In my mid-twenties, I went to gay sex clubs. It was the fun of hooking up without all that bothersome talk. One night, I invited an Asian guy home. I'd just gotten into Samurai movies. But in the light outside, this guy turned out to be scrawny, bossy and, if I heard him right, "Ham."
He looked a little like this in the club.
He looked a little like this when we got home.
When we got to my place, Ham didn't move from the door. He snapped at me. "Stand ovuh deyah! Stand ovuh deyah!" He was pointing to the opposite corner.
I said, "Sorry?"
"Stand ovuh deyah!"
Now I thought, Oh crap ... this must be role-playing. The kind of situation where I'm nothing but awkward. But I'm no good at confrontation so ... I stood over there.
"Take off yuh pants!" he snipped. "Take off yuh pants!"
I said, "Ham, could we maybe lower our voices--"
"Take off yuh pants!"
More than a little bewildered now, I did. I was thinking, Okay, there is the possibility I'll have a eureka moment here and discover I just love dominance and submission with rodent-like people. So I took off my sneakers and pants and was left wearing nothing but a t-shirt. I noticed Ham was looking at the sneakers, looking at my balls, looking at the sneakers, looking at my balls. Then he sprang it on me.
"Put da shoes on yuh balls! Put da shoes on yuh balls!"
He had to show me what he meant. He wanted the laces of both sneakers tied together like they would be if you hung them from a telephone wire. Then he wanted me to tie this contraption around my nuts so the two sneakers would be dangling to my shins.
Like this, but not with a coat hanger.
I thought, Gosh ... this is just not working for me. But I was dying to know where it was going. Did he want me to whirl them in circles like tassels on a stripper? Or mime a tap routine like Chaplin with the bread rolls on forks? I'm so habitually an agreeable guy, that again ... I did what he said. I wrapped the conjoined shoes around my worried balls. The thing is, I wear size 11 and had the heaviest arch supports money could buy, because Converse are terrible for your feet. But I was quickly learning they're no easier on your testes. So I'm standing there bow-legged with these two sneakers just floating on waves of air and it really wasn't very comfortable. I said, "Okay Ham. Let's get to the next part quickly."
He took his pants down, stared at me and started wacking off, still in the doorway, twelve feet away. Furious wacking off. Like world record speed-wacking. And he was as red in the face as a little demon. I had nothing to do. I thought, Well at least this won't take long--he should be in the circus as the fastest masturbator on Earth. I was wrong. It went on and on. I was feeling more and more pinched and purple. I tried to get a conversation going.
"Um, Ham, do you think we might try something else--"
He practically barked. "What's your problem?! Ya look great!"
Maybe so. Perhaps I'll be all the rage when the sneaker-scrot fad catches on. But the weird thing was, I could feel myself getting defensive about his saying I had a problem. I wanted to pout, "You know no one's perfect, Ham!" But I said to myself, "Kevin, you are so impressionable! Consider the source! If the guy isn't on something, he's running on sober psychosis."
So I gathered my gumption and walked over. I said, "Okay, let's wrap this up."
He pushed me back, "What?! Oh you gotta problem! Ya look great!"
I could feel from the beating of my heart that I was done. I said, "No, no. Here." I grabbed his clothes and thrust them toward him. He wouldn't stop whacking. He wouldn't take them. He just kept arguing, without adding anything new. So I took the clothes, opened the door and threw them in the hall.
When he scurried back in with the pile, he was defeated. His big plans for the evening had collapsed. He just sat in a chair putting himself back together and spoke with grave disappointment in me. "You don't think you gotta problem?! Ya look great!"
I let him out and closed the door. Then something eerie happened. I'd forgotten I'd changed the position of a large mirror in the apartment earlier that day. When I turned from the door, I almost jumped to see my whole body reflected there. I was standing there staring at myself in that mirror--nothing on but a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers. Only they were hanging from my balls.
And I thought to myself, You know, even if he wasn't the best guy to be making a diagnosis, Ham did have a point. I got a problem.
With any luck, this shirt will be the new fad.
Do you have a "Strange Sex" story? Something with a nutcase partner? A bizarre setting? A surprising turn of events? Submit your story as a ZUG Article and title it "Strange Sex: _____________." You might be invited to contribute to my upcoming podcast of dangerous stories, daringly told called RISK! The first season of RISK! will also include Marc Maron, Michael Ian Black, Chuck Klosterman, Margaret Cho, Michael Showalter, Kristen Schaal, Rob Sheffield, David Wain, Janeane Garofalo and more. Click here to submit your story!
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