Sunday was a gorgeous day to be out in the garden, and I was for several hours in the afternoon. Yesterday wasn’t bad, either. This week we’re looking at another mini-heatwave, though, so I doubt I’ll be able to get out too much before the weekend.

Tonight is National Night Out, apparently, so there’s been some discussion of gardeners bringing candles out to the gardens and lighting them up, and hanging out in them until nine. All I’ve got to say is, if you’re gonna bring candles, make sure they’re citronella. I was there around six last night, when my garden’s shaded, and the mosquitoes were having their own little night out. And dinner was on me. Literally.

So anyway…

Yesterday there was this fellow in the fens cruising. Well, there were a few, as always, but this one was cruising me. Little old ME! Imagine! I felt like a sweepstakes winner!

Truth is I was just minding my own business, dropped in on my way home from “work,” and really wasn’t looking for “action.”

Day-cruising in the Fenway is generally kept to the designated cruising circuit, which consisits of certain paths, nooks and crannies among the phragmites. At least before dark, and until they hook up. I think this is a good arrangement. I mean, I accept the Fens as a multipurpose park, and I certainly don’t object to a little al fresco amore on occasion.

So this fellow was hanging out obviously looking for a little afternoon delight. I went to get a wheelbarrow and saw him. He was strutting around very determinedly, shirtless, and was one of these guys, probably in his mid-forties, who’s totally ravaged from the neck up, but with the athletic physique of a twenty-something.

He stalked around (and around and around), and finally zeroed in on my garden. I was chatting with Tony when he passed by the second time, and on his third pass he finally stopped.

He leaned on the fence, and smiled a sad, ravaged smile, and said, “Hey!”

We were like, “how’s it going?”

He was like, “I want some seeds.”

I said, “what kind of seeds are you looking for?”

He was like, “Your seeds, man!”

“Mmm, nice.”

He’s like, “You gotta gimme credit for that line, man. It took me, like, ten minutes to think of it.”

Tony and I knodded in appreciation. And I rushed right over and poked my thingy through the chain-link fence, and a good time was had by all.

No. Sad to say, the mystery was gone.

You know, cruising’s a delicate balance. He was obviously horny and frustrated and thought he’d just cut to the chase. But, strange as it may seem, this is a highly ritualized exercise. And especially day-cruising takes honed instincts, charm, and tact. At night, if you’re in a cruising spot, you don’t need the charm or the tact. But in the daytime, you may be in cruise-world, but once you diverge from the path, you’re out in the real world.

I mean, I was in my garden pulling weeds chatting with my neighbor. You know? In the real world we don’t just go up to people and solicit them. It’s not like asking the time. “Excuse me, may I blow you?” “How ya doing? Would you mind poking me in the bushes over there?” That’s not how day-time society works. Sorry. If you want to cruise in the daylight of the real world, it’s a different set of rules. It takes skills, people.

Heaven forbid anyone reading this were to think I’m a prude. Far from it. We live in a slut society–not just sex sluts, but corporate sluts, drug sluts, sports sluts. Far be it from me to suggest we should hide our sluttiness under a bushel basket, or whatever. Slut it up, by all means. But even sluts go about things a certain way. That’s all I’m saying.

Categories: Urban Gardening Strategies