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 fter
8 or 10 successes, I'd gone hoarse about
three times, and a fellow tapped me on the
shoulder. Turns out it was a cop.
The Cop
San Francisco cops are a unique breed. This one
had been standing with three of his buddies,
quietly, off to the side. I'm pretty sure they
hadn't seen anyone doing anything like what I was
doing before. So they watched to see what I was up
to.
The cop said that since I was naked under the
sign, it might be possible for someone to lodge a
complaint, especially if there were children
around. Plus, consider what I was asking people to
do, eh? Maybe I'd like to cover up, or be a little
more quiet, or move to a side street and avoid
flashing in front of kids (not that I'd actually done
that, but... well, you know).
My throat was dry. I pointed out that I wasn't
naked; I was wearing the sign boards, and that
although I was naked underneath, so was everyone
around us. Even he was
naked under his clothes! He patiently went over
what he'd just said. He wasn't threatening to
arrest me; he was kindly informing me that he'd
have to arrest me if someone complained (that
lesbian? -- I wondered), and was just being
friendly, informing me of the possibility.
You know, you try to be rebellious. You try to
make a mark on the world. You try to provoke some
sort of response. You work hard, you try to get The
Authorities to sit up, take notice, and repress
your freedom of expression. And then something like
this happens. What's a poor revolutionary to
do? Sheesh!
Plus, my throat was dry.
 The
Retreat
My voice was gone. The cop was cute and polite.
It was time for my nap and I was very tired. So I
put on my thong underwear and wandered off to find
a side street. Fellow revolutionaries, will you
forgive me?
 Along
the way, I had a close encounter of the
non-commercial kind with a fellow who had added a
condom as a penis to an E.T. doll.
I found a secluded corner and took off the
sandwich boards. Then (ugh!) I put on my pants.
 
That bartender was still at it, cute as ever, along
with his female co-worker. I decided against asking
him to strip for a dollar.
Then, what -- to my wondering eyes -- should
appear, but...
...a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer?
 No.
A small circle forming around a guy whose mouth was
open, pointed toward the sky, and who soon dropped
to his knees. Huh? People were taking photos of
him, too.
A moment's examination showed the cause of the
ruckus. Hanging overhead was a brown dildo on a
string. Someone overhead was dangling it down near
the passersby. This kneeling fellow was trying to
get it in his mouth without using his hands.
As I watched, the game became clearer. He was
working for beads -- beaded necklaces, like those
thrown to the crowd during Mardi Gras. There were
guys standing on a balcony one floor up who had
huge wads of necklaces, and if you could get the
dildo in your mouth (no hands!), you got some beads
showered down on you. A worthy reward for your
demonstrated oral skills, eh? And not even one word
about Monica Lewinsky!
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Show
us your dick! 
