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MARCO: The Story of an Outcast and a Manatee

ME&MARCO

 

 

    Hey everyone, so this is something I started writing in one of my summer workshops.  It’s a short story based on an actual trip I took in high school that changed me forever.  I hope you enjoy!

 

     I sat in a van with the other ten teenagers I was going to be spending the summer with.  It was 2006, and I was a high schooler who had just arrived in Florida for a marine biology excursion sponsored by a certain theme park that dabbles in ocean rehabilitation.   To spare myself from any lawsuits, let’s just call it “Ocean Planet”.   We were driving from Orlando International to the Ocean Planet dorms we were going to be staying in for the beginning of our trip.   The van was filled with excitement because this was the first time most of us were going to be spending a large amount of time away from our families.

     As everyone was talking about where they were from and comparing who loved animals the most, I quietly looked out the window wondering when they were gonna shut the hell up.  Becky O’Kent, a girl from Beverly Hills, but zip code 90212, not 90210, quickly became my first ally.  While the rest of the group was being all giddy and thrilled, she simply turned to me and said, “I wanna do Broadway when I grow up, but my parents hate that so they sent me here to encourage me to major in the sciences when I go to college”.  I looked her silently, lost in shock, asking myself, why is someone speaking to me? Nobody in my hometown ever talked to me. Where I’m from in Ohio, if someone did start saying something to me, it was normally just to could call me a fag.  I felt anxious as I searched for the words to respond with.

     You see, I never really enjoyed taking on the whole loner-quiet-outcast role.  Those were skills I had to learn while growing up to keep myself from being harassed and beat up.  By nature, I was actually always a very outgoing and funny person.  So, I decided that since I was on a trip and away from home, maybe I’d try opening up…at least just a little.  I smiled awkwardly and said, “Yeah, I’m kind of stuck between becoming an actor, or a marine biologist, so I get it”.  I almost flinched as I awaited some kind of insult, as that’s what normally happened whenever I spoke, but it never came.   It was a peculiar change from what I knew as the real world.

FL

 

     I rolled down the window to feel that colorful breeze that only tropical areas have.  Florida may be a Republican shithole, but when you come from an area known as the Great Black Swamp, any place that beholds palm trees and blue skies will seem wildly exotic.

 

     The van approached Ocean Planet’s main gate and everyone’s eyes grew bright with the kind of optimism you can only have when you’re young.  As we got out of the van, the counselors welcomed the group and everyone seemed to be a lot more thrilled about life than I was, which really, isn’t that shocking.  Back then I rarely felt much reason to get out of bed, let alone actually muster the ability to feel excitement.  That rest of that first day at Ocean Planet was actually quite uneventful as a whole, and played out like your standard camp scenario.  We did ice-breakers to get to know each other, we were shown our rooms, we met the people who were in charge, and we had a horrid “picnic dinner”, meaning we had a shittily made sandwich and a cheap-ass bag of chips…Thanks Ocean Planet.  The one cool thing we did get to do before bedtime was go see the whale show.  Now, this being 2006 meant that this would have been between the second and third murder committed by their star attraction. It felt disturbingly cool to be looking at a killer whale that was in fact, a killer whale.


            The next morning at breakfast, Jean, the Animal Rescue Specialist (ARS) came in to give us the news of the day.   She told us that it was going to be a hands-on day in the Rehabilitation Unit of the park.  Now, if any of you have ever been to Ocean Planet, let me tell you, the Rehabilitation Unit is nothing like what you’ve seen before.  The crystal-clear waters, beautifully crafted tanks, and immersive viewing areas, are all for paying guests only.  The back of the park looks more like the bowels of a ship.   It’s there to get the job done, not to look nice.  It feels like you’re walking through a Nightmare on Elm Street dream sequence with all of its exposed pipework, sludgy drippings, and the echoes of injured animals crying out for mothers that will never come.

            I was walking with Becky at the back of the group as we passed through the various pools and colossal filtration systems that roared like jet-engines about to ascend to the heavens…which was odd, because this place seemed to be more closely related to hell.   Jean was up front telling all of us how this area was the true life of Ocean Planet.  She said that saving animals was her main goal, and her job here was simply her means to do it.  She talked about how heartbroken, yet motivated she feels when injured animals come in for care.  The most common victims are sea turtles.  Trashy little shits in Florida make a hobby out of spray-painting turtle shells, binding their fins together with barbed wire, and hammering through their shells.   And for any of you who don’t know, turtles aren’t animals who crawl into their shells.  The shell is literally part of their body. So, when people puncture the shell, the fat and muscle of the turtle becomes exposed, gets infected, and then fissures into a bacterial cesspool that kills them.   Turtles are slow yet graceful creatures, and can live up to around one hundred years.  Their docile nature however, makes them easy prey for asshole humans.

 

turtle

            I remember sitting there having to hold the shell in place as one of the ARS’s drilled little holes to sew in a metal plate to cover the exposed section of the turtle’s insides.  It became clear early on who the weak people were.  Anyone who squirmed at the sight of the turtles were about to have a really rough summer ahead of them.

            That afternoon, after helping at the turtle center and after lunch, we headed back to the rescue area for a few more hours of work before we were allowed to go roam the park.  Our afternoon task however, was one that none of us could have ever imagined.  Once again, me and Becky were at the back of the group, where she was making fun of the kids who didn’t want to touch the turtles.  “What kind of future marine biologist is too afraid to get involved with marine biology?” she asked with a grin.  As we giggled to ourselves, I heard Jean say from the front of the group, “The smell of the rotting flesh is worst”.  My head quickly perked up, and then suddenly I too caught a whiff of something very wrong. The group in front of us stood silently as if they were entranced by something.  Eager to know what was going on, I ran up to get a glimpse, and what I saw has stayed with me forever.


 

     It was a manatee.  Or more precisely, it was half of a manatee.  The front half to be exact.  I was filled with confusion, repulsion, and oddly enough, a sense of curiosity.   The smell of rotting manatee for anyone interested, is like vinegar, pistachio, and dead fish.  It’s oddly acidic, which I never expected.  You get this strange tingle in your nose when inhale it.   Jean looked solemn as she walked over to what was basically just a reinforced above-ground pool.  “She was brought to us last night”, she said, “She was struck by a speedboat, and they just left her there to die.  It was another boat in the area who actually called it in”.  I walked up to the pool, captivated by the sheer macabre and absurdity of a half manatee.  As I got closer I could see how truly horrific the situation was; its eyes blinked!  It was alive!  I genuinely lost my breath for a second.  I couldn’t believe the thing wasn’t dead.  I stared directly into its eyeball, trying to comprehend how this animal was still alive. “Why don’t you put it out of its misery?” I asked.  Jean looked at me with caution, as if she knew there was no good answer. “Because she’s pregnant”, she said, “We want to try to keep her alive long enough so when we pull out the baby, it has the greatest possible chance of survival”.

     Becky walked up to the tank, seeming to be in as much shock as I was.  I couldn’t bring myself to look into the face of that manatee anymore. I had to move.  I had to walk away from its suffering eyes.  I grabbed Becky’s arm and pulled her along as I circled the pool, looking at the murky green water.  Jean spoke loudly, trying to inform the whole group, “We had to put this pool up overnight.  We couldn’t risk putting her in an actual tank because there would be a risk of infection to the other animals”.

     There were pieces of lettuce and cabbage that had been thrown in for her to eat, which were floating untouched.  We walked to the manatee’s backside so we could see the wound, and saying “wound” isn’t really a good word.  There was no wound really, because there wasn’t a place for a wound.  There literally was no back to the manatee.   She wasn’t sown up or bandaged because there really was no way to sew her up.  Manatees are actually much larger than humans.  They’re immensely thick animals, so you can’t just graph their wounds shut.  The very sight of that manatee was enough to make someone’s mother faint.  It was as if someone threw a manatee onto the ground, took a chainsaw, and in the most rushed and sloppy job ever, began to cut it in half.   You could see chunks of pale flesh-colored meat dangling.  Severed veins and arteries were periodically leaking some kind of plasma or puss that only had a vague red tinge to it.

    Most of the kids in the group couldn’t even bring themselves to look at her, and the ones who did, couldn’t handle the sight for very long.  This was the first time most of them could physically see how awful and unfair the world truly was.    I hated those kids for their innocence.  I was already aware of how cruel life was.

    That lesson was taught to me at age eleven.  In my crap-tastic hometown in Ohio, my life went south at a very young age.  By age nine, I knew I was different from the other kids.  Everyone in my class started writing love notes to each other.  One boy would pair with one girl and write a love note.  Then boys started fighting over which girl they’d get to write their love note to.   One day during lunch, a massive argument broke out amongst everyone in my class over who could pair with who.  After hearing such a commotion from the classroom, our teacher rushed in and began yelling at everyone and then asked what had happened.  As all the boys fought and argued, I sat silently, trying to figure out why anyone would give a fuck about girls.  From then on, I was known only by the name Faggot.  Then in the sixth grade, I was beat up for the first time.  After tackling me to the ground, everybody gathered in a circle to spit on me.  I looked up and saw everyone closely huddled around my body, then my vision blurred as a wad of spit went right into my eye.  After that, I couldn’t get up.  All I could do was lay on the ground, stunned by the realization that life would always be shitty.  I started crying.  I cried for hours.  I couldn’t even go back into the classroom I was crying so hard.  I hid in the back of my school’s chapel until almost the end of the day.  When I returned to the classroom the teacher didn’t even ask me where I was or what had happened.  I knew they had told her, and I knew she didn’t care.  That was a fact I was going to be constantly reminded of in my life.


    That night at dinner me and Becky couldn’t stop talking about the manatee. Even though life had taught me to remain silent, something about turning a corner and seeing a half manatee sitting in a shallow pool demanded conversation.  It was just too insane and unbelievable to not talk about.  In fact, we we’re talking about the manatee so much that we felt we needed to name it because it was probably a memory we would never forget.   “How about Marco?” I said, and then we both busted out laughing.  Becky could barley sit up straight, “But she’s pregnant! She’s a girl!  You can’t name her Marco!”   There’s something so strange about traumatic events.  Laughing at them seems to be the best cure.  If I wasn’t able to be making jokes about Marco, I probably would have just cried about Marco instead.  Personally, I prefer laughing.   One of the other girls, Shawnee Brew, from Boonfuck, Idaho, walked over to us and was like, “You know, you’re being horribly immature right now.  You can’t be making fun of that manatee, it’s in pain!”   I thought it was pretty obnoxious for a girl who was so disgusted she could barely even look at the manatee, to be telling me to respect it.

    That night as I lay in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Marco, and oddly enough, I couldn’t help but feel an intense sense of relief.  In most of my life, I was the one suffering.  It was nice to be thinking about the suffering of something other than myself for once.  There was this lovely detachment that led to a feeling of safety.  No matter what horrible things happened to Marco, it really wouldn’t impact my life at all, and that gave me a great sense of solace.  That night I slept better than I had in years.


     At breakfast the next morning Jean assigned tasks.   Everyone got fun tasks; some with penguins, some with dolphins, and me…I got Marco.   “You were pretty much the only person who could handle looking at her”, Jean said to me, as if I had won a prize.  I looked at Becky who was giggling at my unfortunate circumstance.

      Ok, I’m gonna digress here real quick to talk about my disgust for manatees.  I hate them and they’re fucking gross.  Their skin looks like leathery cellulite.  And even worse, they move so slow that barnacles and algae grow on their backs. How fucked up is that?  Can you imagine other living things penetrating your skin and living off your body?  God damn I hate manatees!  They’re like floating feral fat mounds, and I despise them beyond belief.  And on top of that, this particular manatee happened to be deteriorating away into a pool.  So anyways, you can only imagine my dread of having to see Marco again.

     Jean paired me off with another ARS named Dale, Dale…how fucking Florida.   Dale was however, a young and sexy man.  He was a tall guy with a swimmer’s body and dark hair. I saw him taking off his wetsuit once and he had a happy trail that started a little above his belly button (squeal!).   I would totally jump him, if ya catch my drift.  He was going to make this experience much easier for me to handle.

            So there I am, standing in front of Marco’s tank.  Dale walks up with a few pairs of chest-high waders and hands me one.  “That water is extremely dirty and you wanna make sure to not get any on you” he said as he put one of his legs in his waders.  I started putting mine on too, “So what do we need to do?” I asked.  He tells me that we need to get in the pool and try to keep it as clean as possible.  We were going to take one of those pool sweepers and try to filter out some of the crap in the water, and by crap I mean the insides of the manatee that’s been falling out into the pool.  He also wanted to pull out the old lettuce and cabbage and put fresh pieces in.  But, in my opinion, why keep throwing leafy greens into a pool when they’re just gonna rot anyways, but whatever.   So there we are, me and Dale, just doing a normal day’s work of filtering the pool and skimming the water, as a half manatee casually floats around, dying slowly.

            At one point, and I swear to God I’m not making this shit up, I’m walking backwards with the sweeper and I feel my back bump into the fucking manatee!  I was startled as I turned around and came eye-to-eye with Marco.  Her eyes looked at me as though she was begging me to put her out of her misery, and as I looked back at her, I feel I gave a similar look.

            You see, Marco wasn’t the first time I had seen something brutally torn apart.  After my little crying episode in the sixth grade, everything went from bad to awful.  I had already lost all my friends in the previous years, but now I was enemy number one.  I was the sole scapegoat for anyone who needed a punching bag.  My grades plummeted and I spent the summers of sixth, seventh, and eighth grades in summer school because I was failing classes.  However, even though my grades started to rapidly drop, my weight on the other hand skyrocketed.  I became reclusive to my room, where I hid from the human population as I ate my feelings away.  I felt broken, like I was barely being kept together by small threads that could snap at any minute.  I always felt like I was stuck in someone else’s body.  I was an outgoing and artistic person. I was nothing like this fat, awkward, ugly monster that I had become. And if you’ve never been the victim of bullying, let me tell you, the only thing worse than being the gay kid, is being the fat gay kid.   I couldn’t handle it anymore so I stopped eating.  Within less than a year I went from being overweight at two-hundred pounds, to being underweight at one thirty-five.  The weight loss didn’t end up helping though.  My reputation had already been deeply cemented.


    Me and Marco had been locked in eye contact for what seemed like minutes.  “Are you ok?” Dale asked as he threw a chunk of browning lettuce out of the pool.  I realized that I had been lost in a daze for quite some time.  I tried to make myself look like I wasn’t an emotional wreck, which obviously only makes it more apparent that you are indeed an emotional wreck.  I took a deep breath, turned and smiled, and said, “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”, as if my comatose stupor was totally normal.  “You just look like you’re about to have a panic attack or something”, Dale said.  Dale was incorrect, I wouldn’t start collapsing from panic attacks until I was in my twenties.  He was however correct that something was wrong. Thinking about my life was emotionally taxing, but I was too afraid to admit that to a stranger, especially one as hot as Dale.  “Well”, Dale said, “I know how hard this probably is.  I know it’s a gruesome sight, but I want you to know that you’re doing work that’s messy, but necessary”.

     I kept my head down, “It’s not that…It’s… It’s nothing”.  In fact, I was so distracted by my own thoughts that it was hard to focus on Marco’s situation, which perhaps was for the best.  Had I been able to fully reflect on the scenario of me sweeping a pool as Marco’s organs fell into it, I probably would have thrown up.  This level of desensitization was probably the reason why I was the one standing in this pool, rather than someone else from the group.  I continued to sweep the pool in silence, making sure to keep distance between me and Dale to avoid conversation, and also to keep distance from Marco because…well, because her backside was rotting away, do I need a better reason as to why I don’t want to be too close to a dying animal?   There was no avoiding Marco though really, Marco was all over the pool…literally.  I had been wading through Marco the entire time.  Marco was even in the air I was breathing, as the stench of her rotting flesh burned into my nostrils.

            “So, what do you and your friends do back home for fun?” Dale asked as we continued working on the pool.  Inside I gave an exasperated sigh.  I hate when people ask me what my life is like because I can’t tell them the truth.  Can you imagine if I answered truthfully?  Was I supposed to be like, oh yeah, actually, my life sucks.  I’m beat up and made fun of, I have nobody to go to for help, and I’m starting to wish that I were dead because I can’t keep going on like this?  No, obviously you can’t say that, because nobody would have cared or believed me.   In fact, lying about my life was something I had gotten very good at because my parents weren’t too cool with the whole gay thing.  My dad, being a firefighter, was a total man’s man.  He didn’t want one his son to turn out to be a queer.   And my mom, she was even worse.  As a devout Irish Catholic and Republican, her first allegiance was to her God and her church.  My life quickly tumbled into the snowball effect.  I couldn’t tell my parents about my suffering grades and billowing weight, because that would have led to telling them about how school had become a war zone for me. How was I supposed to focus on school when I was constantly being harassed by other students and ignored by my teachers?  And there was no way to bring up why I had lost all my friends and why I was getting beaten up without bringing up the fact that I was gay.   So, I learned to lie.  I told my parents I was doing poorly in school because I simply wasn’t smart.  I told them I had no idea what they were talking about when they asked me about my weight.  I told them I stopped hanging out with others because I just didn’t find them fun anymore.   But soon the lies were building up on top of each other and I was sinking underneath their weight.   So instead, I turned from lying to avoidance.  When asked how my day was, I simply said, “It was fine”.  My parents knew something was wrong, but they both didn’t want to believe that I was gay and that it was destroying me.  So with a little lie on my part, and some hefty denial on theirs, we were able to quietly drift apart from each other and go about our crappy lives.


    “Do you do anything for fun?” Dale asked a second time.  Oh fuck, I spaced out again.   I turned to Dale, completely exhausted from the very thought of my life and said, “Not much”.  I wasn’t in the mood to get into my life’s story with a guy whose name was Dale.  I thought that Dale wouldn’t know anything about struggles, and probably would have hated me for being gay anyways. I had never known a handsome straight guy to be nice to me, and I didn’t want to take any risks with Dale.

    Deflecting conversation was the easiest way to avoid to getting hurt.  But he tried again, “Aw, c’mon bro, I’m sure you do something. You’re kinda tall, you play ball or anything?”  The very idea that I would play sports was laughable. I imagined myself walking up to all the jocks, the juggernauts who ran my school, the people who abused me the most, and then ask them if I could throw some balls with em.   Dale obviously had no idea what it meant to be gay in Ohio.

    I cracked a little grin as I silently laughed at Dale for being so clueless.  But also, I mean he was a cute straight guy and he was talking to me, and maybe, despite my fear and hatred for straight men, I kinda liked it.  I mean, it wasn’t exactly something that’s ever really happened to me before.   “Oh hey there!” Dale howled out, “I see that grin! So you do play ball?”  I bit my lip trying not to blush.  Dale was a fuckin’ moron. “No Dale, I don’t play sports…they’re not really my thing”.    He put the skimmer down and crossed his arms like he was in the mood to engage in conversation rather than work.  “So then what?” he asked, “Are you like, one of those guys who spends all of his time with his girlfriend or something?”  Now I was really blushing.  It’s embarrassing how quickly my face glows red. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend”, I said as I quickly turned around to hide how nervous I was.  “Oh… well how about a boyfriend?” he asked.   I stopped moving.  My heart stopped beating.  My skin lost all color.  I blinked a few times, and had a moment of shocked silence….

…But this was Florida.  I was somewhere far away from home.  I thought maybe it wouldn’t kill me to open up.  At worst, if Dale hated me, then at least I knew I’d never have to see him again.  I quietly replied, “No…I haven’t had a boyfriend yet”.   Dale smiled, pleased with himself for getting me to talk. “Well don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be a total player when you hit college.  I hear gay dudes score like crazy!”  Now that made me smile uncontrollably, and at this point I’m sure my cheeks were so red you could’ve named a crayon color after them.

     Is it sad that the best moment of my life up to that point was taking place in a pool next to a rotting animal?

…Sure

    But at the same time, good moments in my life were few and fleeting, so I wouldn’t have wanted to trade that moment for the world.  Dale continued asking me questions about my life and about my hometown.  It was so odd for someone to be taking an interest in me.  I never had anyone genuinely talk to me.  I had become so used to either being someone’s enemy, or being forced to lie about my life that I never got to just be me.

    My veins felt like they were open wide and the blood coursed through them with an ease I had never known before.  I could take deep breaths of air, and I wasn’t clenching my jaw like I normally did to cope with anxious energy.  It felt good to have a real interaction with another person.  So good in fact, that I almost forgot I was in a pool with a rotting manatee until I felt a snout rubbing up against my backside.

    I turned around quickly and saw Marco moving her snout.  Was she trying to eat?  Or was she sniffing me?  Was it a desperate plea for a mercy killing?  “I still can’t believe she’s alive.  It just doesn’t make any sense.” I said to Dale as I slowly backed away from Marco.  Dale’s job was to rehabilitate animals, so this was nothing new to him.  Animals with deadly infections, missing limbs, and hopeless futures was just part of his job.  “You know”, Dale said, “Sometimes life gives you two choices.  One is shitty, and the other is even shittier.  Manatees are becoming endangered here in Florida.  Keeping this one alive for the sake of potentially bringing a healthy baby into this world is a risk that we have to take for the continuation of the species”.  I looked at her exposed organs, barely being held in place by rapidly deteriorating meat.  “Do you think she’s in pain?” I asked.  Dale, sounding a bit vulnerable, replied, “I’d imagine it’s probably pretty bad”.  That moment of vulnerability made Dale seem a little more human to me, and I liked that.

     Dale started pulling apart a new head of iceberg lettuce to scatter around the pool. “You know”, he said, “There used to be a giant manatee species called the Steller’s Sea Cow.  They were about thirty feet long, making them longer than Great White Sharks, and they would have been about two to three times as thick as a White as well.  They were docile and curious animals that would swim up to people as if they were about to make new friends.  But once the fur trade caught on to how much potential money there was in em, they were hunted to extinction in under thirty years.”  He threw some lettuce in Marco’s direction, then continued, “It’s sad actually, humans have this cruel nature to target the easiest prey they can find. It’s like we let out all of our aggression on things we know can’t fight back”.

     I knew that lesson all too well.  I was the easy prey back in Ohio.  But I didn’t think I was ready to talk about that with Dale, so instead I just said, “Like the sea turtles”.  Dale started making the ‘hang loose’ gesture with hand as he stuck his tongue out. “Dude!” he said, “Sea turtles are the shit!  They’re my total spirit animal!”  Then he reached under his shirt to pull out a piece of a turtle shell that he had turned into a necklace. “Sea turtles are what got me here! My first job with animals was at a turtle rescue center down near Miami”.  Dale was now probably the most attractive guy I had ever met, and his love for ocean life only made me like him more.

     I spoke, not wanting this newfound happiness to end, “I can’t believe the things people do to them.  If I ever saw someone abusing a turtle I’d probably go crazy and kill em or something.”  Dale starting making the yyyyyeeeessss gesture with his head, and then was like, “Dude, I’d totally be right there beside you!”   I fantasized about me and Dale roaming the Florida beaches at night and roughing up delinquents who got their rocks off by abusing turtles.  Dale was quickly becoming a full-blown, walking, talking, wet dream.

sunset


     Later that evening when we were having dinner I told Becky all about how awesome it was to work with Dale.  “You’re so fucking lucky!” she said enviously, “I got stuck with one of the shy girls and we had to clean the starfish tank with some woman who wouldn’t shut up about how the ocean isn’t a foodchain, it’s a foodweb.   And ya know, Becky was kind of right.  I actually had fun that day.  Sure, I was taking care of a rotting animal, but it beat any day back in Ohio.  My life meant something that day.  I was helping to keep an endangered species alive, how many people can say they’ve done that?  And on top of that, I was having a good conversation with someone who had similar interests to me.  And not only someone actually, but a hot straight guy had similar interests to me. That was something I never thought possible.

     In fact, at that age I never even saw myself as a “guy”.  Guys were these strong, confident, and often evil things that made a career out of informing that I would never be one of them.  At that point in my life I barely even saw myself as human to be honest.  I felt like I was this unwanted trash heap that must have been oozing toxic sludge. People in my hometown avoided me as if I was patient zero for the Ebola virus.  But here in Florida, where nobody knew who I was, everything was different.  People treated me like a person.  People gave me responsibilities.  People may have genuinely liked me!  What the fuck, right?


     The next morning, I was excited to get up.  I scarfed down breakfast as fast as I could so I could have as much time with Dale as possible.   When I got to the manatee tank though, Dale was standing there with about seven other people, huddled in conversation.  I walked up, wondering what was going on, and when I got close enough, I could sense something was very wrong.

     Marco never had much life in her, but today she seemed more inanimate than usual.  In fact, Marco seemed flat-out lifeless. You know how there’s that difference between being around something alive and something dead?  Like you somehow just feel the presence of a beating heart? Well, now I had a dreaded sense that Marco was no longer Marco, but instead was just a lump in a pool.  I walked over to the conversation to hear what the plan was.

     “We need to cut the baby out now!” one woman argued.  “I will not let that thing inside one of the operating rooms.  The risk of bacterial infection to other injured animals is too high”, a man, who I later learned was Ocean Planet’s hospital director, said.  Dale yelled back, “Well we have to try, otherwise why did we keep her alive in the first place?”  The hospital director put his foot down, “If we take that into an operating room, do you know the kinds of diseases that exposes all the other animals to? Or the clean-up that will be required?  We can’t allow rotting flesh to spew all over a sanitized space!”  That was followed by a lot of arguing about Ocean Planet policy.

     I stood next to Dale silently, feeling somewhat relieved that Marco was no longer in pain, but at the same time curiously upset at her death.  Sure, I hated manatees, but Marco…Marco was different.  Marco had become my manatee.  “Then we’re gonna do it here in the pool!” a woman shouted.  She was blonde, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and had been furiously taking notes during the conflict.  I learned that she was one of the surgeons at Ocean Planet. “The chances are low”, she said, “But the manatee is already in half, cutting her again can’t hurt her. So, everyone gear up! I want this to be happening in no more than twenty minutes, the longer she sits there dead, the less chance the infant has of surviving”.

     Ocean Planet protocol was very much against a teenage summer intern to be involved with matters such as these, but the circumstances of Marco in general were already something the books had never prepared for.  I told Dale I wanted to be a part of this.  Dale was right in what he had said earlier.  People treat the defenseless like crap.  I knew that all too well.  Marco was a victim of that system just like I was, and because of that, I wanted to help.  I wanted to win.  I wanted to show this shitty world that the little guy can have a victory.    I was determined to help pull that damn baby out.  “Dale”, I said, “Let me help! I wanna help with this!”   Dale was older than me, but he was still young.  Probably only about twenty-five, so he was young enough to be down to break the rules.  “Alright, follow me, we gotta get ready.”


     We changed into these things that looked like wetsuits to keep any germs off our body.  I watched Dale take his pants off.  He was wearing navy blue boxer briefs.  I looked at the brunette hair on his thighs.  Dale was one of those lucky bastards who even had flawless leg hair.  My heart thump-thumped harder than it ever had before.  I felt oddly alive.  My mind was torn between disgust with Marco and arousal with Dale, but something about that moment just felt so much more real than my life ever had.  It had been so long since I felt anything besides dread, and now it was like someone had flipped the switch.  I started realizing why other people don’t want to kill themselves, like maybe life could be exciting after all.

     Dale zipped up his wetsuit, and again I snuck a peek, watching his back muscles get slowly enclosed by the suit. The waders went on top of the suits, along with elbow-length gloves, and a surgical mask.  Me, Dale, and one other guy who had the body of a weightlifter, were tasked with holding Marco in place as the medical team went to work. The surgeon was completely unfazed as she began cutting through Marco’s body.

     “Alright boys, I’m about there, I need you to keep the body as still as possible”.  The water started to become a rusty-red.  “Shit”, the surgeon said, as her hands moved vigorously.  At this point I couldn’t look.  If the baby was dead, I didn’t want to see it.  I didn’t even know where, in this half-corpse, a baby manatee could even be.  I just kept my eyes down as I saw the water continue to darken.  The spewing rusty liquid brined with the already murky water and developed a putrid brownish tinge.  The kind of color that shoots up when you pop an infected ingrown hair.  “It’s a stillborn”, the surgeon said.  I kept looking at Marco’s side.  I wanted to make it seem like I was looking at what was happening without actually having to.  “Damn”, she said, as if she was already expecting this outcome, “We got to her too late.  She must have died early in the night.  The oxygen supply could have been cut off for hours”.  I could tell the surgeon was someone who took her job seriously and didn’t like losing.  I could feel the frustration ripple through her voice.  I felt a great sense of despair as well. I wanted Marco’s baby to survive because that would have been a sign of hope.  A way for the underdog to strike back, and a reason for all this pain.  I was desperate to know that pain wasn’t always pointless.  But now I was merely standing in a foul-smelling, brown colored pool, with a dead half manatee, and her dead infant.

            After everyone else had left, me, Dale, and the muscular guy were tasked with loading Marco’s body into a cargo trailer. I’m guessing they brought this other guy because he was pretty large and was going to be doing most of the heavy lifting.  A truck was brought to the tank.  We covered the back of it with tarps, wrapped Marco’s body with rope, and the three of us pulled her out of the pool and into the cargo bed.  We covered the body with more tarp, and tied it tight.  From there, the truck drove away and Marco was out of my life.   They said they were going to have to cut Marco up into smaller pieces, and then incinerate her for sanitary reasons.   The feelings I have about Marco are still mixed and intense.  Marco’s life and death was awful.  Being torn in half by a boat, being forced to die slowly, having someone cut your dead baby out of your dead body, and then being chopped up further, just to be burnt to ashes. It’s hard to believe all that happened to one manatee.  But at the same time, I saw myself in contrast.  I was alive and I was healthy. Looking at how horrible Marco’s death was made me terrified of my own.  Thoughts about my life started to change from wishing my life was over, to wishing my life was different.  That may seem like small change, but the difference in the two thoughts is literally life and death.

            Me and Dale undressed from the wetsuits, and went to the showers.  Ocean Planet is full of large gym-style shower rooms because anytime you exit one of the tanks, you’re required to shower before doing anything else.  As Dale showered in the stall next to mine, I kept thinking about my life.  I was young, and I was healthy. I was alive.  The past few days had existed on a level I had never experienced before.  Marco’s death was painful, and yet Dale’s friendship was exciting.  I had too many emotions going on in my head, and I didn’t want to feel the emptiness of silence.  I didn’t want to feel alone, and I wanted a friend.  So I spoke:

“So, I named her ya know”, I yelled as I let the water ran through my hair.

“Oh yeah? What name did you give her?” he asked back.

“Marco.  Marco the manatee”, I said.

Dale laughed.  “Dude, she was a female!”

I smiled, even though Dale couldn’t see it.  Going through rough times seemed so much easier when you had someone there with you.  Maybe this is what friendship felt like.

      “I like it though man,” Dale said, “It’s respectful to the animals.  Naming em shows that they’re living creatures, not just objects.” Dale paused, then said, “You know dude, you’re pretty brave for a teenager.  You weren’t afraid to do what needed to get done and that’s pretty cool.”  Dale called me cool!  I helped try to save a dying animal, and a hot guy called me cool.  Fuck yah!

            I felt the water run over me, cleaning me of not just Marco, but also of my past. There had been a sea change within me that day; something big, and something good.  Dale was right, sometimes life does give you two choices, where one is only slightly better than the other.  After this summer I’d have to go back to Ohio and go back to my life.  But now I had perspective, which I didn’t before.  I could either ride out the storm and try to make my life better, or I could end my life. And after watching how horrendous death can be, I no longer wanted that option.


            The next day our group left Ocean Planet to hit the road.   We were going to drive to the east coast, head down into the keys, and then come up the west coast before heading back inland to Orlando.   Everyone came out to say goodbye as we got into the van.  Dale walked up to me and put out his hand like he was asking me to shake it.  I grabbed his hand, and before I knew it, he pulled me into a bro hug.  I think part of me melted as I felt his embrace.  One of the parts that melted was the walls I had built up around me.

    “Hey, I’m saving your seat, get in here before someone takes it!” Becky yelled at me from the van.   Dale gave me a nod, and I nodded back.  “Thanks”, I said, not knowing how to fully express how much Dale’s friendship had changed me. “No worries dude” Dale said as he grabbed my shoulder in that way that guys do when they talk to each other, “When you go back to Ohio, remember how brave you were these last few days.  You’re a cool guy, show people that”.  I turned and walked to the van wearing the biggest smile the human race has ever seen. I threw my duffel bag into the back and then sat next to Becky.  “Well, someone sure looks happy…” she said as I closed the door.  I looked at her and smiled as I gave her a little nudge.  She rolled her eyes. “I want to know everything that happened, and don’t leave out the details!”

 

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  As the van started pulling out of the parking lot, I rolled down the window and waved one last time.  Marco would always be gone, and Dale would probably always be in Orlando, but what I learned from them was always going to be with me.

 

~ The Dark Horse

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My Sexual Assault Story

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Alright, so, this is Mackinac Island.  A small resort island in the Great Lakes.  I’m going to share with everyone a story about what happened to me there.

But first let me say, this isn’t a memory I’ve thought about recently.  I was reading a book yesterday called Suicide Notes.  In the book something happens to the main character that was very similar to something that has happened to me.  He wakes up in the suicide wing of mental ward.  He is there with about 5 other teens who are in extreme mental distress.  One night, the big football jock (who never discloses the reason why he is there) named Renken comes into his room while he’s sleeping and… you know.

After reading that scene, the memory of Mackinac came flooding back into my head.

Here’s what happened:

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Although it seems like a sleepy little resort island, behind the scenes is a whole different story.  When you work on the island you stay up in the middle of the island.  The part where nobody goes.  Most of the hotels put you up in “dorms” which is basically 2 old houses that have been connected together.  I was staying in one of the dorms for the hotel called The Island House during the summer of 2014.

My roommate was this kind of machismo guy who’s dad was in the military.   He didn’t go to college and he smoked and drank and did drugs like a fuckin’ crazy person.   But then again, everyone on Mackinac Island did drugs.  Drugs were everywhere.  For me, someone who doesn’t drink or do drugs, it was a horrible experience already.  The dorms were separated by gender.  There were guy dorms and girl dorms.   So you can image, a building filled with a bunch of guys between 20 and 28 who drank, fucked, and did drugs like crazy…it was kind of like living the worst frat-house nightmare imaginable.

 

So, one night about a month into my stay there, I’m sleeping and suddenly I start having this horrible dream.   In my dream I woke up and saw a shadowy figure standing in the room staring at me.  I remember it was making this weird kind of incoherent noise.  I felt so scared.  I remember in the dream I was saying “No…please go away….go away…please go away…”  and I felt so cold. I just remember this intense feeling of being exposed and cold and scared.

Then, I actually opened my eyes and saw that there was something in my room staring at me.  It was a person. But it was so dark I couldn’t really make out who it was.  I remember having this feeling like my stomach was in knots but at the same time it felt like my stomach was also clumped in my throat.  It was so difficult to process because I was still only half-awake.  I put the covers over me and tried hiding. I was so scared because I didn’t know what was going on, I just knew there was someone in my room.

Suddenly I could hear the sounds of someone climbing up the bunk bed and into my bed.  I was so scared I couldn’t breathe.  Then it laid down next to me.  At this point I kind of woke up a little more and was confused… If someone had come into my room to kill or rob me or something, they wouldn’t just lay down.   I took the blanket off from over my head and looked to see that it was my roommate.

I became a little less stressed knowing that I was safe and that it was just my roommate.  I figured he just got super drunk or high and had no idea where he was and came into my bed by accident.  I started to fall back asleep until suddenly he grabbed my hand and put it on his penis.  At that point I suddenly realized my roommate wasn’t wearing pants and was erect.  I quickly moved my hand away but he grabbed it again and put it back on his penis.     I moved my hand away again, and then he put his hands in my underwear and grabbed my penis.

I said, “What are you doing…dude stop”.   But then he started this weird incoherent low-level mumbling….the same that I heard from the shadowy figure in my dream before I woke up.    Suddenly I was terrified again, knowing that he must have been standing over my bed watching me as he mumbled whatever the fuck he was saying.   That must have been why I was so scared in my dream and why I felt so exposed.  My body must have known that someone was standing and watching me.

He grabbed my head and tried pushing me down to suck his dick.   I pulled away again and said, “Dude stop it, seriously.  what the hell is going on?”.    It was so weird because he kept his eyes closed.  Like he didn’t want to mentally be part of the moment.   Then the mumbling became more audible.  He was calling me “fag” and “slut” and was saying things like “Suck it you fuckin bitch”.

I was pretty much awake at this point, and I was scared.  This guy wasn’t the most stable I had ever met to begin with, plus I didn’t what kind of drugs he was on that night so I had no idea what he would be capable of doing”.  I tried playing stupid and so I did one of those koala cuddles to him, where you put your leg and your arm around the other person.  I tried doing it in an ‘Oh lets cuddle’ type way, but what I was actually doing was trying to hold his arms down so he couldn’t grab me.

He kept pushing my arms off and kept trying to push my head down to his crotch.   When he saw that wasn’t working he grabbed my penis again, and obviously it was limp because…how the fuck am I supposed to be aroused in a moment like that?   Then in his weird mumbling he said, “why aren’t you hard you fuckin fag?”.

I was now pretty pumped up with adrenaline and so I sat up and I said, “You need to get the fuck out of my bed right now”.   He tried grabbing me again but I swatted his hand away.  Then, silently, he got up and left the room.  I could hear that he walked into the bathroom which was the door next to ours and I heard him get in the shower.  I locked the bedroom door and tried to get back to sleep.

 

The next day when I saw him I asked what had happened last night.  He of course was like, “What do you mean?”   So I told him that I was talking about him coming into my bed.  Then he responded with something like, “Oh man I was so drunk I probably had no idea which bed was mine..”  Which you know what, I wouldn’t have cared if that was the case.  Had he been drunk and passed out in my bed I wouldn’t have cared.  But that wasn’t all that happened…

So then I said…”dude, you didn’t pass out in my bed…did you not realize that you didn’t wake up in our room this morning?”   And he was like… “Oh ya I crashed in my friends room”.    kept pushing him.  I said, “Do you know why you had to do that?”  And he was like… “No man, why?”  So I straight up told him.  I told him that he came into my bed and tried making me suck his dick.   To which he responded with, “Oh dude, I was so high I probably thought I was crawling in a girl’s bed or something….”

….SERIOUSLY?   

So then I mentioned that that doesn’t make any sense considering that he he grabbed my dick, which isn’t something you would normally do to a girl…

Then he got all quiet and was like… “well that wasn’t me man, must have been someone else…”

 

I knew it was him.  I wasn’t the drunk and high one in that bed.  I clearly remember who was in that bed with me and I remember what he did.

We never really spoke after that.  However, 2 days later he switched rooms.  Then he told all the guys in the dorm that the reason he left our room was because I was a fag and would stare at him when he was naked.

Furthermore, anytime I would pass him in the building or on the lawn he would always call me a fag as I walked by.  He of course was always sitting with about 5 other guys at all times so it wasn’t exactly like I could have fought him or anything.

 

People would say things to me like, “Oh man I don’t know what you did to him but he’s always talking about how he wants to beat you up” and “You really shouldn’t have come on to him….it’s kind of your fault”.

 

But you know what people, I’m gay and from Ohio.  Sadly, I know how the world treats gay people.  From experience I know that adding flame to the fire is the worst thing you can do.  Going around and telling everyone what really happened was only going to make him even more mad.  And a closeted drug addict son of a military father is not the kind of guy you want to question the sexuality of.   That would just be me asking to get beat to death one night.

 

So I justified it to myself.  I told myself this is just how the world treats me.  Nobody ever cared about me before, so why would they now?  I remember thinking that, after all, he was the hottest guy who has ever wanted to have sex with me…so maybe I should have been grateful?   I just did what I had to do to make it through the rest of that summer.

 

But now, after reading that book all these years later I’m fucking pissed.   Present-day me would have beat the shit out of him.  Present-day me would have raised the kind of hell most people could only imagine the devil himself could conjure.

IT WASN’T FAIR THAT I HAD TO HAVE THAT HAPPEN

IT WASN’T FAIR THAT I HAD TO LISTEN TO HIM CALL ME A FAG AS HE TRIED TO FORCE ME TO SUCK HIS DICK

IT WASN’T FAIR THAT I HAD TO HEAR HIM CALL ME A FAG EVERYDAY AFTER THAT

IT WASN’T FAIR THAT HE COULD TELL EVERYONE A FAKE STORY BECAUSE HE KNEW THEY WOULD BELIEVE HIM OVER ME

IT WASN’T FAIR THAT I HAD TO LIVE BEING AFRAID OF GETTING BEAT UP THE REST OF THE SUMMER

THE BOTTOM LINE IS THAT IT WASN’T FAIR.  IT WASN’T RIGHT, AND IT ISN’T JUSTIFIABLE

I called the sexual assault hotline and spoke to a consoler on the phone last night.  I told her the story and asked if I had a right to be mad.  I was wondering if I was being a drama queen, or if I was correct in my new recognition of this event.  I told her that when I think of rape I think of some girl who gets jumped in the woods and is gang-banged or something….but this event also felt like it was so wrong.   She told me over the phone that I had every right to be angry.  She said this was a violation and that I wasn’t being a drama queen.

It felt good.  It felt really really good actually.  After having everyone tell me it was my fault the entire summer.  After having myself believe that it wasn’t a big deal and that it’s just something you have to go through as a gay person… it just felt amazing for someone to actually sit there and say, NO.  BE MAD.  You’re allowed to be mad.   There was such relief and such power in it.

So to anyone out there who has had something bad happen to them, BE MAD.  YOU ARE ALLOWED.  I don’t care if it was sexual assault, physical violence, emotional abuse, or anything else.  If someone has treated you like you’re sub-human, you can be mad.  It is your right to be mad.

And if anyone is dealing with a similar issue, please call a sexual assault hotline and just talk about it.  The woman who spoke to me was insanely nice.  They don’t judge or get mad at you.  You are free to talk about anything you want.

And furthermore if anyone is hurting for any reason remember that there are crisis lines all across the world.

Below is a link to all the crisis lines across the globe ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS talk about it with people.  It helps so much:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

 

I sincerely thank you for reading this post,

~ The Dark Horse

… sorry it wasn’t proofread well

Hope. Its What We Have To Have

 

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So in the wake of Orlando I think its time to talk about hope.  As a gay guy from America I have to say this weekend killed me a little inside.    Not only was there a horrific attack against the LGBT community but now everyone and their fucking mother are trying to pretend like this had nothing to do with the gay community.

Dear straight religious people, at some point you’ll have to accept this was a product of the culture you’ve created and enforced.    Do you know what its called when there is a hate crime…. hate crime? hahaha…. this was actually a fucking massacre…. but anyways:

Do you know what its called when a hate crime is committed and everyone turns a blind eye?  Thats called OPPRESSION you cunts.

Was this man crazy?  Yes.  

And did he have access to guns because America is an insane shithole with flimsy laws?  Yes.

But would this attack have happened if this man was raised in a culture that didn’t teach him to hate gays?… Well now, there’s a question for you….

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But enough about those cunts who are downplaying what just happened this post isn’t for them.  This post is about what to do now.

 

 

This is one of those instances that was about death.  We suffered and mourned the loss of 49 lives.  But after mourning comes an intense desire to live.

And thats exactly what I have.  I have a big fork in the road coming up in my life and dammit I want to make the most of it.

 

I want to live.  I want to really really live. I want to find love, adventure, friendship, joy, humor, and excitement! I want to make an impact on this world!  I want to finally stop being dragged through life and finally start actually living.  Because unfortunately, with the world we live in, you never know when you may be dancing at a club when all of the sudden you and everyone around are on the floor bleeding to death.  

 

Need some inspiration?   Ok well look at this:

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This is Hawaii 

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This is an actual castle in Germany

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This is a real beach in Thailand 

Why are we looking at these?  Well because over the weekend we saw what horror, bloodshed, and hate looked like.   What we to remember is that there is still so much beauty in the world.   Life still holds meaning, joy, and love.   Adventure is still out there, its just waiting to be found.

Take all the pain and hurt from this weekend and lets mold it from mourning, into passion.    Remember to live life to the fullest.   To embrace every single moment because you never know when it may be your last.

Tonight before you go to bed, hug your mom.   Or your flatmate…  or fuck, hug your dog.   They love being hugged!   Just show someone you care.   Embrace and feel the love!

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~ The Dark Horse

(I would have proofread this, but I was too busy looking at this picture of how amazing the world really is)

Wentworth Miller (Or Probably The Coolest Depressed Person In The World)

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Ok now Im guessing most of you are thinking one of 3 things:

1.)  You’re saying, “Oh God, another gay, depressed, anxious person crushing on Wentworth Miller….. how annoying”.  To you I say: fuck you cunt.  And then Ill give you a big smack across the face.

2.) You’re saying, “Who is Wentworth Miller?”   To you people I say, (and in my giddiest -little-12-year-old-girl -crushing-on-someone voice)  OMG JUST KEEPING READING YOULL FIND OUT!

3.)  You’re like me, and are already saying, “OMG OMG OMG OMG WENTWORTH!!!!” (And then you melt into a puddle.  The kind of puddle that only Wentworth Miller can melt you into…. well Zac Efron does it too.  And Chad Michael Murray.   And that blonde guy from Twilight…. is that Callum Lutz?  Kellen Lutz?   Whatever, his name isn’t important, only his six pack and jawline are.

Anyhoo, I invite all of you to keep reading.  Especially if you’re anyone with depression, anxiety, panic, or any other slew of mental problems, or even people who are recovering from trauma.    Because Wentworth actually is a really good role model.

 

Ok so lets go back to the beginning.  Wentworth rose to massive fame as the star of the FOX show Prison Break.

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The show shot him up to celebrity status and made him an instant sex symbol.   However after Prison Break ended he started to keep a low profile and almost became a no-name until this picture hit the internet:

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Soon scandal was in the air and he became a joke in the tabloids.

 

However, in 2013 Wentworth began to take control of his life again.  In fact, he even came out in a very brave way.  Russia invited him to attend a film festival.  However, due to the lack of human rights in that country, especially towards the LGBT (LGBTQA?)  (LGBTQAI?)  (LGBTQQIP2AA?)  Good lord, come on gays, we need to get control of our acronym.

Anyways the letter said this:

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Following that letter, Wentworth went and spoke at the annual HRC Dinner and gave an amazing speech.  For the full speech check it out here:

 

In that speech he discussed his dealing with depression, mental illness, and even suicide.  So there it is people, even insanely sexy people like Wentworth Miller deals with the issues we deal with. He discussed about how hard it was to be closeted in Hollywood (which i can imagine is absolute hell) and talked about his struggle to come out.  The one line from that speech that I absolutely love is when he says: “When someone asked me if that was a cry for help, I said no, because I told no one. You only cry for help if you believe there’s help to cry for”.

That line always burns into me so deep and heavily.  I think we all know what its like to cry for help and have nobody hear us…. so after a while, we stop crying.  We hold it in.  We let it grow inside us.  We let it consume us.  We then let it become us.  We end up being the ugly grizzly mess that we tried so hard to eliminate by reaching out to others.

It is at that point that so many of turn to suicide.   That feeling is just too awful.  Too ugly and evil to live with.  And so people decide to not live with any longer.

 

But listen up people, here is where Wentworth made the change.  He opened up.   He decided to make it public.  He decided to reach out for help again.   And THAT IS WHAT WE ALL NEED TO LEARN TO DO.

Lets let that ugliness go.   Lets be better.  We are all pure, do you know that?  We are probably some of the purest people out there.  Why you ask?

 

Well, BECAUSE WE STILL FEEL. We are like children with hearts so big and open they are willing to feel it all.  The intense joys, but also the intense pains.  And unfortunately for most of us,  what we feel most of the time is the pain. 

Thats right.  We have not given in to the modern world.  Having a good body, an Instagram account, and a line of coke at a popular club isn’t enough for us.   We haven’t numbed ourselves down to the level of the commoner.  And people, never do!   I know right now you feel so much pain, but I PROMISE you that being able to feel the intense lows means you can also feel intense highs.

Remember the famous line from Teddy Roosevelt, “For those who fight for it life has a flavor the sheltered will never know”

Ok, now look at this face:

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and look at this one:

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and now look at this:

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This is the face of a man who has been suicidal, depressed, and forced to live a life that was a lie.   And is he still sexy?  FUCK YEAH HE IS!

So what does this mean for us?   Well, its inspiration.   Its proof that even though right now we all feel so old, so broken, and so dead inside…We can come out the other end and actually be healthy, beautiful, and ready to kick ass.

So what shall we do? ….

kick ass of course

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~ The Dark Horse

..Was this proofread?  I think maybe….I was kind of obsessing over Wentworth Miller so not sure how effective my proof reading was… WAIT WAIT OMG IS THAT WENTWORTH MILLER eating Twizzlers?

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OMG, no time to proofread I have to go… um…. take a really long shower!

My Life Just Had Another Movie Moment (WTF Is Happening Guys?)

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So recently I started writing blog posts about living life, not just being alive.  As someone with depression and anxiety I will tell everyone, my life has been hard, and that is mainly because (as any of you will know if you also have depression and anxiety) our social lives are pretty much the most fucked up things ever….or are non existent (which is the category I usually fall under).

So I’ve been talking about not giving a fuck and just going for it.   Living even though we usually don’t have a desire to live.

Now this is obviously hard as fuck, I won’t lie to any of you out there.  But isn’t it worth it if it means we can have lives?

We have nothing left to do but just get outside our prisons and live!

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I recently met a backpacker here.  A cute straight guy from England who is here to travel and experience new things.

 

Over the past few days we’ve become pretty good friends and he’s been staying at my place.  Yesterday however was his last day here in Auckland before he starts traveling around the country.   Now, we’ve made plans to travel together and keep in contact…. but as any of you out there who knows what its like to be a social outcast… people’s words don’t mean much until they follow through.  We know better.  We know that 99.9% of the time we will never hear from them again and that we will go back to being alone as they go have their lives.

So I was pretty down all yesterday.   As the evening came we got into a big talk about life and what it means to be alone and miserable and what is “hope” and why have it and all the crazy shit that most people need to be drunk to talk about, but that I talk about quite regularly and nonchalantly.

So he says, “look, you have a bathtub and in my year of travel I haven’t had a bath and Im gonna take a bath, if you wanna talk we can leave leave the door open and we can keep chatting from the hallway”.    However, in my pissy mood I was obviously like, “no. I’m fine.  enjoy the bath”.

So he’s in the bathroom taking a bath and I’m just wandering around my apartment with thoughts filling my mind.

why don’t you ever just have fun?

Why are you being angry on your last night with a new friend?

Why does everything have to be a challenge?

why why why why why?

Then I just kinda snapped and decided I was going to act like a 26 year old for once.

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So I open the bathroom door.

He looks at me, completely naked in the tub and is like, “So you’re ready to talk then?”

I walk into the bathroom and close the door.

I start to take my clothes off.

He looks at me and is like, “ugh….. are you getting in the tub or something?”

all i say is, “move over”

As he tries to say, “dude this is kinda gay”, its too late.  I’m now naked in the tub with him.

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So there we were facing each other, legs intertwined, balls and dicks completely visible in the clear warm water.

He just looks at me and is like, “Where did that come from?”

I respond simply with, “I wanted to take a bath with my friend, so I am”.

He kinda looks at me, almost impressed, and asks, “Isn’t this kind of weird?”

I was just like, “I don’t think so, I think its relaxing.  If you think its weird well I don’t fucking care, get out of my tub”.

He just sits there looking at me with that kinda crooked half-smile straight guys have. He kinda laughs. Then he nods his head in approval and says, “You should say fuck it more often man”.

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We just sat there for a little bit relaxing when he breaks the silence by saying, “your feet are touching my ass”.

once again I only respond with, “Yeah I know, but I don’t care, I’m comfortable”.

Then we just kinda sat there and started talking.  But not about all the negative shit like before.  it was just “stuff” I guess.  Favorite movies, where we wanted to go hiking, how good it felt to take a bath in so long (because I had actually never used my tub,i just shower, so it would have been a good 5 years since my last bath).

The rest of the night was super smooth.   We ate dinner, watched a movie and fell asleep in our underwear.  We woke up with morning wood.

We gave each other shit for having morning wood.  He called me gay, I told him not too worry, I could do better than him, we laughed.    It was just easy and nice.

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All in all it was really non-sexual if that makes.  I never tried to make a move on him.  I didn’t ever have a desire to.  Like it was cool to get naked in a tub with him but not in a “OMG Im gonna fuck his ass tonight” kind of way.  It was more just like a, “Now I’ve seen him naked and he’s seen me naked… so there isn’t really anything to hide anymore” kind of way.  It felt like a bonding thing.

Same with the sleeping thing.  It was cool to be like, if we touch when we sleep it doesn’t matter.  I can feel comfortable with him.  I can wake up with a raging boner next to him and he isn’t gonna try to suck it or run away in fear of me trying to fuck him.   Its just like, were both guys.  Obviously were going to wake up with morning wood.  It just happens.

Yet there is an odd excitement to it.  Like you’re learning about someone.  You’re sharing experiences with someone.  You’re engaging in things that are normally private.  You have embarrassing things to know about them now, just as they do for you.

Dude being human is so weird isn’t it?

 

But going through that is like feeling closer to someone.  Doing things that to anyone else would see as homoerotic or weird, but since you both are comfortable with each other it isn’t weird to you.   And the fact that you go through those experiences together kind of bonds you in a way. You wonder if you’ll be judged, or if they will think its weird, or whatever, but then you learn they don’t…and you don’t.   And then you just feel comfortable to be yourself in other ways because you weren’t judged in even the most private senses, so why would they judge you in other ways?

Alright people, lush up a lather get take a bath with someone tonight!  See how it goes!

~ The Dark Horse

(This was a solid 35% proofread!)

 

My Life Just Had A Movie Moment

Rapunzel-Flynn-Rider

So, my life has kind of been turned upside lately.  Ive decided Im going to make friends and meet people…. even if they don’t want to.   Ive been basically putting myself into situations and telling people when and where were meeting….. why you ask?  Well because I’m fucking depressed and lonely and don’t give a fuck about others anymore.  Im no longer caring if they want to hang.  Im just making it happen.

But you know whats happening?   ….People are actually hanging out with me.   Fuckin weird right?

OK LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY.  BECAUSE…. OH MY GOD I HAD A MOVIE MOMENT AND IT WAS AMAZING

 

So 3 days ago we had a guy come into our store looking for a prepay phone plan because he just arrived in New Zealand.  He talked to one of my coworkers for a good 45 minutes to an hour before he left.  At the end of the day he needed to unlock his phone and then come back to buy the sim.

S0 yesterday the guy comes back because he got his phone unlocked…. I think I should describe him now?  I think thats a smart move yah?  So he’s 25, from England, really cute, British accent, in shape, good body, and he’s straight.

Now the store I work at is extremely slow and boring so normally my day is like this…

movie1

So he sits down and starts talking to my coworker forever again because he clearly is lonely and in a foreign country and doesn’t know anyone.  And since were slow we have nothing better to do than to talk to him.

So i sat there and was like… Wait.. I’m lonely and in a foreign country and don’t know anyone… and so is this really cute straight boy…… so fuck it, I’m gonna force myself into the conversation and make a friend.

So were talking and I swear we talk for like 2 hours.   We were literally talking until it was time for us to close the shop.  So we sent him home and started doing the monotonous closing duties and my life went back to being boring as fuck and I kinda felt crushed that I wasn’t going to be making friends with a cute straight boy.

movie2

 

But then something awesome happened.  As I was walking to the bus stop from work I see him sitting on a bench eating some sushi.  Naturally I was like…. well I’m forcing people to hang out now…so… lets go make hime hang out!

I sit down next to him and and strike up a chat.  We then walk into the city together which is a good 30 minute walk.   Once we were in the city we decided to get a coffee and keep chatting, then I said lets make dinner at my place, so we buy groceries and walk another 30 minutes to my place and keep chatting.

We cook, we eat, I shower, he showers, then we put on a movie.  So he’s  laying on the couch with his feet sprawled out diagonally, and then there’s me laying on the other end of the couch with my feet up on the backrest of the couch (already one of the closest human interactions I’ve ever had with a heterosexual male)

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So we watch the movie and then before we know it, its 2am.    He has no car so I can’t send him home.  So I’m like, “oh hey I know its late…but you’re more than welcome to stay here”…. and I swear to you, without even blinking he’s like, “Ah yeah man sure, thats your room right?” And he walks into my room, gets in my bed and takes his shirt off so he is in nothing but gym shorts.  

I am now instantly kind of getting a boner and in my head I’m like HOLY FUCK THERE IS A SHIRTLESS STRAIGHT GUY IN MY BED!

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Yes people…. thats literally what I walked into after brushing my teeth.   So I take my shirt off so I’m also in nothing but sweat shorts.

I get into bed next to him and we chat for about 15 minutes and then he falls asleep…. (typical fucking straight guys being able to fall asleep within minutes of laying down…. dumb assholes)

But then he repositions himself and his leg moves into mine and his shoulder touches mine.   I can feel his warmth.

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I am now rocking the biggest boner known to man

 

So I sit there for probably a good hour like a little school girl just freaking out inside that a boy is touching me….. even if it is in a very PG way…ITS STILL SOMETHING PEOPLE!

I decide to just go to bed and enjoy not being alone for the night.

I wake up and my leg is literally on top of his leg and his face is on my shoulder.  I decide to not wake him…..I was quite content sitting there for another hour just knowing a cute boy was laying on my shoulder.

 

So today hung out even more and he asked me to take a week off from work so we can take a road trip.

yes

a road trip

Do you know this will be the first road trip I have ever taken in my life?

Thats right.  Me, a straight boy, a car, and a tent…… OH MY GOD.  Its the most insanely homoerotic wet dream I could possibly ever imagine!

But you know what, even more important than that…. it feels really good to have someone thinking about you.  For someone to want to travel with you.  To want to share an experience with you.

 

….maybe life isn’t so shit guys

~The Dark Horse

(no this was not proof read!  Im too busy being a childish little schoolgirl ok! leave me alone! )