YOU'RE WRONG
An Irregular Column
by Mykel Board
It's been a long time since my balls last saw sunlight. I'm 6 months old. Mom is changing me on the big redwood picnic table in the back yard. I piss. Sssssss. Right in mom's face. She squints, makes a face as the baby urine drips from her cheeks. I giggle.
"You little squirt!" yells mom. "I curse you. Here is my curse: Your balls will not see sunlight again until you find yourself on a nude beach on a tiny island in the middle of the French Caribbean."
Fifty years later, her curse finally runs its course.
I'm in Guadeloupe... on a tiny island in the French Caribbean. I've come to practice my French, meet the locals, and have adventures. Except for the French part, that's why I travel in general.
Evidently my language ability isn't very good. I walk into a store and ask the hefty Negress behind the cash register.
"Ou est l'eau boch‚?" I ask.
"I sorry," says the woman, "I no speak English."
As in most countries, the girls here are far better-looking than the boys-- and much less available. [Exceptions: Denmark and Japan where the boys are better-looking, Thailand where all genders are equally beautiful and England, where all genders are equally ugly.] The boys are too big, too many muscles with too hard faces. The girls are thin, with sculpted jaws and narrow hips. As in many places, they stay that way until they get married. Then they expand.
Guadeloupe itself is an archipelago. There are two main islands and a bunch of surrounders. One of the main islands, Basse Terre, is mountainous, with a volcano and a rainforest in the middle. The other, Grande Terre, is flatter with scores of little beaches, each with its own color sand.
The islands have a long and checkered history. Originally populated by the Arawak Indians, an invasion of fiercer Carribs nearly exterminated them. Then, the Columbus crew conquered The Caribs for Spain.
Then, the French conquered the Spanish. They also imported African slaves. Somehow a bunch of Indians (turban, not feather) wound up here. They set up a small Hindu community and mixed with the locals.
You can be any color and still be a Guadeloupen, though where I am, most of the natives are black.
In 1998, the archipelago is a prefecture of France. The islanders are citizens of France and participate in French elections. The money and stamps are French. It's the same as the relationship between Hawaii and mainland U.S.-- only with fewer Japanese.
The biggest industry is sugar cane. From that, they make sugar and rum. The natives consume both in large quantities. This lead to a high number of hyperactive drunks. The second industry is tourism, being a convenient place for French tourists from the mainland to get sun and sand without leaving the country. The tourists come mainly for the beaches.
One of those beaches, Anse Tarare, is a "plage naturiste," a nudist beach. It's in a little cove, with sand-colored sand and palm trees.
I'm on the beach now. First, I hitchhiked to a little gravel road. Then, I had to walk down the side of a mountain. Approaching, the colors jump out at you. The beige sand, the black, white and tanned naked bodies, the crispy redness of those who've been in the sun too long.
I'm dressed in black levis, a black SHLONG t-shirt, sneakers (Converse, of course), my fedora and very dark sunglasses. I walk down to the crowd and pick my way from one end of the beach to the other. The people are slightly less than two thirds French tourists or white islanders, and slightly less than a third Negro islanders. The rest are Asian islanders.
[Note for the linguistically challenged: I'm not using "Asian" as a fashion word for "Oriental." I saw three Orientals during my entire two weeks on the island. When I say Asian, I mean Asian. Indian-type people with dark skin and occidental features.]
Most are naked with the occidentals more likely to be naked than the Negroes. The Asians least likely of all.
The far end of the beach seems to be the homo center. I'm guessing by the cockrings and guys kissing each other. It's the only sign of sex, so I head for that end.
Once there, I spread out my "Guadeloupe Souvenir Towel," take off my clothes, put on my fedora and darkest sunglasses. I need to keep my head covered to prevent sunburn and sunstroke. I need to keep my eyes covered, to watch people without them knowing it.
With my clothes off, I'm not proud of my prawn and two grapes, especially in front of all these Negroes. [Note: somewhere there are Negroes with small penises. They rank among the world's greatest tragedies. All the disadvantages without the advantages. Like being a dumb Jew or an Oriental poor in math and science.]
I pull out a book, flop down on my stomach and watch, feeling secure behind my fedora and dark glasses.
Some of the French guys are looking my way. I stare back through my sunglasses. They laugh and say things I can't understand. I pretend to read.
As the sun slowly sizzles my naked flesh, I decide it's time to get into the ocean and swim around a bit. Besides cooling me off, I want to see if it's possible to swim and piss at the same time. I stand and gingerly tiptoe over the hot sand to the accompaniment of snickers and "tres petit, n'est pas?" I finally make it to the water. Tiptoeing in, I gradually get used to the colder temperature. It shrivels me further.
Though I've got the urge, I find I can't swim and piss at the same time. The main problem is that I can't swim. It is, however, possible to dog-paddle and piss at the same time. Not only is it possible, it's heavenly. As good as sex. Just releasing yourself to your surroundings and having it carried away. Awesome. I thought about shitting, but figured it might float up to haunt me, and I've already suffered enough embarrassment.
Looking toward the land, I see that the view is athletic (at least on the homo end) but not physically stimulating. There is one beautiful Negress among the muscled hairy Frogs. As black as the night, her rippled belly and tight pert breasts make me want to stand up and be counted. She is clothed-- at least bathing suited. The grey-haired white man with her, drooping breasts, and legs wrinkled from too much sun, appears to be her pere d'sucre. He is naked.
Once I cool off and empty my bladder, I leave the water and retreat to my blanket. Standing nearby is a slim good-looking young Negro whose salient feature would reach his knees if it weren't sticking straight out in front of him. This eases my mind, a bit. Besides my embarrassing spacial deficiency, I've always had two objections to nudism.
First, I thought that all that nudity would desexualize the body. If you're used to seeing naked people all the time, then nudity is no longer sexy. What a shame to loose such an enjoyable part of human interaction. The beautiful becomes mundane.
Second, from my reading, the philosophy of nudism itself is anti-sex. I've heard of innocently erected men forced to leave the premises.
"Into the ocean with you-- or take a cold shower."
Not only did naturism make the body non-sexual, it prohibited all natural sexual response. I could do without Jerry Falwell nudism, thank you.
This nearby erection, along with the cockrings and kissing on the beach, makes me feel a lot better about nudism, though it still doesn't help with my deficiency.
I'm just in the middle of these thoughts when it starts to rain. Not a drizzle. Not a misty rain. But a Caribbean rainforest deluge. Windy, driving rain. Sheets of it. Hard and fast. After having just been in the sea, I leave the beach to keep from getting wet.
When I return to New York, I post my adventures on the Usenet group "rec.nude." That's when I discover my previous fears are justified.
I post my Guadeloupen scene report. I explain how my experience helped allay my original fears about nudism. Especially my its focus on de-sexing the body.
"You make de-sexing sound like something bad," is a paraphrase of one of the answers. Then the shit hits the fan.
I wish I could quote some of the messages and let people speak for themselves. Unfortunately, the ones with the scariest ideas lack the courage to stand by those viewpoints. At least not outside the safe context of their own little usenet group.
I offer everyone the opportunity of a direct quote and an email address so they could explain themselves. "No quoting" come the replies, "and certainly no email addresses."
If you doubt my representation of their point of view, you can check yourself. Just tune into rec.nude and look for the "masturbation" thread.
In that group, people propose that anyone having sex at a nudist beach should reported to the cops. Nudist vigilantism. How wonderful it would be, they say, for a newspaper headline to read "Nudist Helps Cops Capture Public Sex Offenders."
There's a message from a Fundamentalist Christian nudist (I shit you not.) She says she's happy nude doesn't imply something as disgusting as sexual intercourse. Oy vey!
The main reason for this conservatism, however, are not any anti-sex principles. Christianity rarely has anything to do with it.
Why such a "Good German" attitude? Nudism just skirts the law, they tell me. Public sex is illegal. In order to save their own naked asses, they have to eliminate the illegal activity from the barely legal activity.
They're willing to sell others down the road, regardless of right and wrong. Imagine them nude on a white segregated beach in the U.S. south of the 50s. A Negro shows up... WHAM! Call the cops! We can't afford to risk our little niche, if we want the right to show our little niches. Put The Coloreds in jail! We'll be safe then. It'll look good in the papers.
For how many columns have I shown the flashlight of reason on the dark pit of identity politics? For how long have I yelled at those who think of themselves as "gay" or "women" or "Asian?" How many trees have been slaughtered on my recounting the evils of narrow focus, only caring about your own rights and privileges to the exclusion of everyone else.
If I were to invent an April Fools parody of identity politics, I'd make up something as absurd as orthodox nudism. I'd invent a group that defines itself by the clothes it doesn't wear. I'd invent a group that thinks of itself as liberated, yet is so cowered by the law that it turns into it's own police force. Unfortunately, life too often beats parody to the punch.
ENDNOTES:
--> Speaking of April Fools dept: A lot of folks missed the multitude of April Fools jokes in the April MRR issue. The fake "returned" columnists caught a lot of people off guard. A Dutch anarchist sent me a rant telling "Larry" that it's NOT okay to be rich.
I don't know if anyone believed my column. The one about Tim writing it for me. Obviously, that isn't true.
--> Further on the April Fools dept: I was caught myself in rec.nude. One of my antagonists posted a manifesto calling for nudist male supremacy and discrimination against homos. I was so prepared to believe it that I swallowed it, head, stem and balls. Just goes to show, we're ALL too willing to believe whatever reinforces our preconceptions.
--> Now's your chance dept: Perhaps it's the exergies of age. Maybe it's diet or not enough sleep. Maybe it's jerking off thrice a day. Who knows? But with my last visitor, I began to wilt from the bottom. Top down, no problem. Twice in a row? Yeah! But once I'm face up, that's all that's up. I tried rings (four at once!) ginseng, a carrot up the ass, the whole kit and caboodle. A tragedy! If I can't do it face up, how'm I gonna enjoy that mirror on the ceiling?
That's where you come in. It's a contest. I'm setting up appointments now. If you think you can personally cure me, come and test your rising powers. If you do cure me, you'll get your name mentioned right here as the great arouser.
You can get the chance to try your hand (or any other body part) on my supine cure. Mail me a photo, your address, the most convenient time for you to visit me here in NY, and a detailed description of what you'll do. Send it to: Mykel Board, POB 137, Prince St. Station, New York NY 10012.
I'll be scheduling appointments starting June 1.
--> The truth about Ann R Key dept: I don't know if she's mentioned my "problem." (see above) She promised she would, I hope so! I need your help for the cure. Despite the favor for me, it's about time someone ratted on Ms. Key! With all the ratting she's done, she deserves to feel the wrath of truth.
Here it is: she's awful in bed! I know I'm not supposed to write about other columnists' opinions, but this isn't about an opinion. It's about a deficiency. That girl uses her teeth! I got scrape marks after the first blowjob. As far as a general lay, that general must be US Grant. She's as dead as he is in bed!
>Some humorous tidbits from Liberty Magazine. Todd Brown sent me these via email:
Reno, Nevada: Actor Mark Williams, wearing a beard, robes, and sandals for his title role in Jesus Christ Superstar, was ejected from the Pioneer Center for the Performing Arts when the theater's director mistook him for a homeless person.
Maricopa County: Undercover agents from the Maricopa County Health Department have been crashing weddings to seize cakes baked by friends or relatives without licenses.
Milwaukee: Harmanjit S. Saini has filed a lawsuit seeking compensation for "unprecedented discrimination as the result of a worldwide conspiracy to prevent him from making a decent living and marrying a white woman." The 249 defendants named include CBS, Chrysler, the ambassador of Kuwait, Milwaukee public schools superintendent Howard Fuller, and Sen. Ted Kennedy.
Florida: Michael Gifford should be acquitted of shooting abortionist David Gunn on grounds of diminished capacity, because anti-abortionists brainwashed and crazed him by showing him fetuses and hateful, blood-drenched effigies, his lawyers told jurors. And, they added, he didn't do it.
Hillsboro: To demonstrate how God will treat Satan on the Day of Jubilee, Rev. Anthony Dearinger picked up and threw an eight-year-old boy.
-> Taking me seriously dept: http://www.free-music.com/ is a site that avoids copyrights and goes right for free distribution. Fuck intellectual property. Yeah!
-->"Feminism is not about having to constantly watch your back for some evil 'big sister' who's constantly looking over your shoulder. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: feminism is not about replacing big brother with big sister."
That's a quote from the gals at PUNK ROCK FEMINIST HELL. I've mentioned them before, but they've got a new address. Check 'em out at: http://www.skapunx.ml.org/~acer/rant1.html
--> Tim Yohannon had the best laugh I've ever heard. A belly laugh: deep, unaffected, infectious. There was nothing cynical about Tim's laugh. Nothing evil, snide or malicious. That laugh brightened up the most depressed groups of punks. It put wings on a losing Risk game. Tim's laugh was the never-censored laugh of someone completely self-confident. It wasn't a chocked chuckle or a nervous snicker. There was no squeal, no throat clearing, never a hand over the mouth.
If you knew Tim's laugh you loved him. Despite his narrow- mindedness. Despite his critical intolerance. Despite his stubborn refusal to put ANYTHING or ANYONE before principles. You loved him despite his know-it-all attitude or his instant alienation of those who didn't know the laugh, or weren't affected by it. There's a big hole right now where that laugh was. It's one that'll never be filled.
-END-
--Mykel (mykelB@ix.netcom.com) http://www.freeyellow.com/members2/seidboard/
