Err...show of hands: how many of YOU have Fruit of the Looms like this?
So, I'm staring at my new roommate's underwear - tiny, trendy things that only look good on Abercrombie & Fitch models (or meth users). And yes, I know, that just sounded creepy, but I should probably explain that I wasn't going "through" his skivvies...rather, I was taking his clothes out of the dryer so I could dry my own. Nothing perverted about it. Just doing laundry.
Bud Cort...then & now. Sam - my new roommate - is a 20 year old gay guy, a youth who's just moved out of his parents' house, and is staring at the world with eyes as wide as saucers. He's so young that I'd already been hitting the bars for three years before he was even born, and his life is still full of excitement & hope - something I'm fighting to regain as I pull The Casual Cafe out of my head. Sam wants to be an actor of course, and he's interning with one of the big Chicago theaters. I'm careful not to shit on his dreams, but over the last 20 years, I've known many actor/interns who've had much higher hopes than him. A few made it to L.A., and one - a drag queen named "December Heat" - even made it to the Jenny Jones Show...but most succumbed to the Chicago gay scene, a rainbow-colored black hole whose epicenter is the corner of Halsted & Belmont. Sidetracks, Roscoes, The Cell Block...the Boys Town bars are like concentration camp barracks. The buildings look the same as when I first saw them, but generations of occupants have long since passed away. But hey, as we all learned from Bud Cort, if you're lucky enough to be a twink, it's best to enjoy it while you can. Judging from the amount of underwear in the laundry, at least Sam is having a good time.
On the opposite end of clean underwear, Jack - my second renter - only washes clothes when his room can be smelled in the hall. Jack is 31, a recovering addict whose found solace in God, and one of the dirtiest gay men I've ever encountered. Jack's room is the set of Sanford and Son, a cluttered dumpster with a layer of dirty clothes, crumpled candy wrappers, and icky wadded Kleenex on the carpet that's as thick as rain forest mulch. In the year that he's lived with me, I've only seen Jack do laundry three times - and most of the loads were underwear. As a compulsively clean gay man, I have no idea how Jack lives like that. At last count, I have 165 shirts in my closet - but I still find it necessary to wash clothes 3-4 times a week. I proudly keep my downstairs laundry as clean as rooms upstairs. I love it when visitors catch a whiff if my of basement, and worriedly ask, "Forgive me, but is that gas I smell?"
"No," I chuckle, pointing to the folded clothes in baskets. "It's bleach. I just use that much."
"No," I chuckle, pointing to the folded clothes in baskets. "It's bleach. I just use that much."
The actual photo was too gross to use. That being said, in the spirit of compulsive-cleanliness, you can imagine how I felt when I came downstairs last week and found a load of Jack's dirty skivvies on the floor, sitting in front of the washing machine. Jack has no use for hampers, so leaving a pile of dirty clothes in front of the washer (while my own load finished its cycle) wasn't completely unexpected. But what caught my attention was the T-shirt on top of all the underwear. It was dark green cotton, with a white "marbleized" pattern that twinkled slightly beneath the basement's compact fluorescents. "T-shirts aren't supposed to shine," I thought, so I looked a little closer. Jack's shirt was covered in CUM. And not just a "little bit" of cum, like Jack rubbed one off and grabbed the nearest receptacle. It was literally drenched in dried semen, as though he'd been using it for a solid six months without washing. The shirt was...disgusting.
And it made me think of Sam, and how much he might be masturbating. I mean, both of my roommates had washed loads of clothes that were predominantly underwear...might it be possible that the REASON they had to change skivvies so often was the amount of action that Sam & Jack needed to change their banana slings so often?
"Did I ever have that much action?" I thought, trying to remember the 90s...
And it made me think of Sam, and how much he might be masturbating. I mean, both of my roommates had washed loads of clothes that were predominantly underwear...might it be possible that the REASON they had to change skivvies so often was the amount of action that Sam & Jack needed to change their banana slings so often?
"Did I ever have that much action?" I thought, trying to remember the 90s...
You know, as a 45-year-old gay man, I change my underwear - and wash my clothes - as often as the next guy. If anything, I'm far more concerned about clean clothes (rather than clean skivvies), because at 45, more gentlemen will see my jeans than they will my BVDs. The late Joan Rivers used to say: "At my age, the best I can do is to look neat and clean." Granted, I'm not quite in my early-80s yet, but when it comes to my forties - and battling hair loss, weight gain, and general middle-age melancholy - I feel like a "wise old owl" when it comes to my younger roommates. And despite the amount of underwear in the wash, I'm far more concerned that it gets dried, folded, and put away...before I have to bitch.
On a personal note, sorry about writing a blog about underwear & cum: My life, welcome to it :)
On a personal note, sorry about writing a blog about underwear & cum: My life, welcome to it :)