One In the Ass
Georgie looked up and said, “Hey, Jim, there you are. Where the hell have you been?”
“I thought maybe you guys were still eating lunch, so I went up to the lounge. I saw a couple of guys I know. One of the guys was the first guy that ever stuck his finger up my ass,” I answered.
This is the beauty of guys. No one flinched. No one asked a follow-up question nothing except for a quick one-liner from Georgie. “Oh, it must have been a school principal. Of course.”
To explain Georgie’s joke, we were playing in a charity golf tournament run by the local school administrative and supervisor types. The whole place was crawling our school system’s potentates.
I’d been looking for Georgie and the other two guys I was playing golf with. I caught up with them on the practice tee.
Funny guy, that Georgie.
But I wasn’t joking. There, eating lunch with an old friend, was a guy that, 26 years ago, got me alone, talked me out of my pants, and then, when I was distracted, shoved his finger in my ass.
You see, I was 18-years-old — a young, naive 18 — and I didn’t know what to expect. I was trusting. He loosened my belt, touched my belly, had me take my pants off and lay down. I didn’t know how to say, “No. I’m scared.” I was trusting.
He asked me to turn to my side. I did. And then he did the unspeakable. I was violated.
Dr. Cuozzo had big hands too. Long fingers. Like you wouldn’t believe.
He said my prostate was fine. At that point, I wasn’t worried about my prostate. I was worried about my dignity.
I didn’t go back to Dr. Cuozzo. The next time I had belly pains, I went to Dr. Kim. Small hands. Like shaking a dog’s paw.
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