So…over the past goddamn four years I wrote a book. I wrote it for three reasons: 1. It was nanowrimo month, and I needed a creative outlet.
2. I had just read 50 Shades of Insane Narcissistic Abuse (Grey), and I was pissed as hell about the depictions of kink and sex and just about everything.
3. I had also read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I liked that a whole lot better, but I decided if I ever wrote a book the kickass lesbians would not get their ass handed to them.
So I wrote this book: Cheeky Tiki Bang Gang: the Case of the Creepy Christian Camp. It’s the story of a group of sexual vigilantes who represent many (but by no means all!) different orientations and approaches to sexuality. They rescue gay and transgendered teens from the homes of abusive evangelical Christians. They are code-named after Gilligan’s Island characters because I always wanted to see Ginger and Mary Ann declare their true love to each other and get it on: didn’t you? Well, if you’re old enough to get that reference. They are funded by someone who tries to make sex-positive porn. They are the new Harriet Tubmans. The book is filled with Orange is the New Black type backstories to give the characters some depth and explore how we come to be the people we are, and the following is a story, that was actually true and borrowed from a friend of mine, with permission. It is the backstory of Mr Howell, the money bags of the operations, an I hope you enjoy it. And after you have enjoyed it, I hope you go to Gofundme.com/cherryterror and pre-order your copy, your ticket to the book launch, and maybe even provide a little more support so I can get this out there.
Chapter 6: Mr. Howell’s Story
Why have I become who I became? Good question. Not an easy question, but let me give it a whirl.My father wanted to know when I was 16 or so why I wasn’t a lady-killer. He felt Ishould be “out there,” as he put it, swinging my giant cock around. And I wanted to, God Iwanted to, but I had no “game,” as they call it now. And no money, which didn’t help. My dadhad money—but he was cheap, oh, that man was cheap. We had some money, and he drove anice car, but he was a Greek immigrant, and some of these immigrant dads think you work harderif you never have money of your own. In 1975, I was getting a $3-a-week allowance, at the age of16. And, mind you, I was working my tail off for it. We owned apartment buildings, rental property. Basically, my father was just a notch above a slumlord. I was installing things I had nobusiness installing, taking care of all the wiring and plumbing for the apartments. I was illegallydoing all kinds of things I wasn’t trained to do properly, and getting paid a quarter an hour to do them.
Anyway, we would go around about it: Why no girls? Why no girls? And I would tell himbecause I had no money. And he would make this noise, this incredible, snorting harrumph andsay, “If the girls want you, you don’t need money.” And I would say, okay, but they DON’T want me so I DO need money.
So one day he tells me, “Get in the car. Get in the car. I was about 16 and a half. He hadbeen asking me around that time if I was gay, was I gay, was I gay? Half teasing, half scared—Idon’t know why he was so afraid of it. Anyway, asking when I would get a girl, and so forth. So Iget in the car, and I ask, okay, where are we going? Come on, tell me. And he says, Reno. Andwe had never taken any kind of father-son trip before. My dad’s idea of a father-son activity was fixing a toilet. So I naturally ask, why are we going to Reno? I’m too young to gamble. I’m too young to drink. Tell me what’s up.
He wouldn’t tell me. He just tells me to shut up and wait till we get there. So I just say,all right then; time for a nap. I fall asleep, and we drive to Reno. We were living in Sacramento atthe time, so it wasn’t too long a drive, and we pull up at this place, and I wake up and we get out,and I say, this isn’t Reno. I had never been to Reno, but Reno is a city, I knew that much. This is a weird place out in the country, with a big, pink door. And we go in this door, and there’s a bar to one side. My dad goes over to the bartender, and this was still the ’70s, so kids were in bars all the time and no one cared. My father used to take me to bars and have them give me a Rob Roy when I was 5.
So my father said, “Give my son here a Coke.” And he turned to me and he says, I have to go talk to someone. You stay here. And I STILL don’t get it. I look around, and there are maybe a handful of old codgers smoking away and drinking at the bar, and behind the bar there are pictures, like places have pictures of celebrities. The pictures are all autographed, except they’re all women, and I’ve never heard of any of them. There are pictures of Sandy and April and Bambi, and they all have little hearts over the i’s, and they all are wearing bikinis and little flirty dresses—and I still didn’t get it.
And then my dad comes back and he grabs me by the arm. He pulls me along this hallway that smells like cheap perfume and sweat and says, “Here, have a good time, don’t say I never gave you nothing,” and he shoves me in this room, and there are two women in there. Two!
I had no idea what to do with one! But that’s Greek pride for you. My son—he gets two!
Anyway, that is when it sinks in. Then I get it. Not before. I almost piss myself; I want to run right away except I know my dad’s out there and God knows what he’s going to say if I reappear right away. And I have my own Greek pride.
So I just stand there, and they stand there. There was a blonde and one who looked Latina, caramel skin and big doe eyes. She’s cute, and that makes it even worse. Then she smiles at me, not a sexy smile but…impish. She winks at me, and I relax just a little. Then she goes to the door and throws it open—and there’s my dad. Standing there eavesdropping. And she says, “You don’t have to worry, Papi. We will take such good care of him. Why don’t you go get a girl for yourself?”
And my dad looks really embarrassed and says, “No, no, I’m married…okay…I’ll go wait in the bar. You take your time, okay?”
He looks at me, and I give him this embarrassed nod, so he leaves. When he’s good and gone—and they leave the door open for a long minute to make sure he is—they come back and close the door. And they turn to me, and they are sexy; did I mention that? They were wearing little short peignoirs—there’s a word I didn’t know then—and the blonde was wearing pink and the Latin girl with dark hair and eyes and wearing blue. I can picture them clear as day even now.
And the white one says, ‘I’m Barbie and this is Rita, and we’re not going to have sex with you,okay? So just sit down and relax.”
I was so relieved, I stumbled over to a chair and just collapsed into it. Then I thought about my father, and it’s like they could read it on my face. So Rita says, “Don’t worry. We’ll tell your dad whatever you want us to, so you relax. Let’s just get comfortable and talk.”
They were great women; they really were. They talked to me for a long time. They poured me a glass of champagne and told me they would tell my dad that I did him proud and refuse to say another word about it. So we talked. They asked me why my dad brought me here and I told them I was shy with girls. And they asked why that was, when I was so good- looking—you know, they were so kind to me. They saw I was a terrified 16-year-old and they knew the best way to make him a man wasn’t to terrify him or shame him.
And God, the questions they asked me. They asked me if I liked girls, okay, yes, yes, I like girls. And they said, which one of us do you like better? And I was shy and wouldn’t say—they were both really cute, but the Latin one was a little younger and had this truly amazing butt, and big brown eyes. The blonde, Barbie—she had big blue eyes and was trying to look like a Barbie doll and that’s never done much for me. She looked like what the stuck-up girls at my school were going to look like in ten years. But Barbie saw where my eyes went when she asked and said, honey, to each his own you know? Plenty of guys love the way I look. I’m not upset ifyou like her…I like her too.” And she hugged Rita and kissed her cheek, and the way she did it made the first little spark of lust go through me.
Rita came over and sat by me. They told me some things about how to kiss girls and how to touch them and what girls like. They asked me what I liked, and teased me sweetly, and got me talking. I told them what I fantasized about—things I never told anyone before and wouldn’t tell anyone else for years. I told them that sometimes I fantasized about tying a girl up and then licking her pussy, that sometimes I fantasized about having two girl slaves that I would make kiss each other. They asked me if I wanted to watch them kiss and I said, of course! So they did. I satthere with my head swimming thinking that later I was going to jerk off so hard to tis. It’s funny how I knew they would let me masturbate right there and then—but no. I couldn’t do that.
But it was just so easy: they asked if I wanted to see them kiss and then they did, and they seemed to like it. I think they honestly did like it.
After a long time of talking to me, finding out what I liked, they gave me some advice. They said, “Well, we have to tell you, we think you’re going to be a little, um, unusual.”
“Like a really horny little freak!” laughed Rita.
“I would not have put it that way,” Barbie said, glaring at her a little bit. “But yeah. So it’s really important that you, you know, take the time to find girls out there who are adventurous themselves. There are girls out there who like to be spanked and tied up and do, well, all kinds of things.”
“Girls like you!” Rita laughed.
Barbie smiled a naughty smile, and she suddenly seemed a lot sexier to me. But she kept talking. “So don’t let the wrong girl tell you that what you want is wrong, because there are girls who will tell you that. But you have to remember that the only way sex can be fun is if you bewho you are, do the things that turn you on. Do you understand?”
I did. I really did. So they each gave me a big, long kiss and messed my hair up and took my glasses off and fogged them up, and marched me back to my dad and told him that he had a big lusty straight son to be proud of. My dad slapped me on the back and paid them, and that was that.
Want to know more about how this boy grows up and becomes the moneybags behind a gay underground railroad? Pre-order the book at Gofundme.com/cherryterror.