I WAS A TEENAGE COCKROACH
“When Gregor Samsa
woke up one morning
from unsettling dreams”
—Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
It was simply awful—I became Kafka's Cockroach. It was much worse than being transformed into Gogol’s Nose or Roth’s Breast. It was the worst Oedipal thing that could possibly happen to a teenage kid. It wasn’t a matter of adolescent hormones or hormonal desires—it was a wretched curse outta the blue. A primitive impulse—suddenly had appropriated my body and soul.
If puberty is a boy’s entry into the symbolic order of Adults—then my situation was just the opposite. Suddenly I found myself regressed and not knowing what I was—at least until my first shocking ogling glance into my all-knowing, smirking bedroom mirror.
There’d been a hideous Metamorphosis, a truly naked Nightmare that could never possibly be true. I looked at myself in the mirror—I’d become a Dick!!! A huge male organ with a gimpy pair of legs with a couple of tiny bulging bloodshot eyeballs and ugly varicose veins and arteries running and wiggling up & down my obscene phallic girth and grotesque phallic length. It was just awful—I'd actually become a Kafkaesque Nightmare!!!I'd shamelessly become poor Gregor Samsa's grotesque cockroach!!!
It was like an Oedipal Curse, a marked House of Cards come tumbling down—there went any kind of normal sexual pleasure or desire for any future lovemaking. Not that I was a Romeo or Valentino or anything like that—I was an innocent virgin and not exactly God’s gift to women either. But then what pimply-faced eighteen-year-old chicken is? I was still naïve and in the middle of having nocturnal wet dreams out of the blue. In fact, it was right after waking up from one such rather embarrassing emissions—that I discovered my maddening erotic Metamorphosis.
Was there any connection between the two—the wet dream and my skinny teenage 5 foot 6 inches turning into a tense engorgement of muy macho erect Maleness? There I was standing nude in front of my bedroom mirror—a totally obscenely embarrassingly erotic Monstrosity.
I wanted to grow up just like any other man, of course—but this kind of quickie undignified speeded-up Virility was simply ridiculous!!! Surely I was literally the Embodiment of some kind of Rude Masculine No-Brainer Accident? I noticed with horror that my new phallic body even had a pair of erect quivering blushing pink nipples!!! And they were pierced!!!
And to make matters even worse—I could feel the blushing rush of blood coursing through my new body making it difficult to move. The more I looked at myself—the more erect I got. Where was all this burgeoning blood coming from—was there no end to my stiff-as-a-board hard-as-nails Erection? My legs grew weak—I started getting faint. Oh, dear me!!!
And then to make matters even more worse—I had another one of those terribly embarrassingly uncontrollable Premature Ejaculations!!! Ten times worse than my usual normal All-American Boy unconscious Dream-Boat nocturnal emissions. I had no control over it—I became a Kafkaesque Cock!!!
It was as if some uncanny Spastic Being had descended into me and possessed me like that Jacques Tourneur horror movie I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE!!! I could hear moody Hoodoo Voodoo drums beating incessantly down in my loins, I could feel myself becoming tall stoned Darby Jones the dark Guardian of the Crossroads in the dark moody Cain Fields of the Voodoo Night!!!
It was like something supernatural!!! Or something super-natural like the Killer Hurricane Katrina—or the devastating meteor explosion in Siberia called the Tunguska Explosion that flattened everything for miles and miles around. Except it was me this time that got flattened...
My shy thin skinny teenage hips shivered and quivered like Popocatepetl—shooting and squirting a megaton of runny goop outta me all over my bed and hitting the ceiling. It was just simply awful—so totally awfully rude.
But to make matters worse, right in the middle of this unexpectly orgasmic Spasticity—my mother knocked on my door reminding me I should hurry up and get out of bed to go to school. Luckily I always locked the door—but I’m sure she perhaps heard what must have sounded strangely like some tramp steamer's bilge pump hard at work emptying its gobbledygook load down by the docks before sailing off for Hong Kong, Bangkok and Singapore.
"But how can I possibly go to Schmuck High School this morning looking like this?"—I said to myself sprawled on the floor looking up at the obscenely sperm-splattered ceiling. I’d surely be the laughing stock of everybody at school—especially in the gym class. All of them leering at me in the showers—calling me truly a real Dickhead this time!!!”
After all, I wasn’t exactly an exquisite Greek male statue of beauty—I was hardly a classic study of Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo.” Even though the last line of Rilke's poem did seem to fit my predicament—“You must / change your life.”
But it had really happened—this simply bizarre, mysterious, whatever-happened moment had actually happened. My still-dazed imagination simply couldn't comprehend it all—this prickly pusillanimous predicament I was in!!!
Not only that—there was the gay gym teacher and the fag wrestling coach. They had insatiable phallic cravings that went beyond the beyond—one look at my new ultra-virile erotic masculinity and they'd go coo-coo. My new obscenely engorged bod would surely cause a riot down there in the locker room—where obscene things went on all the time anyway. My doomed sense of lost chicken innocence was growing more & more...
Knowing that it would be fruitless to avoid the ceaseless appetites of my gay gym teacher and queer wrestling coach stultified me. There was also all the nelly nascent fags and closet-case voyeurs just waiting for me in the locker-room.
I felt completely helpless and frustrated not knowing what to do with my embarrassingly insatiable size-queen thing. To say nothing of all my various & sundry fucked-up fem-butch bipolar disorders slouching around inside me like Monsters of the Id from FORBIDDEN PLANET. My newly transformed body had created nightmarish problems that I’d have to deal with to surely endure—scandalous post-traumatic syndrome horrors that would surely taint the rest of my so-called life!!!
I heard my parents drive off to work—and all I could think about was their shock and horror if they could only see me now. Surely they’d ship me off to some two-bit Carnival—where they’d show me off like one of Browning's FREAKS. A replacement for aging burned-out Prince Radian—the ugly human stump with no arms or legs.
Except with me it would be slightly different—at least I had a pair of spindly legs to wiggle around. And some toes so I could roll my own cigarettes. I'd have to wear a brassier because of my pair of mutant tits—even though they were a nice pair of pert pick nipples.
Although the rest of me would surely get all the attention—hidden away in some secret sideshow carnival tent in some back-alley dive, flopping around in the sawdust like poor pitiful Olga Baclanova the squawking cross-eyed Chicken Woman after the Freaks got done with her!!!
To think, spending the rest of my so-called awful miserable life—being ogling at by the leering eyes of crude lascivious slobbering rubes there in the dismal shadowy depths of some rural fairground. Getting groped and fondled by some dumb ignorant country farmboys for a rude cornfield quickie? To be nothing more than the embodiment of cheap lewd young male gangster gaucherie? To end up being a mere irrevocably kitschy freaky monstrosity—the one & only Human Penis that could talk?
Talk about NO EXIT—No Escape for the Wicked. Then to be the object of quack scientific studies, to be put on TV, displayed in obscene Youtube videos and gossiped about on feral FOX-News, to become the Parody Prick of Bourgeoisie Worship interviewed on the Oprah Show, fondled by fickle Freudians and touted in lascivious Las Vegas Liberace striptease acts. To be constantly disrobed in front of leering strangers, to be propositioned by dirty old men for lewd porno flicks, to be dished by the NYTimes and laughed at in the infernally obsequious blithering Blogosphere?
To even think about such things—filled me with the worst Fear, Paranoia and Self-Loathing ever imagined. It was the eye of the hurricane as far as my brutal claustrophobic Prickhood predicament was concerned. It was simply devastating thinking about the way all the gross events of my life kept piling up so quickly and unexpectedly—toward only one possible Denouement: a life with no purpose or meaning. Just unending inescapable no-exit Dickhood!!!
I could do nothing but lie there on my bedroom floor—dazed in a kind of deluded daydream full of the worst most possible post-orgasmic depression and icky ennui. I drifted off into La La Land—daydreaming it all wasn’t “real” and surely simply whatever happened to me that morning hadn't really happened at all!
That decisive moment must have flipped some power switch somewhere—pushing some magic button that suddenly transformed me back into the person I'd been in the first place that strange morning of Dick Destiny. That fateful morning when I'd unfortunately become—a truly rude Cock-roach Cock that changed my whole life completely.
Yes, I’d become a Creature of my own perverted teenage male imagination—somehow I’d been detoured down into some back-alley of sheer depravity. All surely because of ceaseless teenage habit of getting stoned and masturbation—beating my brains out every chance I got. Leering at porno mags—and thinking about cute girls at Blowjob High.
It was surely all my fault for being so sexually, obscenely
preoccupied with getting off—surely my addiction to dick caused my various nefarious nocturnal emissions. And somehow some strangely coincidental meaty morphing of my preoccupation with sex turned reality into a nightmare?
It had all happened to me like some tacky crummy Circus Act—kitschy klieg lights combing the sky, announcing the Premier of some new kind of Horror Movie Creature-Feature at the Roxy.
Somehow I’d become a Snake Pit Drive-In Hollywood CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON flick—waking up in some sick director's unnatural Sexploitation Cesspool!!!
Time slowly passed by that morning—it must have taken an hour or so. But somehow it was time enough—to transcend the horribly weird condition I’d fallen into. Surely it must have been some dream or hallucination all along—I said to myself looking in the mirror.
There wasn’t anything really “mock-heroic” about being human again—for all I knew it could happen again any moment without a hint of what was to come. For all I knew—it could be something even worse the next time—than the nightmare I’d been through before. Worse than waking up a crummy Cockroach—worse than waking up a Cock once again?
It was as if I’d been through—some kind of infernally weird Joker’s cruelly distorted anatomy lesson. The abnormal signs of teenage adolescence coming back to haunt me with a vengence—with all the truant, tacky, absurd, comic and tragic consequences of being a young bumbling Adolescent.
Becoming myself again was actually hardly a consolation to me now—after being totally horrified by my sense of young teenage maleness gone amok. It had been breached so rudely, crudely and cavalierly—by whatever or whoever did it to me. Something with a sick sense of humor—mixed with putrid parody and seamy satire.
But maybe I wasn't the only kid on the block back then or even now—to become inextricably, complicatedly a rather strange Dick for a Day? That whole day—I stayed home in my bedroom. I was glad just—to be me again. I thanked the Powers That Be—and didn't beat off for a whole week......