Snatch monster at gay nightclub

Once again, this running blog won’t delve into running. However I will return to the normal running-related posts next week.

I’ve been directed to tell about my experiences as I am prepared for a future role, one aspect of which is the ability to help others in a way that is immediate and very beneficial.

To attain this, I must do many things that I would never choose to do on my own. These activities leave me vulnerable and humbled. I’m normally a cautious and quiet guy, and I once enjoyed a simple life in which mundane, everyday tasks brought me pleasure. My lifestyle now is quite different.

In this post I continue writing about going out in public dressed in a sexually suggestive way. Photos showing this style of dress are in the previous post.

As I’ve mentioned, my discarnate mentor communicates with me constantly, and when I started going out dressed this way back in 2006, my mentor labeled me the Snatch Monster, a take off on the Cookie Monster. As I was preparing to go out and while being out, my mentor nearly always addressed me this way. Calling me Snatch Monster was such a corny thing, but it eased the dread I felt, like taking a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.

One summer I was directed to visit a gay bar repeatedly. This bar attracted a mixed crowd, and I’d been there before with groups for late night dancing. However, I was to go alone, dressed as the Snatch Monster.

I experienced what women must go through when they’re being hit on, yet have little interest in going to the next level, or even in the guy who’s hitting on them. No one was overly aggressive or rude, and I made sure to be as diplomatic as possible.

I usually danced alone in the crowd. Considering the way I was dressed, I was lucky to have no unpleasant experiences. One time though, a guy put his hands on my hips and his arm around my waist repeatedly. He tried to dance with me one-on-one, but I moved slowly away and gave him no attention whenever he came close.

Another guy, visiting from Alberta, came over as I took a break and spent several minutes talking to me. Nice guy, but I simply don’t have it in me to be sexual with men. He mentioned the nearby hotel he was staying at, and I’m sure he was waiting for me to say or give some sign that I’d go there with him. But I didn’t, and he eventually gave up.

Another time, two guys dressed in drag came over and de-shirted me on the dance floor. I couldn’t find where they put my shirt, so I spent the rest of the night dancing bare-chested with pants that were barely hanging on.

As I was about to leave, I found my shirt. It was still warm enough at 3 am to be bare chested, and as I walked along the quiet downtown street, shirt in hand, I was relieved that the long night was finally over.

So often I am dismayed about the things I have to do to satisfy my discarnate mentor. But by the next day I’m usually in a better frame of mind for my next task.

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