This is the story of Dan the Man, which is how I now refer to my hot-looking across-the-backyard-fence neighbor, after he recently taught me a hard lesson about power, politics, and most importantly, about myself. Of course I could have learned the same lesson from P. T. Barnum ("Theres a sucker born every minute") if only Id followed my brain instead of my dick.
Until I crossed Dan, I considered myself politically and socially savvy and thought I really had my _s_h_i_t_ together. At 46 Im handsome, in good physical shape, own a pleasing little home in a quiet, tree lined neighborhood of our little college town, I manage a small private book store, and I have been quite active in my local Democratic party chapter, especially since Shrub stole the 2000 election. The only thing I felt that was missing was having a boyfriend, since my partner of the last 6 years and I broke up over a year ago. Maybe if Id had somebody of my own when I got mixed up with Dan, I might not have been so vulnerable to his good looks and hard, controlling manner. As it happened, however, Dan caught my eye, aroused my dick, and stimulated my imagination.
Being his backyard neighbor, I mostly catch glimpses of him when hes on the roof trimming tree branches or cleaning gutters, or by busying myself with some yard task that places me at just the right angle to see through the alternating slats of my privacy fence so I can watch him mow his lawn wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts and a baseball cap emblazoned with the local university team logo. But the absolute best way to watch Dan is to catch him out front in his driveway dribbling balls and shooting baskets a couple times every day. To do that, I have to either nonchalantly drive my car by his house (which he notices and smirks at) or stand on my bed and watch him through my window and through the window of his garage backdoor (which I cant be sure if he notices or not). Im convinced the basket shooting is what keeps his abs so flat and rock-solid looking.
A guy in his forties who lives alone, has never been married, and is seen more often in a pick up game among hot, sweaty, teenage neighbor boys than in the presence of some exceedingly rare and always short-lived female dates, tends to give a horny single gay man ideas about him, especially if hes always freely displaying his treasure-trail-bisected washboard stomach, tight pecs crowned by a pair of dark, hard little nipples with a mat of brown chesthair stretched between them.
While too gutless to engage him in neighborly conversation, Id gleaned the suspicious marital status info from Dan a few months earlier when Id interviewed him in his doorway while working part time for the local special census. I had clearly interrupted nothing but an evening in his armchair in front of sports TV, and he offered for me to come inside, but my shaking knees and stirring _c_o_c_k_ scared me into hiding behind the official procedural excuse of the census to decline. I thought I saw a little smirk cross his face. To think that if Id only had some balls, I could have been drinking a bottle of his cold beer and relaxing with him in his living room while getting a much fuller picture of Dans working class mid-American manhood. But all I could handle at the time was to stand there on his front porch and record in my booklet his short, direct, and almost defiant-sounding answers while practically melting under the gaze of his steely grey eyes. Through wishful thinking Id thought Id gotten Dans number that day, but in fact it was my sly, handsome neighbor who had assessed ME more accurately that evening without needing to ask a single question.
Last week a fresh and freckle-faced red-haired and kid from MoveAlong. org came to my door while making the rounds of the neighborhood, checking to see If I was registered to vote. I happily assured him that not only was I registered, but that I was going to vote for the guy who is going to sweep the bloodthirsty lying frat boy out of the Whitehouse. He laughed and went on to the next house. About a half hour later I saw him running up the street with a totally red face and possibly even tears streaming down his face. His progress was swift but he seemed to be moving awkwardly as though in some physical pain. What the _f_u_c_k_ happened to him, I wondered, and then I thought: oh-oh. Ill bet hes just come from a run in with Dan.
You see, for all Dans hot looks and sports friendliness and taxpaying citizen status, he happens to be one of the fiercest defender of right wing politics that Ive ever met. Aside from snubbing all gay community activites (which in his defense, COULD suggest that hes straight—NOT!) Dans reactionary stances have been front and center. There are the multiple Republican political stickers he displays in his windows and car bumpers, there are the times Ive actually heard him blasting Gush Lameballs radio broadcast out into his yard while working, but most obnoxiously have been his seething letters to the editor of the local paper as well as his tireless support of right wing candidates in local races. Lucky for the rest of us, Dans candidates rarely win in this liberal county, but only last fall one of his chosen fellows, a certain George Thompson, NEARLY defeated a popular incumbent on the supervisors board, Doug Cramer. Judging from the gatherings he held at his place, and the variety of media exchanges I heard of an read, I think Dans own efforts were largely responsible for this close call.
Personally I think its kind of sad, because I dont understand what a low income, ordinary guy like him has to gain from the Republican agenda. And what can he possible feel he has in common with a blowhard loser like Limbaugh? Dans an ideological dupe, if you ask me. The tax cuts and capital gains stuff and just about all the rest are geared towards people who make ten times the money that Dan and I do. But I admire his ferocity and his tenacity and his ability to forcefully defend his position—thats all very _s_e_x_y, if nothing else. I just wish he held a position I could respect.
He sneers at my 'Carrie for Prez' window sign, which is fair I guess, because I grimace every time his car rounds the corner with that _d_a_m_n_ed bumper sticker supporting 'Butch' and 'Chumley', the two slimiest fat cat killer oilmen that ever held public office. Besides, the Republican party is homophobic, and I was convinced even before I eventually found out the truth, that Dan liked dick better than pussy.
So how can a guy enjoy _c_o_c_k_ and spout right wing politics? Heres what I (fairly accurately) guessed MUST be Dans philosophy: A man can get all the dick he wants to without asking for special rights or flaunting his _s_e_x_uality to the general public. But real men should also always be decent citizens and should support the status quo by only very discreetly getting together in designated places—like the local cruising bookstore—for _s_e_x_ when they need it. So man-_s_e_x_ should only be a secret, manly predator sport, is what it boils down to, not a constitutionally protected liberty.
All Dan has to do is show up at the man to man cruising bookstore in his typical at home wardrobe: baseball cap, tight white t-shirt and his military fatigue pants and black boots and lean against a wall for a few minutes, scanning the room with those grey eyes, before he can choose among the dozens of cruising adult men hell attract, and who hell let suck him off in one of the closed booths. Its a perfect system for a red blooded American male who happens to like _c_o_c_k_, but it only works so well for him because hes a studly, flat abdominal universal porn fantasy come true.
If, say, Dan ever developed too big of a beer gut sitting in front of that constant TV, or even an ass the size of mine, he might feel more tempted to make passes at some of those teenage dudes who play Horse with him in his driveway. But as it is, sublimating your lust is easier when you know that after the pick up game you can drive to the bookstore and get blown by three guys in one hour if you want.
Still, it must take discipline and self control for Dan to limit to basketball only all of his play with those hunky, sweaty teens in his driveway. I find something very _s_e_x_y about this self-deprivation, and I suppose the _s_e_x_iness even kind of extends to the social political self-deprivation. Id like to think it comes from some kind of secular system of honor and isnt just following some lame religious prohibition. What ever it is, it underscores his steely-grey eyed hardness and suggests the coiled swift praying behavior of a rattlesnake or a hawk in perfect human RESTRAINT. In other words, hes a real man, and Im a sucker for them.
Regarding the MoveAlong. org kid, however, I was thinking this: that ordinary conservative types might have just slammed the door in this young kids face, but Dan would have first invited him inside all nice and friendly and then let him have it with something big and unexpected, like a barrage of pro-Administration propaganda and right wing pundit wisdom, or maybe a REALLY dirty surprise move of some kind. You see, with Dan, everything is a sport or a competition, and he will scrimmage with you and block you or guard the basket from you. And though hes only about 58" and slight in stature, Ive seen him outfox several of these tall, lanky black kids who live around here and come by to shoot baskets. Watching this rattled, staggering kid disappear in the distance, though, gave me kind of a strange thrill. It appeared that whatever Dan must have done to him to drive home his point might have caused a ref to blow his whistle for a foul move. I found myself getting aroused and speculating what exactly that move might have been.
Well, lo and behold, but a few seconds later and I can hear the familiar slap, slap and whoosh of Dan out in his driveway shooting baskets. He tends to do it right after coming home after a hard day at work, or perhaps, I wondered, right after the hard work fixing some little pinko kids little red wagon in some devious way. I made up my mind suddenly that someone needed to confront Dan and defend the rights of that poor kid, and so off I stomped around the block to face him like the peace and justice liberal I prided myself on being. I glowed with expectation as I strode around two corners of the streets, and I believe to this day that my plan might have worked—if only Id been thinking deep down more about successful non-violent confrontation than alternating images in my head of briefs or boxers underneath Dans fatigue pants.
End of part 1
MMSA Stories readers: really, you need to HOUND me with email to get me to finish these stories! Thanks.