MX Blind Imagination

MX1 – Way too Gay

Felix entered the back alley where he lived. He was moderately drunk, or salon tipsy, as he called this stage of intoxication. It was raining and the glow of the street lights reflected on the wet pavement of the alley. In his slight drunkenness, he paused to look at the graffiti on the walls.

Someone had commissioned a painting. The client had only requested that it be "urban" in style. At first Felix had thought this to be a somewhat racist reference to a painting inspired by African-Canadian contemporary culture, but since the client was white, middle aged and probably had no idea that the word urban could be used in that way, he had more than likely just meant a lot of concrete and windows.

But Felix was stuck on the more incorrect urban theme. He wanted something with graffiti. Problem was, the only graffiti he had access to was in alleys like the one where he lived. Although it was still skilfully produced, it was more of a happy, colourful mural type, lacking the darkness and anger associated with hip hop inspired graffiti.

Felix snapped out of his musings and walked up to his door, unlocking it. He shut it behind him and walked up the stairs, glad to be out of the rain (he was only wearing a light jacket, and his hair, who he had let grow medium length, was sticking to the side of his face). Well upstairs he unlocked the padlock to his loft and slid the door open.

The loft lay in semi darkness. He left a couple of small lights on so he could more easily see in case someone was hiding inside his living space, waiting to ambush him. Sarah knew of this habit and thought it was stupid paranoid, her words, and that, yeah, he had committed crimes as a youth, but not the kind where someone would hide in a loft for hours, then surprise you and murder you.

But Sarah was wrong. She just didn't understand who Felix really was. He had committed all of those crimes and still did, on a regular basis. Art just didn't pay rent these days, or allowed him to stay operational (which was another word for sane, to Felix). Sarah, who occasionally would have a chat with him over a bottle of Shivas Regal, had obviously never done the math.

As much as Sarah constantly got in trouble, this was a secret he wanted to protect even her from. She wouldn't understand it. It was senseless. There were probably other things he could do, but nothing that brought him that much excitement.

And that left him with the problem of the rest of the night. Excitement, his main form of entertainment. He hated this part of the night. Coming home from a party where he had pretended to be social, had some free beers, offered other people some free advice, mainly to stay popular so that if anyone put him under surveillance, it would look like he had a normal life.

Parties were never exciting, it was a definite chore. Stay in touch. Maintain your network of losers and nobodies. Since nobody knew who Felix was and what he did, he didn't have any actual real friends, only mannequins he had placed around himself to look like friends. For this reason, he always felt lonely.

Immediately after coming inside he went up to the record player and put on a record. Bon Jovi. The boredom would always become overbearing just as he got home. A good record took the edge off and sometimes inspired him to create something new.

As he listened to the music, he glanced around at the paintings that were placed around the room. If he was going to get the right graffiti for his new painting, he would need to go into the ghetto, but that would be too dangerous. Felix loved art, no doubt, but it was just a cover to clean up his money. He wasn't willing to die for the art, or the concept of his art, especially not for an individually commissioned painting.

Yes, his art was risky. It was overtly homoerotic, a niche he had capitalized on. But since he lived in the largest city in Canada, he wasn't worried about being targeted for the art itself. Besides, a painting is just a painting. Other than his clients, nobody knew it was his art, should they see him on the street.

As the "A side" or the record finished, he was struck by an idea. Yeah he wasn't willing to be killed for art, but he was willing to die in search of excitement. Perhaps going to the ghetto in search of inspiration for his next painting was a good idea. Sure. He was white (part Jewish, according to a DNA test he had performed), and he would almost certainly get killed, or robbed and killed, or raped and robbed and killed, but it sure beat sitting at home alone listening to old records.

Not having taken off his jacket, he turned the record player off and walked to the door and opened it. On second thought, since he was going to the ghetto, he probably shouldn't bring his wallet, so he took it out and put it on a table. He didn't want to have anything with his address on it should he actually be robbed. The phone, too, would have to stay, with all its classified information on it. Yeah he could tell the poor unsuspecting would be mugger that he didn't want the phone, that if he tried to call anyone on the contact list (people with names such as "Eros Handler A3") the phone would be tracked and people in suits would come after him. But why be mean? Just leave it at home.

Now all he had left in his pockets were his keys and his lighter, both of which he needed. He thought for a moment more and took out some money from his wallet, sticking it in his back pocket. $200 should be enough for the mugger to leave him alive.

As the bus approached the ghetto, Felix breathing got deeper and his heart sped up. He was used to danger, but this was just stupid. He had read in the papers what happened to people who accidentally wandered into this area. Was it really worth it just to see some graffiti?

He got off at a random stop and started walking toward a dark area that seemed abandoned. Nobody else had gotten off the bus at this stop, which was good. So far he was safe. He entered the area and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he had struck gold.

It was an old business area made up of a few lots and buildings which all lay in ruin. The whole area was wallpapered in graffiti, just the kind he had imagined. There were words he couldn't read, pictures of masked men with assault weapons, tags of individuals or individual artists, as well as logos that Felix knew to be gang markings.

It was the gang markings that scared him. He didn't want to stumble upon a bunch of youth in the dark with things to prove to each other. But the fear heightened the experience and helped inspire Felix. He already had begun forming an idea of the feel he wanted for his painting. He kind of wished he had brought his sketch book, but that would have been way too gay for this area. Instead he would just have to remember the feeling of it all. The darkness, the implicit danger, the anger behind the gang markings and the sadness of the commemorating murals for murdered homies. He was soaking it all in.

Now that he had gotten the inspiration, he thought he should leave, having successfully penetrated the ghetto, without being killed. But maybe just a few more moments would bring one last inspiration. He took a few deep breaths of the cold night air. It worked . He was dizzy with the beauty of the ruins of a once thriving business community. In his head he heard his favourite Bon Jovi song as a sound track for this movie he was in. He completely forgot that he was in danger.

Then he heard footsteps on gravel. What should he do? There were definitely two sets of footsteps and they were coming straight for him. Why hadn't he brought a gun? He had several.

He turned around and found that a hoodlum had approached his position, followed by a loyal drube who was hanging back a bit. Felix had his back to the wall and scanned the area for anyone else. It was just them. They both stopped.

"What you doing here?" the leader wanted to know.

"Just looking at the art." Felix knew midsentence this was the wrong response.

"What? You some kind of Homo or something?" He looked at his follower who was still standing back a few meters. The follower started looking around, which let Felix know that the leader had bad intentions. The follower seemed passive. Maybe if he could fight off the leader for a few seconds, maybe knee him in the balls, then he would be off the hook. As long as he didn't…

Ok… The leader is producing a handgun. 1911 clone, matt silver, magna ported for reduced muzzle jump. He could still disarm the leader, but he would have to get closer. As if on cue the man closed the distance, grabbed Felix throat, backing him up to the wall and pressing the gun against Felix lips, distorting their form.

"You a Homo?" Not knowing what to say, he remained silent, which he thought was the normal passive thing to do when being robbed (this being his first time).

He had been confused for a second with the gun to his mouth and the accusation of being gay. Then he suddenly became clear and he immediately realized how excited he was. His chest was heaving. The man's hand at his throat felt a little over dominating. He could have just asked for the money, or anything for that matter.

Felix looked over at the follower, who was now acting as a lookout. "Don't look at us!" the robber yelled and forced Felix to turn around, helping Felix place his hands on the wall, kicking his legs apart. He had lost his window for a disarm, but at this point Felix just wanted to know where this was all going. "Don't move!" the robber commanded.

Felix could tell by his voice that the robber was excited too. At this point he couldn't feel the gun anywhere on him, but suddenly his hands started searching Felix back pockets. He soon found the $200. "What's this? You a crack head or something?" Felix lied that he was. "He's a crack head, and his gay," the robber muttered to himself. "Got any more money?"

Felix didn't answer, so now the robber's hands was feeling up his body, looking for anything of value. It was an intimate moment for Felix. The touch was soothing him as he heard the robber's rapid breathing behind him. Then… "Bet you got more money in your underwear, though."

Felix felt the robber pull his pants back, then suddenly a hand was searching places where Felix never kept any money. He instinctively clenched his fists as they were pressed against the wall. Felix gasped silently, almost becoming nauseated by the naughtiness of the situation. Not finding any rolls of money, the hand finally withdrew.

Felix became aware that his excitement was growing, but he suppressed it. The fact that he really was gay was bad enough. To become visibly provoked would have been too much of a violation at this late stage in the robbery. Plus, he wasn't sure how the robber would react.

The man continued searching Felix legs and the inside of his socks. Felix knew the climax was over and the robbery was winding down, as he was quickly running out of body parts to search. He smiled to himself as he faced the wall, not knowing exactly why, but he sure was feeling elated.

Finally the robber stood up, grabbed the back of Felix neck, pressed the gun against his jaw and ordered him to stand like this for ten minutes before moving. It was over. He heard the two sets of footsteps retreat. The rain started again. Felix laughed, turning around and pressing his back against the graffiti covered wall. How the hell was he to paint all this?

During the bus ride home, Felix was thoughtful and calm, listening to the rain hitting the bus window. Getting robbed in the ghetto: $200. Having somebody search your pants: Priceless. It wasn't until Felix was back inside his loft that he realized that the robber had been gay, too, or at least latently so.

Yeah. Felix knew from experience that you could get excited when committing crimes, but this guy had searched his torso really well. And who straps money to their torso anyway? Or the entire length of their legs, for that matter? No. This robber was using this as an opportunity to feel up men, and he probably wasn't aware of it himself. This robber was just way too gay.