“I was intrigued by old Frank, with his books and whiskey breath and the hint of hard-earned knowledge behind the hooded eyes. The visits to his house always left me feeling vaguely uncomfortable, though, as if I were witnessing some complicated, unspoken transaction between the two men, a transaction I couldn’t fully understand. The same thing I felt whenever gramps took me downtown to one of his favorite bars, in Honolulu’s red light district….usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls—the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions….
“…Even then, as young as I was, I had already begun to sense that most of the people in the bar weren’t there out of choice, that what my grandfather sought there was the company of people who could help him forget his own troubles, people who believed would not judge him. Maybe the bar did help him forget, but I knew with the unerring instincts of a child that he was wrong about not being judged. Our presence there felt forced, and by the time I had reached junior high school I had learned to beg off from Gramps’s invitations, knowing that whatever it was I was after, whatever it was that I needed, would have to come from some other source.”
The key line above is "by the time I had reached junior high school...."
Frank, of course, is child-fancying bisexual Communist poet Frank Marshall Davis, the author of "Sex Rebel: Black—Memoirs of a Gash Gourmet."
Click here to enter Amazon through the Althouse Portal.
Amazon
I am a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for me to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.
Support this blog with PayPal
Make a 1-time donation or set up a monthly donation of any amount you choose:
9 comments:
Doesn't Biden need a new ballgag at this point?
Haven't we had our quota of gay posts for the week?
Excuse me, but I thought it had already been made clear that by virtue of the upcoming presidency, no more Leather Weekends would be necessary.
Geez, Reid had his heart set on some assless chaps, for his "wide stance!"
He could send Donna Shalala as an official emissary.
“I was intrigued by old Frank, with his books and whiskey breath and the hint of hard-earned knowledge behind the hooded eyes. The visits to his house always left me feeling vaguely uncomfortable, though, as if I were witnessing some complicated, unspoken transaction between the two men, a transaction I couldn’t fully understand. The same thing I felt whenever gramps took me downtown to one of his favorite bars, in Honolulu’s red light district….usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls—the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions….
“…Even then, as young as I was, I had already begun to sense that most of the people in the bar weren’t there out of choice, that what my grandfather sought there was the company of people who could help him forget his own troubles, people who believed would not judge him. Maybe the bar did help him forget, but I knew with the unerring instincts of a child that he was wrong about not being judged. Our presence there felt forced, and by the time I had reached junior high school I had learned to beg off from Gramps’s invitations, knowing that whatever it was I was after, whatever it was that I needed, would have to come from some other source.”
The key line above is "by the time I had reached junior high school...."
Frank, of course, is child-fancying bisexual Communist poet Frank Marshall Davis, the author of "Sex Rebel: Black—Memoirs of a Gash Gourmet."
"Men whipped their horses. Men whipped other men’s horses. Men whipped one another."
Perhaps, however, he will prefer a good goat pulling.
How about this, from the original ABCNews article:
Obama's inauguration is expected to draw a wide cross-section of America to Washington, and Leather Weekend is no different.
"We get a pretty broad range of people coming," explained Barat. "Some are into leather, some are into denim, some are into rubber..."
Post a Comment