Boy Next Door

The Skanks paid me a visit over the weekend. They told me to write this entry and have not stopped harassing me about it since, so against my better judgment I am giving in. It is a good thing Gay Pride month is over, because there is a lot for me to be ashamed of.

Despite what you may have heard, I am not yet homeless. (That is not the shameful part). In fact, I have lived in the same place for several years. (That is also not the shameful part.) The area is not considered the nice part of town (how could it be when I live there?) but the homeowners, renters, Poors and Destitutes who frequent the area coexist, and although there is sometimes loud drama from drug addicts and those frequenting the nearby soup kitchen, I do not consider it overly unsafe.

On my street I have some neighbors, and this is where the trouble begins. The place where I rent a room is beside a multi-unit dwelling fronted by a barber shop. Several of the apartment dwellers have lived there for years, and in particular one burly, bald, middle-aged goateed fellow lives on the second floor walkup. Sure enough, he has caught my eye for years, and thus the shame begins.

I do not know much about him. I believe I know his name, and he has a job that has some strange hours — he leaves at one or two in the morning, returns in the afternoon or evening, and then (I guess) sleeps the rest of the day until he has to work again. I rarely see him. Sometimes if I am sitting on the front porch at one or two in the morning I will see him leave for work. (I will neither confirm nor deny deliberately sitting on the front porch at one or two in the morning for lecherous purposes.) During the seventeen months of winter Lurkville suffers each year, I sometimes see him shovelling snow when I am shovelling snow. Once or twice we have said hello to each other. (I will neither confirm nor deny subsequently requiring long showers to purge my mind of unclean thoughts.) Once or twice he has worn a sleeveless shirt, and I saw that he has a tattoo on his shoulder — I think it is a depiction of a playing card. He used to drive a tiny Smartcar to work, but I guess it broke down because now he drives a small SUV. Some time ago I saw a small teddy bear sitting on his dashboard. The teddy bear was clad in a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, confirming that he is unambiguously straight.

Mostly I am embarrassed at sneaking lecherous glances at my neighbor, but really I should feel a lot more shame. The Bible’s position on this is clear, as  both Exodus 20:17 and Deuteronomy 5:21 illustrate (emphasis mine):

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour’s.

But even from a secular perspective, my dissolute behavior is an abomination. I know hardly anything about my poor neighbor and yet I objectify him, thus contributing to rape culture. Straight men are fearful to walk outside alone because of people like me.

Some might argue that straight men harbor similar fantasies about “the girl next door,” and although that is unfortunate (and often goes too far into outright harassment), I suppose that in a society without arranged marriages some of this behavior must be tolerated if we are to propagate the species. But I have no such excuse. Honestly I am like the dog that chases cars; I would have no idea what to do if I caught one.

At this point some of the bad influences in my comments section might encourage me to “strike up a conversation” or “get to know him better” or other such predatory behavior. While couched in platonic language (“you can just be friends”) I am as aware of the tropes from educational videos and fantasy stories as the rest of you. It is important to note that such tropes are fictional, not real life. There is some valid criticism that despite living here for years I do not know my neighbors, but such efforts at community building should be engaged with a pure heart.

In addition to my neighbor being straight and completely uninterested in my existence (I am a Poor, after all), he also is not around much any more. For much of the week his SUV is absent from the driveway, suggesting that he has a different place to spend the evenings. Maybe he has a place to crash closer to his work, or maybe he has found a girlfriend and stays at her place during the week. I would like to think so, anyways. It seems that he has a difficult life even without people like me creeping on him, and I would like him to be well.

There, Skanks. Satisfied now?

18 thoughts on “Boy Next Door

  1. I am overjoyed to see that virtue and clean living have overcome the vile desires of the flesh – or more particularly his flesh – and that you are keeping to the paths of the godly!


    1. It is not so easy to keep to the path of the godly when there are pictures of Patrick Stewart with his shirt buttons undone floating about on the Internet.


  2. Ok, so sitting on the porch at one in the morning? BY CHANCE??
    Also, that’s not the ass they’re referring to in the old book wrote for peasants, dear. AND you are not coveting your neighbor’s WIFE. You’re good.
    And a teddy bear in the car? He’s as gay as the day is long. He’s probably spending all those nights in some backroom nearby.
    Your xtian duty is to relieve him of those trips and offer relief right there, in his backyard. It’s the least you can do. Xtian charity starts at home, after all…



    1. No, not by chance. Following seventeen months of w*nter, we immediately launch into “humid and sticky” season. Other than the mosquitoes, the front porch is an appropriate place to take refuge (particularly for us Poors who do not have air conditioning).

      Have I mentioned that there are bad influences in my commments section? Your plan won’t work because his multi-unit dwelling doesn’t have a backyard.


  3. If he doesn’t wanna be coveted and ogled, then he shouldn’t leave the house. Who does he think he is, taunting you like that and then ignoring you? As far as I’m concerned he owes you. Perhaps write him a congenial note on a pair of undies and leave it in his mailbox with a heart shaped cake and a new outfit for his teddy bear. Maybe rollerskate by his house three or four times a day singing “let’s give ’em something to talk about,” perhaps while holding a leather scented candle. If all else fails, waiting until he is leaving his apartment again, then quickly run out of your abode give a loud yell and fall to the ground holding your breath. Maybe you’ll be lucky and he’ll give you CPR and mouth mouth – it’s all downhill from there.

    Of course this is all said “tongue-in-cheek”, which, how do you think of it, may just give you more naughty thoughts in your head. Oh, well.


    1. Leather scented candles?! Have I mentioned there are bad influences in my comments section?

      The CPR plan does not sound like a plausible idea. It would make him late for work.


    1. You may have been watching too many educational videos and/or fantasy stories. There are lots of goateed, balding, burly, motorcycle guys who are Trump supporters and receive Herman Cain awards.


    1. Have I mentioned that there are bad influences in my comments section? The tattoo idea is plausible, but that would require me admitting that I was ogling him in his sleeveless shirt. Also, I don’t think I am in the market for either a fair lady or lad.

      Now I have to investigate your blog to see whether you told us the story of your tattoos. Thank goodness you have a fairly organized tagging system.


  4. Oh yes, as you will find in your search, I told the stories behind my two tattoos in EXHAUSTIVE, PICAYUNE DETAIL. More than anybody in their right mind would want to know, in fact. But hey, my blog, my stories, it’s all about ME, ME, ME!


    1. You didn’t answer ALL the questions. I still don’t understand why you got Xena’s throwing chakram when you didn’t even like the TV series?


  5. #1 – I love your sense of humor, and your prose
    #2 – The Skanks did a fine job. Next time have over The Fates, they may help out with the neighbor.


    1. #1 – Sense of humor? You may have me confused with some other blogger.

      #2 – Sadly, I do not get to choose which members of the League of Archetypal Women pay me a visit. They arrive and depart of their own volition.


  6. I objectify almost all the guys I see in London wearing tight shorts. I have learnt to get over my guilt and accept my shallowness. The world did not end, in fact it is a better place.
    JP x


Comments are closed.