Today I will share a personal Halloween Horror Story: The Belly Rubber!

It all started last summer on a bright and steamy day. I was walking home from the train. My hands were full with junk I purchased from the store and I felt rushed as I sweated the long trek home. I approached the Big Box O’ Justice and tried not to bump into any angry people who were standing outside waiting to get in — courthouses are never places where the happy and content meet to chat and share the day — when I spied someone up the sidewalk ahead of me staring at me.

She was standing in the criminal courts line. My gut was telling me to cross the street because when someone is eyeing you like that it is best not to test comity or intent and just remove the temptation of any kind of communication. I decided to be brave and to stay the course — because I wanted to get home faster.

As I approached her, the circus that she was, slowly came into focus: She was a “big girl” with decorative branded scars on her upper arms and winding, slithering, grey tattoos on her forearms; her hair was poofy and braided and held in place with yellow plastic elastic ties; she was wearing bright pink pants and a light blue and white horizontally striped shirt that almost covered her protruding, stretch-marked, belly.

Her eyeshadow was lime green; her lips were outlined in black. The horror began. She locked onto my eyes. Her white, moist, tongue glimmered as it snaked its way out of her mouth to lick her lips wet. In slow motion, she lifted her shirt with one hand and started rubbing her big belly in a circular motion with the other.

I think she was grunting.

I broke our gaze and looked forward and down at the sidewalk as I passed by my new admirer: The Belly Rubber.

The young woman began smacking her lips and I felt her twist her torso to follow me — me, the object of her wanton desire — and as she continued to rub her belly, she shouted, “Mmm-hmmm! I’m gonna get me somma that, yes I am! Break me offa piece a THAT dessert!” I reached the end of the block blushing and sweating even more and I quickly crossed the street — shaking just a bit — wondering what I have done to deserve that horrific display of misplaced passion and public wanting.

Yes, I am a beautiful man. Yes, I am desirous in many funky ways. Yes, I am completely irresistible — but what had I done that day to attract the attention of the local circus lady with the lip-smacking and the belly rubbing?

I have been haunted by the terrifying “What Ifs” ever since! What if her crime was murder? Or stalking? What if she had the envy of other women in some parallel universe in which I did not spin or understand and I had just turned down an offer of love and smacking lips like no other?

How many other men had she rubbed her belly over in the span of her young life — and did she ever end her desire with a knife and fork in the heart of a man so she could feed her unfulfilled desire for a broken desert?

The lesson in this horror story is — when your gut tells you to cross the street, go! — or you tempt the haunting of your life each night when darkness folds and your eyes close and you begin to drift into dreams that start with grunting and belly rubbing and always end with your body parts being licked and massaged by a white, serpentine, tongue.

39 Comments

  1. Hi Dawn!
    Yeah! I knew better but still didn’t move over to the other side of the street! Why tempt that kind of episode? I’m lucky she seemed to be alone because if she’d been with friends or a boyfriend or something… well… things might’ve gotten ugly quickly.
    I think women generally have more experience with this kind of horror than men do… women seem to be more often objectified for their beauty than men ever are…

  2. Lol, I’m sorry David, I guess it must be a female thing lol.
    Jeff came home from work one day and told me that some girl he’d never seen before actually pinched his rear in the elevator. I don’t know what he was expecting but I laughed till tears streamed down my face πŸ˜›

  3. Oh, you’re both so cruel, Dawn! πŸ˜†
    Imagine if everything were reversed and Janna was the object of a belly rubber and you were pinched!
    You both would be outraged and expect sympathy and Jeff and I would be on the warpath! πŸ˜€

  4. I so know what you mean about following *gut* and avoiding certain people. I usually get them on the train or the bus – I now sit on the outside seat rather then by the window so I can escape if necessary!
    It is also good to see the story from the other side of the fence – ie a man receiving unwanted and uncomfortable attention from a not so secret (or discrete) admirer.
    I have to say I have thought sometimes – what a nice butt …….. I wouldn’t mind a piece of that – but it has always been in an appropriate place – and certainly not in the street and certainly not accompanied by belly rubbing.

  5. Hi Nicola!
    Sitting on the aisle is always a smart way to protect your escape routes!
    I’ve never been a catcaller — I’m more of a silent admirer like you — perhaps that’s why the episode struck me as uncomfortable and horrific because I couldn’t imagine doing that to someone else even as a joke.

  6. Heh! Yeah, scary and a little icky! I’m not one to provide or seek that sort of public attention in any way.
    In fact, when I get together with people in an informal setting, the first thing I sometimes say is, “I’m not here.” That always confuses them… πŸ˜€

  7. Heh!
    I think you’re right! πŸ˜€
    I say that phrase because people have a habit of asking me hundreds of questions when I come out of hiding to join a group in the real world.
    I usually don’t mind answering a few questions but when they keep hitting me with “wanting to know” it overwhelms me because I prefer to just generally sit there and look pretty without having to say anything to entertain anyone. πŸ˜€

  8. Me too – one of the reasons we choose to go to the big Fetish party in Paris rather than those closer to home – we get time to enjoy ourselves rather than chit chat and repeat ourselves a hundred times.

  9. Ah! That’s a good plan, Nicola. Anonymity can be wonderful.
    Sometimes I have to say to the group, “Okay, no more questions. Ask someone else something.” That never goes over well. πŸ˜†
    We’d be perfect company for each other. We get together and sit down and say nothing and communicate everything in the silence and be completely comfortable doing it. πŸ˜€

  10. Ha! I love the plan!
    Awesome it is!
    I keep trying to tell myself as I type this that I would defer to you and let you have the proper chair position — but I’m not believing that to be so as my gentlemanly manners fail me! — we may need to meet in a place with no walls! πŸ˜€

  11. Nicola —
    Of course, I’ve been trying to work this out in my mind… πŸ˜€
    One of my favorite places in Jersey City is Casa Dante — they have great Italian food:
    http://www.casadante.com/
    There’s one dark corner with a table against two walls that will be perfect for us. You’ll take my usual corner position with one wall on your left and your back against the other wall — you can see the entire restaurant — and I’ll sit across from you sort of sideways where my back will be against the wall your left side is resting against. No one will get us then and we can still see each other so we don’t have to sit side-by-side.
    Solved! πŸ˜€