Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Wanking In The Rain

From the archives: this was originally published in April of 2006 when Serge and I lived in Brooklyn. Every day I'd walk Max and every day the same man would be there... doing his thing.

We hit the road early tomorrow morning. Check back for updates. I'll give 'em when I can. Or find me on Twitter or Facebook. You'll definitely get a little on the road eye candy there. Wish me luck!!

I tore myself from the couch, episodes of The Surreal Life and an overall successfull attempt at redneck living long enough to let Max drag me around the park this weekend. Had I let him shit on the floor of my apartment, I may very well have reached full redneck status, but I caved and took him on a walk before the dog police brought me up on charges. There are dog police. I've seen 'em.. On television of course, but still - they're around, people.

Much to my chagrin, The Wanker was in the park, perched near his usual bench, cranking away at his goodtimes as if he were alone in the bathroom. The Wanker, he has a routine. Pleasant-faced man, strolls into the park and nonchalantly ambles toward his usual perch; he stands on the left side of a bench overlooking the park and props his right leg up on it, jaunty-like... lovely day everyone, I'm just going to stop here and enjoy the fresh air.

He's a left-handed wanker. I know because one time a garbage can had been placed in his spot. Instead of utilizing the other end of the bench, he spent the better part of five minutes wrestling the heavy, metal container out of the way so he could occupy his regular locale.

Throughout the months I've lived here, he's worked out the kinks, if you will, of public wanking. He stands next to the bench, props his right leg on it, pulls his business out of his zipper hole and gets his one man party started.

Mind you, I've never been close enough to see his business, can just make out his hand playing the ol' whorepipe from afar. At a distance, he looks like a nice enough fella, just taking a breather on the park bench, enjoying the outdoor atmosphere.

This time though, on a cold, rainy morning, what struck me was his dedication to his, erm..uh.. his craft. He had an umbrella! There he was, in the rain, umbrella in right hand his goodtimes in his left, wanking in the rain.

I suppose I could call the police.. Have considered it a time or two, but in the end, really I can't be bothered. My first month here, I decided to explore Brooklyn with Max and came upon my inaugural public wanker. Of course I ignored him.. but he followed me from a distrance, tugging away at his little member.

I would have called the authorities that time, but I'd left my phone at home. Also, I felt a bit proud, like I'd just been initiated into becoming a bona fide New Yorker. New Yorkers don't freak and call the police at a little public wanking do they? They ignore it and move on, right? Still, I felt dirty that day. Took extra care in the shower.

The Park Wanker, now that's a different story. I'm so accustomed to him, he's kind of like MY wanker. Part of the neighborhood and such. And unlike our man from before, he's not an agressive wanker, doesn't wank AT me. In fact, I'm generally on the other side of the park and if he's around, that's where I stay. Part of our unspoken agreement, I guess... Wank you very much, my good man.

But I had to laugh this time as I watched him dexterously holding the umbrella in one had, flopping his goodtimes with the other AND skillfully shoving them back in should anyone happen by... "I'm wankin' in the rain... I'm wankin' in the rain..."

Gene Kelly woulda been proud.