminine. He also wore a dress I would die for.

It didn't take too long before the place filled up, with standing room
only. There were many gay couples of both sexes getting romantic at
their little round tables, and many, many more singles mingling around
the large dark room. The music came on with a loud blast and moving
colored lights, and the energy of this room escalated to
intensity.

My husband is no prude, and he's not prejudiced about sexual
preferences, but he was, is, and always will be straight.

One man that I was writing about in my notes was mingling but not
happily. Everyone he spoke to turned away from him at one point or
another, and then he laid eyes on my Michael. He came over to our
table, obviously drunk, and asked Michael to dance with him. Michael
politely declined the invitation and it upset the man very much and he
looked as though he was going to cry, when he turned to me.

"Please, will you let him dance with me?" he pleaded. I looked at
Michael and he returned a look that meant 'don't you dare....'.

"He's a big boy, if he doesn't want to dance, I can't make him. I'm
sorry."

"But I've asked every guy in here to dance and none of them will!" He
turned back to Michael. "Just one dance? Please?" Michael shook his
head no, and the disappointed man pulled out a chair and slumped into
it like a heart broken teen.

He asked me what he was doing wrong, and how he could get someone to
dance with him. I had no clues to share with him, and I agreed when he
told me how cute my husband was. I suspected he was a bit too drunk to
attract a partner because it was still quite early.

While he sat with us one of his acquaintances noticed him and came
over. This other man had three tennis balls attached to his belt-loop,
and the man at our table asked him if he'd gotten a new one. The other
man said yes and showed him the balls that hung from one of those
chains that recoils back into the case after being pulled out, and
they'd been slit across the side, so that when squeezed they would open
like a mouth. The man made a funny voice and talked as if the balls
were talking. He wasn't using ventriloquism, he was just talking and
moving the ball's 'mouths'. The balls asked the man why he seemed so
sad.

The man at our table talked to the balls like they were people, and
discussed his lonely problem with them. The man operating the balls
answered and told him he was too drunk, which the first man accepted
without a problem. He told the balls he was going to switch to coffee
for a while, and the balls agreed he should.

Then the man sitting with us told the balls how cute he thought Michael
was, and the ball-speaker turned to assess my husband for himself. The
balls also thought he was pretty cute. Then the balls noticed his
blonde hair, and the man made them start picking at his hair with their
'mouths'. Michael found this quite annoying and shoved the man's arm
away from his head.

"What's the matter, cute stuff?" the balls asked. Michael looked him
square in the eye.

"I don't care how many balls you have, don't touch me with them," he
said firmly, but still politely. The man with the balls looked shocked
at Michael.

"But you're so cute, we didn't mean to offend you," the balls said.
"Here, give us a kiss and let's make up," he said, as he put the balls
to Michael's face. Michael pushed them away again, but this time the
man was intent on his balls giving Michael a kiss, and wouldn't give
up.

Michael grabbed his arm and stood up from his chair. He spoke quietly
and leaned in, as if for the kill.

"You won't need surgery to remove 'that', if you don't leave me
alone."

Without a word, the two men got up from our table and left. We didn't
stay too long after that; turns out it was Mardi Gras night, and it was
time to 'earn' beads and necklaces. The show was great until the man
who'd wanted Michael to dance got on stage and put a bar-straw through
the piercing in his penis. He was so drunk that he had trouble and it
took him a while to get the straw through the tiny hole. People started
throwing trash and boo'd at the poor drunk man. Michael said it was
time to go.

I agreed. I'd gotten enough color and character to write about for one
night. Michael still agrees to go with me on my Creative Writing
adventures, but he's a little more reluctant, and now demands to know
where we're going in advance.

He's glad class is over, too.