Sartre’s most famous quote* is printed on a sticker that adorns my laptop. It was given to me by a friend that knows me so well. There is no fiery afterlife pit, only the one in this life that people create for others. I believe there is a special circle of this perdition reserved for the pathetically odious. The ones who think there’s a mere crack in the pavement between ‘yes’ & ‘no,’ as opposed to the actual wide chasm with nary a swinging rope-bridge betwixt.

What happens in the Seattle neighborhood of Capitol Hill does not stay on Capitol Hill. It travels with people like me who write stuff down & then publish it. This hill was Gay Central back in the day. Though home to arty types, druggies, the unstable, & normies as well, it carried a similar feel to the Castro in S.F. A flamboyance, if you will. A joie de vivre. In the fall of 1986 it would lose some of its luster on a residential street on the downtown slope of the hill.

My girlfriend Kim & I liked to frequent an independent video store on Broadway, named something unimaginative like Broadway Video. It had a good selection of titles, lots of indy & foreign films, as well as the hyped Hollywood releases. What vid store in Gay Central would be complete without the huge musicals? We’d walk up from the apartment about 5 blocks, rent something for the evening. The place was open late, so around 7-8pm we’d head there. This we did on the night in question.

I had lived on this hill for over 7 yrs, entirely at home in the LGBTQIA+ community (but if they add any more letters I refuse to type them; one of us has to take a stand). I was well used to drag queens, butch kings, the BDSM contingent with their leathers, chains, assless chaps, etc. On any given day I might catch sight of the innocuous, soft-core display on the streets. I may have committed a few of those myself, yet nothing blatantly graphic. I have some discretion regarding public acts, along the lines of PG-13. With maybe a couple of NC-17s thrown in. I was young once, after all.

On more than one occasion I witnessed 2 men in flagrante delicto in an apartment window. These happened at night, lights blazing in the abodes, bodies positioned for maximum viewage. When walking in the dark it’s common for your eyes to be drawn to bright lights. I don’t judge what consenting adults do in their private lives, but prefer to not be a hapless audience to another’s exhibitionism. I am firmly pro-choice when it comes to… well, everything. You look away, but you can’t unsee. Given no option to not view live porn galled.

We’ve all heard stories of people getting objects stuck in orifices, or having their junk stuck inside something, & needing to go to the hospital to rectify (pardon, couldn’t help myself) the situation. I feel sorry for the hospital personnel in these events. Not many want to know what other people do in their spare (libidinous) time, least of all emergency staff who didn’t ask & have real urgencies to attend to. I doubt these stories are prevalent, but they had to originate from somewhere. Are they urban myths? Dunno.

As Kim & I walked back from the store with our rental, a young man approached us. At first glance I thought ‘Is there an all-male production of A Streetcar Named Desire being staged nearby?’ For here was what looked like the saddest version of a ravaged Blanche DuBois after Stanley Kowalski’s assault. In a frumpy nightgown, robe, (fuzzy?) slippers, a wig askew & smeared lipstick = Worst. Drag. Ever. ‘Did they remake it as a comedy?’ I’m thinking. Is it community theater? With that thought I suddenly wanted to see this comedic drag version of Streetcar. It could be fun.

His story: “I’m pledging [some Greek letters] fraternity. They made me wear this. I’m supposed to get someone to tie me to a telephone pole, then the guys [he points to a car parked down the street] are going to drive up & take pictures. It’s stupid, I know. I guess that’s the point.” He holds out a coil of rope, “Will you do it?” I was briefly disappointed there was to be no revamped (camped?) Tennessee Williams play.

We exchange a skeptical look. He is college age, seems embarrassed. His story only slightly plausible due to location. Frat row would not make for the same puerile glee without the homophobic jab. Prone to overthinking, I may’ve tipped more trusting then. But I planned to be long gone before anything really skeevy arrived, however we decided. & this is where we falter: Just because something is weird doesn’t mean it lacks possibility. Possibility being an opportunity for an unusual story. He says “Please?! I want to get this over with.”

One of us, not sure which, says “Fine.” We all walk to the nearest pole, he stands with his back to it, & we tie his hands together behind him, then loop the rope round his legs & upper body until he can’t move. I’m of a mind to make sure he’s not getting loose without help. If frat brats or a partner’s afoot, I wanted to make it as difficult to free him as this stunt was insulting. & possibly misogynistic.

Once we have him tightly secured, we have to walk past him to continue home. He pipes up with “Thank you!” & we make the mistake of looking back. He smiles sheepishly & giggles. Tenting the fugly nightgown is a– you guessed it– big, damn boner. We hurry away with a shudder.

“Did you see that?” Kim says when we’re a ways off. “Ugh! Yes,” I reply. “Ick!” she almost spits. I sigh with the same resignation as when I’d accidentally glimpsed guys fucking in their windows. Guys who I now had a great deal more respect for. There are many circles in this hell.

After we’d been home for a while, we talked about whether the guy might still be there. I hoped he was strung up all night. That he couldn’t houdini his way loose, & eventually cops gathered around snickering, people wandering by throwing trash at him. I can easily imagine him a bloody pulp if violent creeps were to happen by. & I wondered if we were his first. Was he a serial unintentional-accomplices kinkist? Then there’s the specificity of his scenario: that much prep & sheer luck just to get off? Lame! ‘Sucks to be you’ I thought. Ultimately I didn’t want to contemplate this loser. I didn’t care.

What I do care about is this: When your idea of a good time involves deceiving passersby, I’m allowed to mine it for mockery. Who gets the last laugh? Me. & anyone reading this. Put that in your kink pipe & smoke it.

Also, I couldn’t believe how on-the-nose my initial take of him was. His whole shtick summed up by Blanche’s famous line “Whoever you are– I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” How kind am I now?

* “Hell is other people.”