Select Essays
Gay Men Like Me
The Good Men Project
Ben Shaberman discovered something interesting about himself when he moved to Miami Beach in the late 1990s.
Women don’t notice me. I’m short. I often have red blotches of eczema on my forehead. And, I’m not quick witted during random encounters with the opposite sex at a coffee shop or the dry cleaners.
This High
Empty Mirror
My first attempt at rolling a joint was rather pathetic. It looked more like a small turd covered in paper than something to be smoked.
And not knowing to remove the twigs and seeds — of which it had many — the loosely rolled number disconcertingly popped and crackled each time I took a hit of it. Was there something wrong with the pot? Had I been ripped off by the dropout with a scraggly beard and small Japanese motorcycle who sold nickel bags every morning behind the high school library?
Commentary: Worthless
National Public Radio: Morning Edition
Commentator Ben Shaberman says his recent experience with the stock market has allowed him to deal with reality and move on.
Small Talk With The Dying
Months to Years
When I first walked into Joe’s room, all I could think was, “Why the hell did I sign up for this gig?”
He was one of my first patient encounters as a hospice volunteer, and he was barely clinging to life. I was asked to read to him. He was a large-framed, middle-aged, lightskinned African-American, likely to pass away within the next day or so. Sadly, he had no friends or family visiting him. He just lay motionless and unconscious on the bed, drawing slow, shallow breaths.
Dangling Testicle Signals Doom for the Universe
The Good Men Project
While Ben Shaberman is not a big believer in signs, this recent one got this attention.
After pulling off my undies one night recently, I noticed that my left testicle was hanging considerably lower than my right. Well, this was a cause for concern, given that my balls had, up to this point, always lived harmoniously, side-by-side. This asymmetry conjured the image of Leonardo DeCaprio (left testicle) slowly sinking into the North Atlantic as Kate Winslet (right testicle) can’t hold on to him any longer. “Good bye, lefty,” she cries. Then, a fade out as Celine Dion yowls in the background.
Hardcore Entomology
By Ben Shaberman
From The Vegan Monologues
Originally published in Clean Sheets Erotica Magazine
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While driving down the freeway recently, I noticed a big greenish-yellowish blob on my right windshield wiper. Upon further inspection, I realized it was two grasshoppers mating, doggy-style. Because grasshoppers came — evolutionarily speaking — before canines, it might be more fitting to call their mating position “grasshopper-style.”
In case you are wondering how I knew that the grasshoppers were mating rather than just embracing, I did a little research on the Internet. It’s incredible how much insect porn is out there: photos, diagrams, and graphic descriptions. One innocent-enough-looking Web page from the University of Wyoming, reports, “…a male usually approaches a female stealthily and pounces on her…invariably mounts the female from behind, lowers the tip of his abdomen below hers and attaches the genitalia.” Whew, this is not the Styrofoam and straight-pin stuff from my eighth-grade biology class.
Anyway, I was amazed by the fact that these two grasshoppers could hang on to one another, and the oh-so erotic windshield wiper of my car, as I was doing 60 miles an hour down the highway. I could even see their little antennae fluttering in the wind.
Was this fast-moving fornication exciting for these insects? Or did the male climax prematurely from the anxiety of being on a speeding car? Does the female even care? Maybe she likes her sex quick. “Three seconds! Honey, you’re the best!”
Something tells me that this couple did not have an extended courtship: No wining and dining, no foreplay, no “let’s cuddle for a few hours after we’re done.” No, the male just pulled down his little grasshopper pants, the female said, “Wow,” and away they went.
Clearly, they have few inhibitions, and it looks as though they may be into public displays of affection. Given the dangerous nature of this mating venue, one could easily argue that they’re masochistic, as well. Maybe they’re swingers, hopping — so to speak — from one partner to another.
Regardless, for me, their reckless abandon was liberating. With violence, adultery, sexually transmitted diseases, birth control and gender identification complicating the sexual practices of we humans, I found it refreshing to see two creatures just going at it.
Unfortunately, though, this story did not have a happy ending. About a mile from my exit, they couldn’t hold onto my wiper any longer and were whisked away into dense midday traffic.
I do take consolation in knowing that despite their untimely demise, at least they went to the great grasshopper hereafter with grinning mandibles.