Money buys everything

Walking home with his friend Tyler one evening they stop at the ATM right outside his house, cos Tyler needs some cash.  They both notice at the same time a couple of small notes left by the last person and they both reach for them.  Tyler hesitates however and he gets to them first.  There is another abandoned note and Tyler takes that one.

All night at this party the two of them had been speaking to this beautiful Indian woman called Lakshmi.  Tyler was clearly into her, but he was very much into Tyler.  But Tyler kept playing the heterosexual game, as he saw it.  They left the party together though, but of course Tyler will not be sleeping in his bed, but prefers the floor or the couch.

But, as it turns out, this is not just a couple of small notes.  The ATM sits in front of them with a huge wad of $100 notes, as if it is the most casual thing possible.  Tyler sees the notes, sees him grab the notes, and runs away without saying a word.  He takes the handful of $100 notes and another wad comes straight out.  He takes that wad and there is another one.  He stuffs the money up his shirt, more and more, as much as he can carry.  With each additional handful of $100 notes his excitement and panic increase until he can't take any more money, he is in a state of paranoia, there is still money sitting calmly in the ATM and he is in his bedroom with a tall pile of money covered in a blanket and he can hear his flatmates coming home and he doesn't want them to see it.  He wonders whether he will get caught; he can't put the money in the bank, they'll recognise the serial numbers, ATMs have cameras, will he get caught, will he get away with it.  He could go to the Police and give all the money back (he knows he won't do that) but he has to act quickly.

The God of the Ocean

He feels guilt, as usual.  He feels guilty for the little touching he desires.  He stares at them in their shorts and thinks thoughts and is comforted only by the knowledge that his thoughts cannot be read.  This is when he sits alone.  He knows he shouldn't look like that, he should see them as people like him rather than bodies to be desired.  They deserve respect, of course they deserve respect, they don't need to be looked at in this objectifying manner.  His desire is clearly perverse, there is no love in it.  Maybe what he lacks is love and so he tries to fill his love with touching bodies, or at least perverse thoughts about touching bodies.

His favourite half-naked bodies eventually depart and he trudges heavily up the hill, unable to cease his scanning of the myriad human bodies lying about on the grass and sand for one that fits the age gender bodytype requirements to receive his perverse attention.  Always this guilt with it though.  He walks along in the sun with a beautiful ocean view trying to be peaceful for a while and coming to a public toilet with a picture of an archetypal man on the door.  He picks a cubicle, hoping for graffiti, finding none.  He takes out his penis and after urinating can't help but masturbate.  He can hear the other guys around him, coming in, undoing their belt, urinating, washing their hands, leaving, as he continues to silently masturbate in the locked cubicle.  When it is time to leave he waits for a quiet moment and slips out as quickly as possible, not forgetting to quickly wash away the residue of semen from his hands.

He returns to the bright sunshine and the many people walking around together, holding hands, alone, sitting around, busy or leisurely.  He feels an intense shame wash over his body and he probably even goes red in the face.  He knows they don't know what he's just done and again he is comforted by the fact that his thoughts cannot be read.  This time as he walks amongst the people he feels not the guilt of perversion but the shame of having degraded himself in such a dank repressed environment.  There was noone to share his pleasure with openly in his own bedroom; only he masturbates silently and shamefully in public toilets.  Only he.

He remembers a time when he didn't have to masturbate at all.  There was a time in his life when he did not feel alone.  He was always amongst people who loved him and had no shame of expressing their love to him frequently and with ease.  He was the same because he was one of them.  They touched each other, they loved each other, they looked each other in the eye; he had no shame and no guilt of the love that he needed and the love he offered.  He knew that if he asked for a hug he would receive one and sometimes he needed a hug and there was always a hug ready for him.  He did not need perverse stares and masturbation to close the gap in which he was not feeling close to the most beautiful people in the vicinity of his life.

He also remembers the strangeness of what happened when he defecated during this period of his life.  Every time he squatted to release the pressure in his bowels he would also release some semen from his penis.  This was not connected to any orgasm, but the stronger the defecation the more semen he expelled.  He did not understand why his body continued to produce and release semen when he felt no need to produce orgasm.  He knew he needed to store his sexual energy for higher purposes but his body always found a way of getting rid of it, inevitably.

The sun is so hot and the day is so dry that he steps barefoot down to the water.  There aren't too many people around at this point.  He wears a t-shirt and a pair of shorts which he quickly removes and places in a careful pile.  He decides he is not ashamed of his naked body at least and feels no need to wear shorts in the ocean.  He dives through the waves and into the water.  He enters the ocean and she accepts him.  The Ocean God laughs at those who wear shorts into her waters and reserves special feelings for those who dive into her naked and unashamed and allowing her to cleanse them of all their desires.