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The other day I was walking through the Wellesley area and witnessed two gay kids beating each other up in the park. They were young, teenagers perhaps. The smaller flailed with his arms and screamed, "FUCK YOU!" a lot, windmilling wildly across the walkway. The larger (clad in a tough-man leather jacket) combatant pushed him around and occasionally tried to envelop his stilted lover with his arms and subdue him with soft kisses. This did not have its intended effect, as every attempted kiss incited the firebrand to resume his violent whick-whacking with increased fervour. "NO, FUCK YOU!!" Then he would eventually run out of steam, his (ex?) partner would flop on top of him like a blanket and the whole intriguing scenario would play out yet again.

The loop might've run until infinity if several female passer-bys hadn't intervened. This I found interesting, as usually men like to play the heroic diplomat role and forcefully pull scraps apart. In this particular instance, males stayed far and fearfully away. They were perhaps operating under the notion that a gay fight might end up in a cartoon-esque rainbow whirlwind, in which the dust subsides to reveal a tableau of sensual orgy in which the interjecting hero has become mysteriously entwined. As if breaking up a gay fight might make one gay themselves.

The last I saw, two swarthy ladies were trying to pull Leather-Jacket off his hollering companion, who had somehow managed to get himself bent rather vulnerably over a park bench.

Posted by Chris at 05:32 PM >> Commentations (1)