"She" walked from the viewing booth area back into the front of the bookstore. Dressed in micro-booty shorts, a cheap frilly polyester blouse, covering a dingy wifebeater, "she" was about to get 'her' stroll up and down 30th Street. This Man couldn't help but shake my head and smirk--partly because 'she' looked hideous (I mean, out of shape, ashy legs and the ugliest, cheapest wig that this Man has ever seen) and partly out of sheer disgust. I'll admit, I've never been a fan of cross dressers, transsexuals or drag queens, but I am cordial and respectful whenever I find myself in their company. I suppose I can somewhat understand the struggles that they have to endure on a daily basis all while trying to maintain their identity.
So I'm browsing the video shelves filled with movies that feature black men, Latinos and twink boys , but not really caring what I was picking up (check out Gang ed 3: A cum-filled Ass) when BAM! BAM! BOOM!
"She" rushed back into the store, wig in hand, crawling to the safety contained within the store. I could hear the punched being landed even though I couldn't see the action going on. Someone outside the door was hitting 'her'.
"Are you alright?" the cashier asked.
"Could you please call the police." 'She' calmly requested. At this point, 'she' was in the corner of the store, near the s, butt plugs & magazines.
The other customer and I didn't make eye contact, but even I could sense that he was just as on edge as This Man now found myself. Then, I did something that even now I hate myself for doing.
I giggled.
I tried not to, but I couldn't stop myself. And I knew the situation wasn't funny.
Continuing to browse the likes of Dawson's 50 Load Weekend, Raw Thugs 2, Daddy s the Boys and The Twinks of Amsterdam, This Man could feel a sickening feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. No, it was guilt of being in the bookstore at 1a.m., browsing and kinda cruising. It wasn't that at all.
It was SHAME...at myself.
That's when I started to feel horrible. I tried to reason with myself by saying that maybe just maybe 'she'd done something and deserved the attack. Or maybe some guy had 'her' mistaken for someone else. There could've been a million and one reasons why that guy attacked her for all This Man knew, right?
Right?
I ed around for about 20 more minutes. The San Diego Police Department still hadn't showed up to take a report (see, why I feel the way I do with SDPD), but I was still among the shelves feeling like dog .
Meanwhile, 'she' was calmly waiting at the front of the store waiting for the cops to show up. I had to marvel at the fact that this 'woman' had just been sucker-punched, ridiculed and humiliated, 'she' still hadn't broken down and cried (the way I know I certainly would've). It's as if 'she' willed herself not to.
But maybe, just maybe if these cross-dressing streetwalkers would learn to defend themselves, I reasoned with my mind, then attacks like this wouldn't happen. I truly believe that. I've always felt that there would be less attacks on gays and lesbians if we learned to defend ourselves against those who like to attack either from behind or spontaneously.
Finally, feeling like a complete ass, I managed to get myself out of the video store. The incident had dulled my mood and This Man was no longer in the mood to cruise...or browse, or whatever the I was doing in North Park Video at damn near 2 in the morning.

Mahalo