9.22.2007

Twinkilocks and the Three Bears (CH2)



Chapter 2

As you’ve already noticed, Twinkilocks is not your average hero(ine). Instead of sulking in a state of perpetual woe-is-me-ness, Twinkie mounted that horse once more in search of a proper mentor. The sour date with Barney McClingster didn’t faze him in the least. Twinkie decided to up his ante and employ a new search engine. Maybe a little variety was all he needed. After all, those Craigslist ads were just so vague to him and that whole e-mail business turned out to be way too slow for a twink with such velocity as his.

And so it came that Twinkilocks turned his attention to the all too-conveniently-named Gay.com. A few months back on a trip to Ibiza, Twinkie’s post-op cruise acquaintance, Julie, had turned him on to the wonder and awe of the gay-dot-com realm. Before meeting Julie, Twinkie had spent two dateless nights upon the cruise ship meandering from activity to activity, trying to strike up conversation around the shuffleboard court and failing miserably. At such a tender time in his life, Twinkilocks just didn’t feel very confident around all the other gays. He had just come out of the color-coordinated walk-in closet and tread very lightly on his newfound faggot feet just like an innocent baby calf. Walking aimlessly around the deck, feigning interest in the darkened horizon ahead reminded him of his high school days when he’d walk carefully around the high school gymnasium trying not to be noticed by the girls waiting to be asked to dance. He’d never felt such pressure in his life. As if he were obligated to make those cows feel loved! Niucca, please! Even at fourteen years of age, Twinkie knew that he was not about to entertain any of those hags’ ideas of a possible romance with such a svelte stud as himself. Besides, he was busy watching the captain of the wrestling team grind on the dance floor with his girlfriend, oscillating his hips ever so maliciously as if he knew that Twinkilocks’ eyes were glued to his pelvis, secretly envisioning it clad in a purple and gold singlet. Just as most gays can commiserate, Twinkilocks’ high school years weren’t his finest and being reminded of them wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences.

And so, as if sent by God herself, Julie appeared to Twinkie one afternoon on the deck as the ship cruised along the coast of Morocco. Julie elegantly eclipsed Twinkie’s sunlight and as he glanced up from his upholstered chaise lounge, he knew that his life had just been changed forever, without a lick of his own consent.

Julie had just completed her transition into womanhood and decided that as a reward for the endless months of hormone therapy and psychiatric evaluations, it was time to flaunt everything that deserved flaunting. She was very proud of her new and fairly voluptuous breasts, even if they were pill-induced. She pushed them together so violently in her mandarin-orange tankini top that you’d think there should’ve been someone nearby with a bottle of Korbel awaiting a Mimosa. Luckily, Twinkilocks wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the bodacious melons and the two began to converse like old swim-club cronies. Just as Twinkie mentioned that he had been having a hard time socializing on the boat, Julie asked him why he hadn’t tried the website.

“Are you serious? It’s really called Gay.com?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought all gay websites had to have some clever name that merely suggested homosexuality.”
“No, baby, it’s pretty straight to the point.”

And so no sooner did Twinkie jump up from his lounge and toss on a sarong, was he back in his room, logging in to Gay.com for the first and most certainly, not the last time in his life. As the home page loaded slowly on his nautical Internet connection, Twinkilocks could hear the angels rejoicing in his head. How could I not have known?! He was allowed to post a picture of himself and view photos of other guys all over the world while simultaneously chatting with all of the guys in one of thousands of chat rooms categorized by sexual fetishes, location and/or ethnicity! Twinkilocks was practically creaming himself before he even finished setting up his account, finally deciding upon JaiLBaiT69 as his username. Because he didn’t have any of his professional headshots with him at sea, Twinkie quickly snapped a classic elevated-camera-big-doe-eyes-equals-innocent-mischief picture of himself. Totally MySpace. The picture was only posted next to his username for two minutes when Twinkie started receiving private message after private message, soliciting him for sexual favors, decadent weekend jaunts with salt-and-peppered businessmen and offers of cold hard cash for his presence at various high school reunions and lacrosse game after-parties.

“Is this really happening?” Twinkie asked no one out loud. He couldn’t believe all this instantaneous action that he had been missing for so long. This just couldn’t be true!

The messages just kept popping up in front of his eyes, which were glazing over with weiner-wishing wonder. They were filling up his screen so quickly that he barely had a chance to respond to all the various suitors from all over the world, all wanting just a morsel of Twinkie for themselves.

GaryG1972 – 35 – Austin, TX: Hey, JB! What’s goin’ on?

AzzMaster – 44 – Wichita, KS: u lookin?

HairyPitsnFeet – 59 – Hackensack, NJ: hey, what u into? u hairy?

All of these men were way too forward for Twinkie’s liking, not to mention a bit too raunchy for the type of mentor that he had in mind. Moreover, all of their pictures were of the dirty ex-boyfriend kind. You know the type: the dirty pose with next to nothing on that’s at such a distance and angle that it couldn’t have been taken with a timer. Let’s not kid ourselves now. There’s no way a camera can be positioned above a bed to catch a guy in bird’s eye view while he’s on the receiving end of a golden shower. Some guys do actually get turned on by these pictures, but Twinkilocks is not one to get excited by a fantasy previously shared by two other men in a relationship. He’s definitely not into sharing, especially when it comes to lovers. Twinky likes his men like his party cups: solo. Corny, right? Well so is this story, so shut the fuck up.

After some time ignoring certain guys and reviewing others’ profiles, Twinkie decided to give it a rest. None of the guys that were talking to him were cute, not to mention remotely near his hometown, so why should he even bother getting excited? Just then, as things tend to conveniently and miraculously happen in tales such as this one, a new message popped onto his screen like a Bubbalicious explosion of jism. Twinkilocks read with eyes as wide as Jeff Palmer’s money-maker.

Swinger77 – 30 – Metropolis suburbs: Hey stud, wanna chat?

Twinkilocks was absolutely elated. Thirty was old enough to have a decent amount of wisdom, right? Plus, he happened to be from the same area so a date was definitely possible. What was even better was that his screen name suggested that he was into swings and must really love to go to the park, so he must be a real fun guy! Twinkie sure couldn’t believe his good fortune.

JaiLBaiT69: Hey! Sure! What’s going on?
Swinger77: NM man. pretty bored here… figured id see whos online from home.
JaiLBaiT69: What do you mean from home? You mean ur not from outside Metropolis anymore?
Swinger77: no no. i am from there. im just not there now. My friends took me on this stupid cruise and im bored out of my mind.
JaiLBaiT69: A cruise? Where are u right now?
Swinger77: well the captain said we passed morocco today so were probably somewhere north of there by now, idk.

HOLY SHIT! Twinkie must’ve spent his entire past life helping old women cross busy streets to have such uncanny luck as this. There’s no way this could be happening! But of course, it was. The two guys were absolutely dumbstruck with such a random meeting and agreed to hook up for a date later that night at the ship’s piano bar.

To prepare for his impromptu boat-date, Twinkie decided to spend the rest of the day in the ship’s spa. He figured he’d start off with a nice full-body mud bath, followed by a rejuvenating cucumber-mint facial, a full mani/pedi and of course a deep tissue massage provided by none other than Hans, the ship’s Swiss masseur. Conveniently enough, Twinkie had spotted Hans last night canoodling with one of the deck hands during the unusually raucous round of Blow Job Bingo on the upper deck. Who knew all the ship’s gays would’ve gotten out of hand at such an innocent activity? Anyway, with Hans’ not-exactly-limp-wristed-status confirmed, Twinkilocks was pretty sure he could squeeze a happy ending out of his 50-minute massage. All he needed to do was coerce our blonde and bronzed Swissy into opening as wide as he did last night.

Fortunately, everything worked out in the spa for our protagonist and he was able to dress for his date with a refreshed mind and body, having fully rid his corps of toxins and pretty much all his semen as well. Hans, on the other hand, would have to lay off the mixed nuts for the next few days for fear of a protein overdose.
Twinkie made sure to slip his inches into his novelty Ginch Gonches and then threw on his favourite white linen barely-buttonable shirt. Very Ricky Martin circa 1999. But Twinky could pull it off due to the innumerable hours he spent on the ship’s clothing-optional deck in the past few days. That shirt paired with sleek khaki Bermuda shorts and his brown leather mandals from H&M made our young yet timelessly stylish Twinky a fashionable force to be reckoned with.

It was nearing 11pm and Twinky decided he’d better get a move on if he was going to gracefully walk the line between fashionably late and a possible no-show. The last thing he wanted was for Corey (Swinger77) to think that he stood him up, especially not since they were hometown heroes. Twinky just wanted to make sure he didn’t come off as uber-desperate and show up exactly on time. Only a few minutes later, Twinky made his prerequisite Cinderella-at-the-ball-esque entrance and sauntered towards the bar once he was finished signing autographs and kissing babies.

He could tell he had found Corey as soon as he laid eyes on the over-sized lapels of his 70s-inspired salmon dinner-jacket. Corey was indeed 30ish as could be seen from his youthful hairline and bleached faux-bouffant, playing the part of the lovechild of Zack Morris and Ross Gellar. As Twinky approached Corey, he noticed his foot shaking incessantly under the bar, making the bowling ball bag at the bottom of his stool jiggle like Bill Cosby’s career-saver. So he was a little nervous, not a problem. After all, who wouldn’t be nervous to meet a catch like Twinky?

“Well, you must be Corey…I’m Twinkilocks but you can call me Twinkilocks. It’s a pleasure.”
“Oh, um, hello! Yeah! Yeah! Great to meet you too, man! Let’s get a, um, let’s get a table, ok?!”

As Corey grabbed his bowling bag and led the way to the restaurant, Twinky joked to himself, “Oh my, he has a lot of energy. He must be carrying around a kilo of fresh Colombian coffee in that bag! Haha!” Well, Twinky was at least half-right. There was something Colombian in there.

Twinky hadn’t even sat down before Corey was pouring them both large glasses of water and simultaneously lighting a Newport.

“So, I mean, uh, it’s great that we’re both from, uh (sniff) the same area because you know, if uh, if we uh (sniff) hit it off then it would be totally convenient to meet up back home sometime.” (Takes a quick drag from his cigarette, barely inhaling before exhaling, more out of habit and roughly used his sleeve to wipe his nose.) “So, yeah, um, what do you do back home, anyway? Cuz I know a lot of people in the business and I’m always (sniff sniff) networking and shit, so I know lots of people in the business and I’m pretty good at networking so if you ever need any, you know, (sniff) whatever you might need, I could probably get it for you. Just let me know like a couple hours in advance ‘cuz some of my contacts, I mean friends, don’t like to be bothered or rushed when they’re, uh, working, yeah working (sniff) so just give me like a couple hours and some cash and I can like, totally hook you up, with, you know, whatever you’re looking for.”

Twinky was confused but still interested. If he had known Corey had a cold, he would’ve brought him some chicken soup to help him with his sniffles. But since Corey was supposedly so good at networking, Twinky thought he could probably get any old chicken noodle soup delivered to him any time he wanted. “Wow! Networking is so cool! I bet he knows so many interesting and influential people back in Metropolis!” he thought.

“Wow! Networking is so cool, Corey! I bet you know so many interesting and influential people back in Metropolis!”
“Well, you know (sniff) uh, I don’t like to brag but if you ever have a, um, problem or anything, I’m the guy, to uh, go to, uh, I’m your go-to guy.”
“Oh, gee! Really?!”

Twinky decided to move in early and even though the drinks hadn’t even come yet, he moved his foot across to Corey’s underneath the table but instead came into contact with his bowling bag.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I just kicked your bag over. Here let me fix it for you.”

As Twinky glanced underneath the table to place the bag back upright, he was greeted with a huge cloud of white powder. He must’ve kicked the bag harder than he thought to have brought up that much dust!

“Oh my! I’m so sorry, Corey. I kicked your bag so hard that all the talc came off of your bowling ball! Or is that just your gym bag? I like to use baby powder after I shower too. It makes me feel so clean and innocent, especially after a busy day in the locker room.”

“Uh, yeah (sniff) yeah. That’s my gym bag. I reeeaaallllyyy like baby powder too. I just can’t stand, uh, to sweat. Hehe. You know? I just gotta, um, keep dry at all, uh, times, you know?”
“Totally, Corey. I just hate being all wet and icky! Ewww!”
“Hey, uh, you know what? Why don’t we just skip dinner and do some shots and sing some karaoke, huh? (sniff) What do you think about, uh, doing some shooters and, uh, singin’ some karaoke? Huh? Yeah?”
“Um, yeah ok. I guess that’s alright. I can always just heat up a South Beach micro-meal later. Alright! Bring on the shots! I want a Red-headed slut!”
“Yeah, uh, sure man. (sniffs and signals waiter) Two shots of liquid cocaine and one shot of, uh, what did you want again? Red-handed whore?”
“No, a red-headed slut.”
“Yeah, one of those. Thanks babe.” Corey slipped a fifty in the waiter’s dangerously-low front pocket and slapped his ass as he walked away to fetch the shots. “Good kid, that guy. I, uh (sniff) I uh, networked for him the other night. He was, uh, feelin’ really low so I, um, you know, helped him raise his spirits, you know? Gave him a little pick-me-up, right?”
What a humanitarian, this guy! “Aww, really? That’s so nice of you, Corey. He must’ve really liked whatever you gave him because I just saw him walk away with a big boner! Haha!”
“Well, yeah, um, that’s what coke… coca-cola does to you, you know man? Hehe. Yeah. That’s exactly what coca-cola does to the, uh, body. (sniff) All that fuckin’ sugar, you know? Just pops that dick right up! Hehe.”

Just then, as Twinky was beginning to get an actual inkling of what was going on, Corey suddenly snagged an electronic device out of the back pocket of a passing waiter and slammed it down on the table.

“It’s karaoke time!” he screamed at a level just high enough to make Twinky uncomfortable in this low-key piano bar. Corey grabbed his fork and started to stab unforgivingly at the tiny keypad, making his selection as quickly as a virgin at the Bunny Ranch. Just as soon as Corey threw the fork back on the table, the intimate soundtrack of the evening abruptly stopped and the sound of a shoddy stereo system hummed slowly to life as 5 separate TV screens around the dining room lit up to announce the title and table number of the upcoming entertainment. An automated spotlight spun on its rusty hinges to soak poor Twinky’s table in a horrible fluorescent glow, which Twinky feared was going to make his complexion appear blotchy and un-tropical. However, he caked enough foundation on earlier that all the audience saw was an unevenly-bronzed youth sitting next to a jittery man dressed younger than his age and being handed a wireless microphone from a very reluctant waiter.

However, as bad as the scene did indeed seem, Twinky was momentarily relieved when he heard the first chords of “Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady” grace the air. “How bad could this really be?” Twinky thought to himself, “After all, it is my favorite song. If anything, I can always join in to duet and cover the harmonies.”

Unfortunately, it looked as if Corey would need no help at all. He confidently got up from the table and the spotlight followed him to the makeshift stage, lagging mechanically and creating an aura of amateurism around the performance. Twinky was grateful to be out of the spotlight but still craved the attention, as is the case with most gorgeous and modest gay men. Suddenly, Corey turned a dial on the machine adjacent to the stage and the tempo increased to 160bpm and Corey had never looked happier. He sped through the entire song faster than K-Fed’s career and the audience was absolutely shocked he was able to impeccably enunciate each and every lyric of the song. Corey cow-towed rather ostensibly while the audience applauded numbly, still not quite believing what they had just seen. Not a sniffle had interrupted his song and it was all over in a matter of a minute and thirty seconds.

After handing the mic back to a nearby waiter, Corey reappeared at the table with a boy that couldn’t have been any older than Twinky.

“Oh, um, hello. I’m Twinkilocks. And who might you be?”
“Dylan.”
Corey interjected, “Dylan and I just discovered that we have some mutual friends back in, uh, Metropolis and I thought it would (sniff) be nice if we all got to know, um, each other a bit more, you know, intimately.”

Twinky was a little wary of the situation but decided to go with the flow to see if Corey was really worth the trouble. Dylan looked like the kind of guy who had seen his share of trouble. He was dressed in a dirty fedora with a worn, vintage AX t-shirt and stone-rinsed, acid-washed jeans dyed to look new again. Twinky was not about to be fooled by this boy. He knew that Dylan shopped at Marshall’s and the only expensive thing he owned were his cheek implants, which were probably a gift from a rich, businessman trick anyway.

Dylan pulled up a chair and sat unnecessarily close to Corey’s side of the small table. With one hand under the table placed at a questionable angle towards Corey’s crotch, Dylan pulled a moist-looking roach from his crumpled pack of KOOL menthols and proceeded to light up in the middle of the restaurant.

“Um, excuse me, Dylan. I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke your reefer here in the restaurant. They have laws about that even if we are at sea.”
“Fuck off, Twonky. I’ll do what I want. You don’t know me.”
“Hold on one hot-fucking-second, you bitch! You can curse at me all you fucking want but there is no way you will ever again utter the word you just used against me. I am a lean, fabulous and Adonis-like faggot from Metropolis and you better fuckin’ recognize!”
“Whoah, um, Twinky,” Corey interrupted, “Take it, uh, easy, ok, man? (sniff) How bout we all skip the drinks and go back to, um, my room and, uh, soak in my hot tub to, um, cool off a bit. Yeah? What d’ya think, uh, boys?”
“Sure, let’s go before this twonk gets us kicked out for screaming like a bitch,” Dylan politely added.
“THAT’S THE LAST FUCKING STRAW, CUNTBAG! I’MA CUT YOU!”

With that line, Twinky leapt over the dinner table, knocking over the candles, drinks and silverware. He landed directly on top of Dylan and started pulling his badly colored hair out and scratching his face up just like he learned from his girl, Sho’nuff-Diamante, back in Metropolis. Corey stood over the two boys, pouring candle wax on his nipples and masturbating through the hole in his trousers, which apparently didn’t serve as a pocket.

When all was said and done, a team of waiters, specifically trained in gay combat, had separated Twinky from the lifeless body and discarded the corpse over the starboard railing. Dylan’s ID had proven that he wasn’t even a legal passenger aboard the ship and therefore was not anyone’s problem and Twinky was exonerated from all charges.

Unfortunately, date number two didn’t go as well as Twinky had hoped and Corey had stopped bothering him after he refused to have a three-way with one of the G-S.W.A.T. guys in the lobby fountain. But the tide is always changing in the life of a gay. When the cruise returned to Metropolis, Twinky disembarked, sad to think that the site that had brought him such wonder and awe had now disappointed him. But, the mood quickly turned around as Twinky passed one of his favorite bars, Hole, on his way back to his apartment. Tonight, hole was having an End-Of-Summer party sponsored by some website called Manhunt.net.

“Manhunt.net? That sounds ridiculous. I am sooo over all that internet dating shit anyway.” Twinky continued on his way home but one block later said to himself, “Well, it’s not like I’m doing anything tonight…”



to be continued…

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