Scrambled Hard-Boiled

I had hit the proverbial “private eye” home run. I’d managed to enter a mark’s motel room, snap multiple pictures of him in a very compromising position and, most importantly, managed to do it without anyone being the wiser. Both these guys were oblivious to me, enthralled in the passion of “manly” love. All I had to do was quietly shut the door, return the passkey, get in my car and leave. Whippy would have never had a clue as to what I’d accomplished until his wife’s lawyer laid out the pictures and demanded money.

  Unfortunately, I blew it.

  Let me state at the outset that I personally don’t give a rat’s ass as to what two or more consenting adults do in the privacy of the bedroom. Far be it from me to restrict people on how they achieve sexual gratification. In turn, however, no one has the right to change me from what I am and that is a normal, healthy heterosexual male. And let me state categorically, and without hesitation, straight men do not and cannot understand why a guy would want to pork another guy. I don’t care if the guy is Democrat or Republican, liberal or conservative, black or white, fascist or communist. If a man is straight, he cringes when confronted with queers, period. It’s part of our makeup. It's what makes us what we are, it's in our genes. We can no more stop this reaction than stop breathing. A man who tells you otherwise is either lying or gay.

  In addition, we’re on the threshold of giving a certain segment in our society preferential, protected status based solely on where this segment sticks their dicks in order to get their jollies. Think about it, folks, when and where do we draw the line? Hell, you know and I know that there are men out there who will place their schlong about anywhere.

  I remember back when I was in the Navy. It was the night before we were due to pull into Thailand after being at sea for four months, and everyone was excited. We had put our libidos on ice for a while, and this crusty Warrant Officer was wanting to get us back in fighting trim for our next day’s port call. He set up an old 8mm movie projector, and some of us gathered around to watch some porn movies and take the time out to unwind. After a few clips, the Warrant announces he has got something special and proceeds to put on another reel. He turns on the projector and in a few seconds, we see the screen announce the title of the movie, “Mr. Chickenfucker.”

  There, amidst howls of laughter and curses, I watched a grainy, black-and-white movie of a man having his way with a thrashing, obviously pissed-off chicken. By the end of the mercifully short movie, the chicken was either comatose or dead and this dude had flung it to the ground, smiling in triumph. I’m not proud to say that I watched it, but in my and my fellow shipmates defense, if you have been at sea an extended period of time, and you’re not queer, you tend to get a little weird.

  My point is this. As our population grows, there will be in our midst more and more men who are of the same sexual inclination as our fowl-loving friend. This is a statistical certainty. Eventually, their numbers will reach what I call political critical mass, and with the help today’s modern tools of mass communication, like the internet, they will start to organize and demand that they be recognized as just one more facet in the beautiful tapestry of human sexual identities. They will say that there’s no difference between them and deer hunters, that they eat what they kill and indeed, they’re more sporting than hunters cause they don’t use firearms. Plus, chasing chickens is great cardiovascular exercise—ever see “Rocky”? Next thing you know, NOW and other fringe groups will be on their side, asking for understanding and condemning as judgmental those who object to these guys. Finally, these cretins will be asking for special constitutional protection and other such nonsense.

  Where does it end, I ask you?

  In my opinion, the only way to save civilization, as we know it, is to demand that the government and society recognize the sole legitimate and legal sanctioned sexual relationship to be that between two or more human beings—except in Tijuana, where the laws of humanity and physics don't apply—and then commit itself to a “laissez faire” policy as far as sex between adults goes. After all, if two beautiful women want to engage in hot, passionate lesbo sex, preferably with toys, and let me watch and later join in, it’s none of the society’s or the government’s business. I don’t think it's anyone’s right to make others like or approve it. This is just the way we humans are made and you can’t change it.

  Which is how I explain what I did next in that motel room so many years ago.

  I wasn’t yet the sophisticated, socially mature private detective whose talents are now in demand from coast to coast. I was still a little rough around the edges and a bit green with the ways of the world. So when I saw this fat little man having his rear end partied on by a service station attendant, I was unprepared and unable to master my natural, normal heterosexual male reaction.

  I just stood there in the doorway, slack-jawed, for a few seconds then blurted out, “Good Gawd Almighty! A couple of mudpackers!”

  It was a quite involuntary reaction, I assure you.