Freaks and The Treasure Troll Theory

Poor is the man whose pleasures depend on the permission of another.
--Madonna

Yesterday, for what may have been the third or fourth time in my life, I was cruised. I was on the cellie talking to FRIEND and fighting hard to stay on two feet as I skipped over snow mounds, dodged muddy puddles, and slid over ice patches. One guy sitting in a gray pick-up eyeballed me as I walked in the middle of the street (the sidewalk was piled with snow). When I approached his car I gave him the two-second assessment: masculine looking brotha, not bad. I nodded at him and shifted my focus away and kept walking, only looking back when I got about twenty feet away.

That was his cue. I heard the car start and he slowly pulled up next to me in the middle of the street and with a southern drawl he asked me if I needed a ride. I told him I was cool and we made small talk. Now that I was closer and had more time to look at him, he didn’t seem all that attractive. His teeth were kind of bucked and spaced, and his eyes were a little bugged. He was a troll. But he seemed nice enough to converse with.

I have a theory--the Treasure Troll Theory. Depending on what you like and are into, NEVER write off a guy just because he doesn’t seem that cute in the face. With a little patience, that ugly guy might turn out to be a trasure troll—a troll with a pot of gold. A treasure troll is a guy with some trollish defect (horrible face or attitude), but he has some hidden treasure that can compensate for his little problem. He’s someone who’s not so cute, but:

• when he takes off their clothes he reveals a body that just won’t quit
• has an asshole that snaps on your dick and feels like it’s plugged into a socket
• has a pipe that is hung like a porn star
• whose sex skills can take you to a new level of conciosness

Depending on what you like, having a little patience can get you pleasure that a lot of other folks miss out on. But that’s just me.

I quickly got tired of the small talk with the CRUISER. I was upfront with him, “So what you like to get into?” He seemed a little shocked, “You mean sexually?” “Yeah.” I replied. He seemed a little nervous, “We’ll I don’t know. I guess I am a freak. It don’t really matter. As long as it is safe.”

I had heard this one before. Countless guys hiding their sexual desires behind the vaguest of terms: freak.

What’s a freak? The question comes up in Waiting to Exhale when a young daughter asks her mother, Bernadine (played by the superb actress Angela Bassett), for a definition. It’s been 10 years and black folks are still looking for an answer to that question.

Before ENRIQUE came over, told his soldier stories, and got fucked—we had a conversation that exemplifies the frustrating exchanges that I usually have when people use this vague word.

ENRIQUE: Let me know if you like to get into freaky shit.
BERNARD: That depends on what you mean by freaky.
ENRIQUE: I mean freaky.
BERNARD: OK. You haven’t told me anything. What are you saying? What is a freak to you?

Then came his avoidance.

ENRIQUE: I am just getting home from the military.
BERNARD: So?
ENRIQUE: So, I haven’t had sex in a long time and I really want some freaky action.
BERNARD: Then stop talking in circles and tell me what you want.

I was getting really tired of this back and forth volleying. It was obvious that there was a specific act he enjoyed. But he was too ashamed to come out and say it. I decided I would help him out.

BERNARD: What, are you into people pissing and shitting on you?
ENRIQUE: NO! I ain’t talking about that white shit.
BERNARD: Then you need to stop pussyfooting around and TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!

He was quiet.
ENRIQUE: I mean, I was wondering if you and your boy could nut in a nigga’s face or in my mouth?
BERNARD: Sure, we can do that.

I said—thinking to myself that was nasty to do with someone you’re meeting for the first time.

Why are guys so reluctant to say what they are into? Charles Stephens talks about this fear, but even he is afraid to reveal his fetishes. Brothas aren’t afraid to say that they are a freak—but when pressed to define their inner freakdom something gets lost in translation, and we don’t seem to be able to find the words.

I am tired of guys asking me what a freak is as though it has some universal definition. Freaky is in the eye of the beholder. What about sex isn’t freaky? So what qualifies something as freaky? Some things you consider freaky others don’t. For example, I love dirty raunchy talk during sex. For me, that’s par for the course. For other people, that’s freaky.

But let’s break it down further. Truthfully, there are two types of freak. Good freaky and freaky disgusting. Good freaky includes those acts you reserve for special encounters or with that special person. Freaky disgusting is just that nasty ass shit that you will not do under any circumstances whatsoever. For me, shooting cum on my body is Good Freaky. Punching someone in the gut: Freaky Disgusting. Fisting someone is Good Freaky, but defecating on someone’s face, that’s Freaky Disgusting.

So fellas, next time someone asks you what you get into—just be upfront. Because you can’t get what you want, if you don’t ask for it.