S2E6 - Sauna

Hey, it's Chris. Just a quick warning that this episode contains a scene with sexual violence, so your discretion is advised. Previously on two foreskins walk into a bar. Hello? Is anybody there? I felt like Dorothy meeting the wizard. Mister Butthole destroyer, are you there? Two foreskins walk into a bar. Written and performed by Chris Thompson season two episode six Sauna by now I was almost halfway through my stay. For all the time I was ahead of the halfway point, it felt endless, like I never had to go home. And where was home? I had no apartment to return to and no money to rent one. But for now, walking around Key West, I was finally relaxing. My muscles were slowly unclenching. There had been a few more storms, but less severe, and I was struck by how quickly Key west recovered from the rain. It was so hot that the wet roads dried almost instantly. A climate of plausible deniability. As if the island was punking you. Storm. What storm? What is resilience if not the ability to quickly forget and carry on with life? Blake and I had been seeing more of each other, very low key. Just a coffee most days or id meet him for a drink after his tours. Blake was very boundaried and would put a time limit on our meetings. We didnt have sex. Our conversations were lovely, but mostly surface level. If I tried to go deeper, hed say in a war movie, voice restricted access clearance denied. And then piss himself laughing. On my way to meet Blake, I got a voice note from Tony. I've changed his name, although he said I don't have to. I used to be his social worker, but in some ways I still was his social worker. I don't know what you'd call it now. I guess if we're looking at it psychoanalytically, you might say I was a secure attachment figure for him, even though I left social work over a decade ago. I was allocated to be his social worker when he was 14, and now hes messaging me in his mid thirties. His voice notes always start the Chris, you fucking wanker, where are you? We rarely speak to each other. Our relationship is now a series of long voice notes. If he goes quiet for a few months or maybe sometimes a whole year, I assume hes back in prison or up to no good somewhere. But then out of the blue, a message will come. Tony and his older sister were two very sad children when I met them. It's not important why they came into the social care system, but it's relevant to say that they had a habit of sabotaging their living arrangements. To the point that eventually no foster carer or children's home in the area would take them. They were very naughty and quite often violent. In our early days, I banned Tony from the office because he locked me in a meeting room, declaring it a hostage situation, and demanded that I drive him to prison to see his dad. On another occasion, he picked me up on the street and tried to put me in a trash can. Then there was the time I was taking him clothes shopping and he tried to get me arrested for shoplifting by putting on a jacket we hadn't paid for and walking through the security alarms, bold as brass. When we were stopped, he told the police I was his dad and I put him up to it. Even though I'd banned him from the office, I never stopped working with him, which infuriated him. It was clear to me he was engineering rejection, acting out the same wound his parents had given him, daring me to do the same, to confirm his worldview that he was unlovable, and I flat out refused. On my birthday, he was still banned from the office. He climbed up the outside of the building three stories high, broke in through a window just to call me a cunt. I used to tell him, I'd say, Tony, you're not getting rid of me. And he'd push me further and further. He had a mythical fantasy picture of his family, his dad in particular. All he wanted to do was live with his dad. Nothing else mattered. Tony's entire motivation in life was to undo the wrong that had been meted out upon him by people like me deciding that his parents were unfit to care for him, which they were. But there was no telling Tony that. I'd say, but your dad hurts you. He lets you down. He makes you do dangerous and illegal things to get himself out of trouble. But Tony was happy to be his dad's mule and to do other devastating things. Tony and I would have stand up rows, but we also had a lot of fun. Over time, I could see he was starting to respect me. By that, I mean he saw me as a worthy opponent and upped his game. This boy tormented me for years and years. When he got in trouble with the law, I'd beg the judge to send him to prison just so he would have some routine and structure. But Tony had a cheeky grin and the gift of the Gabdeen, the smartest person in any room, including the courtroom. He could talk himself out of any situation and run rings around solicitors and social workers. Every so often, I'd take him to the psychiatric ward to see his mum. One time she hitched up her skirt, opened her legs and flashed me her vagina. I have never seen Tony laugh so hard in my life. He rolled on the floor and screamed and wailed to the point that I thought I'd have to resuscitate him. And for months and months after, he'd do an impression of me in a really posh voice, clutching my pearls, squealing misses Smith, put your vagina away, please. I'm convinced Tony put his mum up to it, but he denies it to this day. When his dad was released from prison, Tony ran away to live with him. I knew he would. I figured, I can't fight this one. A few days later, his dad rang me demanding I pick up that little cunt and get him out of his house. I could hear Tony crying in the background. Tony and I sat in silence the whole journey home. But I never said I told you so, of course. And after that he was ever so slightly nicer to me. Not by much, but ever so slightly. When he had his first child, aged 17, it didnt come as a surprise. His girlfriend accused him of shaking the baby and he was thrust into a legal setting where he was, for the first time, out of his depth. His gift of the gab may have been fine for minor misdemeanours and I implored Tony to keep his mouth shut and speak only through his lawyer. But he was too young and cocky. He says now that I was the only person who believed he was innocent. I actually wasn't sure at the time, but I thought I'd do more good by being in his corner and believing him than not. Turns out he didn't do it. The girl was seeing a violent ex and they'd staged it to get Tony out the picture. I fought for Tony to be able to look after his kid, but he couldn't pull it together in time and his daughter was adopted. In this latest voice note, he was on his way back from his daughter's high school leaving concert. The pride with which he spoke was very moving. His daughter was adopted by a gay couple. When I found that out, I thought Tony would hit the roof. But he was strangely fine with it and has been ever since. So the three men sat in the front row and applauded as their kid collected her certificate. And shes already made it clear that all three of them would be expected to walk her down the aisle. As I listened, I was jealous. Grateful, of course, that Tony thought to include me to give me the news. But jealous I wasnt there. And jealous I didnt have a child of my own. I would have loved to have been there to see Tony and the two men who adopted his daughter sat cheering on a lucky child, or better yet, my own daughter to go up after theirs. Tony was unsentimental with me. We never really talked about our relationship, what it was, how we might define it. It just was what it was. I never said much about my life either. The older I got, it didn't seem too much to matter what he knew, but we both always preferred it to be one sided. There was something liberating about my purpose being solely to support Tony and him not knowing anything about me. And Tony was so institutionalized, he was so used to professionals knowing his business and not knowing anything about them, that it probably never occurred to him. But more than that, my presence in his life was unconditional. For as long as he wanted me in it, I'd be there. For me, it was an honor, because I knew that's what the answer was. When someone thinks they're unlovable, the only way to prove them wrong is just to keep on loving them. I wonder what Tony would say if I told him that I frequently felt unlovable and unworthy. His acting out as a child as self sabotage, and my acting out now as an adult felt self sabotaging in a similar way. And I know, I know the answer is that I should just love myself unconditionally. Blah, blah, blah. Everyone fucking knows it. But how do you actually do it? Today, in his voice note, Tony said something out of character. He said, I never gave up on my daughter because you never gave up on me. It took me by surprise to hear him talk like that, to the point that I wondered if he knew something. Maybe he was going to prison. For a long time, I wasn't sure. He didn't strike me as suicidal, but there was something he knew and wasn't telling me. I sent him a voice note reply on WhatsApp. I rushed it because I wanted to send it sooner rather than later. I told him how proud I was of him, how wonderful the concert sounded, what a memory that would be to treasure, and that I would never, ever give up on him. And I might as well be honest that I was fully aware. I was saying what I wished someone would say to me. I waited for the ticks to go blue, but they never did. And by then I was late for my date with Blake. Blake had suggested we watch the sunset. He warned me that it wouldn't be romantic because the world and his wife would be there. But Blake was affronted that I'd been in Key west so long and never watched the sunset. Key west, it turns out, is famous for its sunsets. Every night on the harbour there's a party. Buskers perform, circus acts juggle with fire. It's a carnival and hundreds of tourists sit with their legs dangling over the harbour walls, watching the sun set fire to the sea. We found a spot and squeezed ourselves between two couples. Both the women, who didn't know each other, were wearing white, flowing linen dresses. Blake and I took photos of both of the couples for them. When they asked if we wanted a photo taken of us in return, I said yes and Blake said no. They took one anyway. In this photo, the sun has not yet set, so theres an eerie pre crepuscular tint to the image. A burnt orange at the horizon gives way to a thin blue sky which will soon become black. Blake is standing tall, almost to attention, with his hands by his sides. Hes wearing a branded sports vest top and long black basketball shorts. Im wearing my vest top with the picture of Princess Diana on the front. I have retro blue short shorts on and my blue baseball cap. I am smiling in this photo. Looking at it now, it strikes me as a genuine smile, a moment of unforced happiness. But happiness is too strong a word, I concede. That said, this image shows something breaking through the surface. Blake is doing a goofy eyeroll kind of thing, as if he's posing with a ludicrous mascot at a sports game, an unwilling portrait of him and a man in a chicken suit, which is often how I feel in photos anyway. When the sun had sunk below the horizon, the crowd burst into spontaneous applause and the applause became cheers. When the crowd saw that one of our straight couples had proposed, Blake rolled his eyes and said, straight people. But I was rather charmed by the romance of it all and I found myself mounting a stirring defense of love. Blake listened to me whang on and then said, you're full of shit. Blake walked me halfway home. I invited him in to see the lizard, which had set up home in my bedroom, forcing me to sleep in the living room. But Blake declined. When we got to the corner of Love Lane and Duval street, we said goodbye. Were Blake and I friends? Were we dating? I didn't want to answer because I didn't want to answer that question myself. A thought flashed into my mind that what I really wanted was for Blake to fall in love with me and for me not to fall in love with him. But why? So I had the power. So the stakes were lower. So I could engineer rejection like Tony used to. How can I yearn for love on one day and then qualify it the next? As if Madame Butterfly wakes up one morning and goes, do you know what I cant be asked. Blake asked if I was going to Key West House, the clothing optional resort, tonight. He said, can I ask that you dont go? Why were you thinking of going? I dont know. Would you mind just not. I agreed and we kissed goodbye on the cheek. But now my curiosity was spiked. Why didn't Blake want me to go? Did he have plans too? And if he did, why couldn't I be there too? When I got home, I googled their activity schedule. There wasn't a party planned tonight. There was nothing as far as I could see that would entice Blake there. So why didn't he want me to go? I thought it best to respect his privacy and the boundary he'd set, even though I was dying to know why. And I sat in front of the air conditioner and ate my pasta and pesto. Under the judging eyes of five lizards who were now brazen in their colonial endeavors, I thought I may as well have a look on scruff and grinder. Okay. And hinge. I got a message from a guy whose profile was Key west house till Thursday. Thick. This tickled me because in the UK, thick also means dumb. I figured if this guy wants to shag me in his room, I could be in and out quickly. And if Blake was wanting to have the place to himself, I wouldnt be interfering with him. If I was in a room and not the communal areas. I knocked on my assignations door. He had a face like a balloon animal, but in a good way. And I instantly recognized that I was back in butthole destroyers room. Im not sure if this counts as a full circle moment or if it does. Perhaps not one to shout from the rooftops, he got on the bed and asked me to lay my head on his chest. This sounded so tender and alluring. Maybe all I needed was a good hug just to be held in the arms of another man. But immediately I froze and the thought of being touched made me feel so stressed. Nevertheless, I climbed onto the bed and I lay my head on his chest. He started to breathe deeply, sinking into the connection, but my eyes were darting around the room longing for butthole destroyers. 15 minutes timer. Its really thick so you can bite on it hard. Baby. What? You're safe now. Safe in my arms baby. Boy just you and me against the world no one can get us safe in daddy's arms. I always prefer a bit of notice. If I'm going to do roleplay. I like some time to think about my character's backstory, understand his motivation. And when it's rung on me like this, I feel unprepared, like I've just been pushed on stage without knowing my lines. But he knew his. You can cry, baby boy. You can cry in daddy's arms. That's right. You're my baby boy. How the fuck is he getting baby boy from me? He said I cannot be vocal enough. He wants me to communicate, to tell him everything, and loudly, and to bite hard on his thick cock and to cry. This all felt a bit much, but I was there now and I figured in for a penny, in for a pound. The minute there was silence he'd say, don't go quiet on me, baby. But I was tongue tied when the time came for me to suck his penis, which was thick. I put it in my mouth and he said, bite it. Bite it hard. I took a tentative nibble, but it wasn't hard enough. Bite it hard, baby boy. Make it bleed. I bit his penis as hard as I could and he moaned with delight, demanding more. Then with his cock still in my mouth, he said, talk to me, baby. Tell Daddy what's in your heart. I'm hating this. He said, don't go silent on me, baby. Now I was instructed to cry with his cock in my mouth, but not eyes watering from the gag reflex. No, like actual emotional tears. Crying. Let all those emotions out, baby. Let it all out there. Cry on Daddy. Daddy's dick. I'm really hating this. But to my horror, my penis was fully erect. Are you fucking kidding me? Is this what gets me hard? He saw my rock hard cock and spat on it. Then he straddled me and slowly sat down on it, so I was penetrating him. He was writhing on my penis, saliva in the corner of his mouth. Now he was shouting, don't go quiet on me, baby. I want to hear what's hurting you. I can protect you. Tears were rolling down his face as he ejaculated over my chest. And then he fell on top of me. He was a big guy and it was hard to move under him. He wrapped his left arm under my torso and brought his right arm under my head, and he grasped onto the hair at the back of my head with his right hand. His grip got tighter until he was pulling my head back so far it hurt he had me locked into this position with his full body weight on top of me, and he whispered in my ear, I could throw you against that wall right now if I wanted. You're not doing that? I said, no, you haven't understood. I'm not asking, it's me telling you that if that's what I choose to do, I could do it. I'd throw you hard at that wall. Then he threw me against the wall. I hit my head hard, but I didnt lose consciousness. I crawled out on my hands and knees and I ran down the corridor. I found the communal showers and rinsed myself off. I turned the taps to their hottest settings and the water seared my skin. And I stayed there for 20 minutes until my heart rate returned to normal. Then I sat alone at the bar. I tried to make sense of what had just happened, thought I might find you here. Blake sat down next to me at the bar. When I saw him, I burst into tears. I told Blake what had happened. He wanted to find the guy, report him to the police, all the sensible and caring things. But I didnt want that. I think probably I was too ashamed. I wanted just to shut it out of my mind and not let it define the evening. I said, im so sorry if ive encroached on your privacy. I honestly thought id be in and out. Blake replied, no, im sorry. It was so dumb. I was testing you. Why? He said, this is it. I dont know. It was really inappropriate. Im sorry. He wiped the tears from my eyes tenderly and we sat in silence for a time. Eventually we decided to make use of the facilities and made our way to the sauna. We were alone. I was wearing shorts and my Diana t shirt and suddenly became really self conscious, undressing in front of Blake, he pulled his clothes off and stood there gloriously naked. He had a healthy military body with a slight belly, which was lovely, naturally fit. He kept his gold chain on around his neck. It never comes off, he said. He stood and waited for me. At first he was playful and shouted off to encourage me, but I had frozen. My hands were shaking and I thought I was about to vomit. Come here, he said, and he coaxed me gently towards him. His naked body was touching my clothing. Can I? He said, and very gently, very slowly, he lifted up my t shirt over my head. Automatically, I covered my stomach with my hands. My favourite word in French is ffleure. It means to touch gently. But this translation doesn't do it justice. Fleur means flower, and the word evokes a flower. Brushing lightly on your skin, Blake. C'est te floret ma po. He lightly touched my skin and goosebumps prickled me instantaneously. Now Blake got to his knees and undid the buttons on my shorts. He pulled my shorts down and folded them neatly with army precision and placed them next to his clothes. What? No jockstrap? Must be laundry day. He was very pleased with himself for that one and gently slid my brace down. It was almost unbearable. Now he stands up. He's touching my arms. He's stroking my wrist softly. I can hardly breathe. I can't look him in the eyes. He smiles and gently coaxes my arms away from my stomach, my once hidden wound visible, my badness now blatant. He looks me up and down, still smiling. He's looking at all of me. I feel a stinging sensation in the corner of my eyes, but I hold them back. I'm sick of fucking crying. Blake opens the sauna door. The dry red heat hits us and I follow Blake into the darkness, and I close the door slowly. Blake and I on one side, and on the other side is you. Next time on two foreskins walk into a bar. The host approached a homosexual with a mullet pointed at me and screamed, you've killed my husband. For fuck's sake. Not again, Miles. Two Foreskins Walk into a bar is written and narrated by Chris Thompson directed by Andrew Falaise edited and post production by Christopher Huthe.