Thursday, July 23, 2009
(Alternate title: "The Band Is AC/DC, But I'm NOT, Thanks Very Much")
It's an awkward thing being groped when you don't want to be groped. I've been groped - that is, had my crotch grabbed when I wasn't expecting it - exactly twice in my life. Once, it was unexpected but pleasurable. The other time it was entirely unwelcome.
The pleasurable one occurred at an AC/DC concert I was attending with Fast Freddy Goodman.
(We're actually going to another AC/DC concert this coming Tuesday, which is what brought this stuff to mind. Fast Freddy and I have been friends for a bit over 20 years now, since we both worked together in an office supply company in South Boston. We bonded during a Christmas party when we both discovered our mutual love for heavy metal and we sang an a cappella version of Deep Purple's "Highway Star" at the top of our lungs, much to the dismay of the other party attendees. However, I digress.)
The concert was at The Providence Civic Center. I think it was about 8 years ago - maybe a bit more, a bit less. Anyway, FFG had scored excellent tickets for us. We sat second row on the floor, just to the left of center stage.
As we waited for the lights to go down and the band to come on, six spectacularly beautiful women made their way to seats just 6 or 7 seats to our right. And, when I say spectacularly beautiful, I mean that they had stunning curves barely concealed in extremely short dresses. Model-types, except not as thin as most models. Real female bodies, and all perhaps 22 to 25 years old.
As soon as the lights went down, and the band came on, all six of them started flashing the stage. And I don't mean just a casual quick flip up of a top to give a two-second shot of their boobs. I mean they lifted their tops and kept them up until they were sure one band member or another saw them.
We hadn't expected a sideshow with the concert, but we weren't disappointed. This was swell! Then, to our amazement, they started doing each other. I mean to say, they were lifting up their dresses and fingering each other, right in the middle of the crowd. One of them even went down on another one.
(There was a boy, perhaps 14-years-old, sitting directly to my left. He didn't see the band once all evening. His eyes never left the women. Can't say that I blamed him. Mine were there for about 50% of the night.)
Anyway, about an hour into the concert, one of the women, a tall brunette, made her way out of the row. We assumed she was going to take a pee or something, whatever. As she made her way past Freddy and me, she looked me square in the eyes and, while our eyes maintained contact, she grabbed my junk.
I was, to say the least, stunned. I was married and hadn't had another woman touching my stuff, even through jeans, for many years. She gave me a rub, then let go, and winked at me as she continued making her way out of our row.
(For the 14-year-old's sake, I hope she gave him some.)
Well, as I say, I'm married, and as much as I might have liked to have followed her and found out if she had something less-casual in mind, I didn't. My marriage vows stopped me, and rightly so. Common sense, too. I mean, anyone willing to do her friends in the middle of a crowd of 17,000 or so might possibly, just maybe, have had opportunity to contract any number of hideous things that I wouldn't want to have taken home to MY WIFE.
The other groping occurred during the mid-1980's. I was working as a security guard at the time.
And it was a guy who groped me.
I was working the midnight to 8 at an office building in downtown Boston, stationed in the lobby. It was easy duty. I mostly read at my desk, maybe played some chess with a little chess computer I had at the time. My only real job was to make sure nobody broke in, and nobody was going to be stupid enough to do so with someone sitting right there in a uniform in the lobby, with the only entrance to the building locked.
Anyway, one night I'm sitting there reading the newspaper, just waiting for the time to pass, and I hear a knock on the front glass door. A young black guy is leaning against it, smiling. I get up, go to the door, unlock it - after checking to see that there were no other folks lurking around to overpower me - and he stumbles away from the door as I open it a crack. He was obviously drunk. I ask him what he wants.
"I like guys in uniform."
I could smell the booze as he said it. He was tall, thin, light-skinned, and, now that I got a closer look at him, I could see he was a bit fey.
"I don't play for that team. Why don't you go down to The Zone and see what you can dig up?"
(The Combat Zone was Boston's 'red light' district in those days. It is now, unfortunately, long gone.)
"I want YOU," he said. And then he reached forward and grabbed a handful of my uniformed crotch.
I jerked back quickly and said, "Hey! Get the fuck away from me!"
"I only want to make you feel good..." He started toward me again.
"I told you - I'm not into that. Now get the fuck out of here!"
He smiled, sort of sadly, and stumbled away down the street. Dangerous game for him to be playing. I mean, I'm not the type to bash someone just because he's gay - not by any means - but there sure were some neanderthals working in security, and half of them were frustrated cops to begin with. They'd use most any excuse to assert their manliness and beat the crap out of someone. If this guy just cruised random security guards all night, grabbing crotches, he was bound to come out of it hurting at some point.
Well, in both instances, it was an ego boost for me. It always nice to know that someone finds you attractive, no matter how much you're NOT willing to get physical with them as much as they might like to with you.
Soon, with more better stuff.