Lingo Slinger

He told me that all my sculptures were phallic, and that I had a fascination with penises. I think it was not so much that my sculptures were phallic, but that he wanted to get it on with them and fulfill his deep rooted & unexplored homosexual desires that he had quite obviously repressed.

Him and I often butted heads, but we respected each other and had this weird love hate relationship that often exploded into extreme insults followed by intense laughter. I was always telling him to go find a boy-toy to shag the living daylights out of, and he was always telling me that I was the one who needed to get laid and that my art was living proof of that. We agreed to disagree.

One afternoon I was working in the studio on a painting that I had conceptualized in a dream. I didn’t quite know how it would turn out, but the champagne and pot was helping (or so I thought). One thing I knew is that this painting wasn’t phallic… There wasn’t anything that could be even abstractly related to a penis. I was curious as to what he would say about it and rushed to finish it.

By about 4 o-clock, I wondered if he was even going to show, usually he came in at 2 every day. Not that artists are particularly good with time, but that was when I thought he would arrive because he liked to ease into his day slowly, as many creative folks do. He didn’t own an alarm clock or a watch, and always did things at his own pace and when he felt ready. I really admired that about him. I looked at the clock and sighed, disappointed that he wasn’t there… I really wanted to show him my painting.

At 7 o-clock I shut out the lights and put my jacket on to catch the subway home. I knew he wasn’t gonna come. I was sort of hazy from the half-bottle of champagne and two joints I had smoked, so it was probably for the best. As I walked down the stairs to the street, a frightening thought occurred to me and I gasped;

“Am I attracted to gay men?”

“Is this some sick distorted little challenge for myself?” I wondered…

“But wait… he hasn’t actually admitted to being gay yet… but who am I kidding, I know he is. Maybe I’m attracted to him because a part of me hopes that he’s not gay.”

I analyzed every shape and angle of these disturbing thoughts as I wandered the street in my hazy cannabis induced glaze smoking a Cohiba cigar and getting dirty looks from passers by on the sidewalk.

The following day I showed up late to the studio. I had stupidly continued my drinking the night prior when I got home, only not with champagne, but with an assortment of different bevvies, including Tequila. I felt like hell amplified to the power of ten. I squinted my eyes mercilessly to try to focus on my painting. It didn’t help that I used a lot of curvy lines and bold colours. My own painting was making me want to hurl.

Suddenly the door to the studio swung open and he shrieked;

“OH MY GOD… You’ve jumped the fence!”

“Pardon?”

“If you can’t see it honey, I don’t even know what to say.” He points “does that not just scream VULVA to you?”

I looked at my painting and then shot him a dagger glare.

“It’s based on a dream I had for your information! A dream that doesn’t involve sex or penises”.

“Just giant inviting vulvas” he said
I slumped down against the brick wall with my paintbrush in one hand, and my middle finger held high in the air with the other.

“You really are fascinated with sex aren’t you” I said

“ME??? You’re the one painting and sculpting it honey. I just paint portraits.”

“You know what… Fuck this, you’re trying to make this about me, when really it’s about you. Are you gay Darin? Just gimme a straight answer (no pun intended)!”

He stared at me sarcastically in uncharacteristic silence. No witty retort, no flaming insult, and no 3rd degree burn. He simply stared at me… and said nothing.

I stood to my feet and walked slowly towards him. I dropped my paintbrush, grabbed his face and kissed him slowly. His lips were soft and reluctant, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. I opened my eyes after a nice kiss, and withdrew my lips.

“How was that?” I whispered

He was still speechless and in shock, and we both stood there in an uncomfortable moment of awkward silence, until he finally said;

“HORRIBLE”…. “Unless, maybe you had a penis and a five o-clock shadow… then it probably would have been really nice.”

I widened my eyes in disbelief and broke out laughing. We both laughed until it hurt and hugged each other tightly.

“I love you” I whispered in his ear.

“I know… I love you too” he said back.