Cruising Confederate Park’s Men’s Public Restroom (A Short Story)

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During the evening at Orlando’s Confederate Park, Dan drove his car into a parking spot. Aged 43, grey strands showed in Dan’s brown hair. A white polo shirt covered his beer-bellied body. Also, he wore light-brown slacks and grey loafers.

For a few moments, Dan sat in the car and stared at the public restroom. Like typical public restrooms, the spot presented two entrances, one side for women…and one side for men.

Dan looked at his watch. The time was now 9:07 PM. He knew the restroom closed at 10 PM.

In the past, Dan used to take his daughter to Confederate Park. When he used the restroom, he always saw the solicitations for sex acts written on a restroom stall’s wall.

Recently, protest over the name “Confederate Park” continued to rise. The word “confederate” offended many people. Because the Confederate South fought for the continued enslavement of African-Americans during the United States Civil War, many people thought the words “Confederate Park” promoted white supremacy.

Dan thought the protest was bullshit, complaints from oversensitive people.

Yet, during the rising protest, friends and acquaintances told Dan men really did meet at Confederate Park.

Dan opened his car door and walked out. With the remote button on his key-chain, he locked the car’s doors. Next, he headed towards the restroom.

When he entered the building, he looked around. Nobody was there, which handed Dan relief because he didn’t think he could go through this.

He always remained quiet about his homosexual side. Once during a Miami business trip, he ran into a young Hispanic guy at a bar, an olive-skinned guy who said his parents were from Cuba.

After some drinks, Dan invited the Hispanic guy to his hotel room to smoke pot. The guy took him up on his offer.  Yet, smoking pot soon led to kissing. Eventually, the kissing led to the bed.

After that encounter, Dan never saw the young Hispanic guy again.  Also, he forgot his name.

There were more business trip encounters like that. Yet, Dan always kept those encounters secret.

Cruising public restrooms was a first for him.

Figuring no one was showing up, Dan walked out of the building. Then, he looked around. His eyes wandered over the empty playground. Then, they wandered over the empty basketball court.

Dan looked at his watch again. Now, the time was 9:24 PM.

He walked back inside the restroom and decided to wait.  If nothing happened, Dan figured he would just come back another night.

Suddenly, a thought hit him; cruising public restrooms was a crazy idea, something beneath him.  Dan thought only low-lifers cruised public restrooms, sickos who didn’t have the decency to rent a room.

Again, Dan walked out. Again, he looked around. He still didn’t see anyone. Yet, he was glad nobody showed up. The idea of cruising public restrooms continued sickening him. Those sickos probably didn’t even use condoms.

When he was almost to his car, the sexual cravings continued swirling inside Dan’s body. Then, he thought the heck with it.

Dan turned around and headed back towards the restroom.

Inside, he saw a black stud washing his hands. The stud wore a blue t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Also, he wore white leather sneakers.

The stud turned around and looked at Dan.

“Hi,” Dan said.

“Hello,” the stud said.

Dan never tasted “chocolate” before. Yet, this didn’t mean he never would.

“I heard this is where I can find some action,” Dan said. “If you know what I mean.”

The stud smiled.

Then, Dan said, “I’ll give you twenty bucks for a blow job.”

Then, the stud asked, “You want to pay me twenty bucks to give you a blow job?”

“No, I was thinking I’ll give you a blow job. Then, I’ll pay you twenty bucks.”

“Let me see the money.”

Dan pulled out a twenty.

Then, he said, “Right here. A nice twenty dollar bill.”

Then, the stud pulled out a police badge and said, “You’re under arrest, buddy.”

 

Soon, two other plainclothes cops arrived. Both were white guys, a dark-haired guy and a redhead.

The redhead sneered at Dan.

“Well,” he started. “If it isn’t Dan McGuire.”

“You know him?” the black cop asked.

“No, but I know about him. Representative Dan McGuire. Voted against a gay rights bill.”

The black cop looked at Dan.

Dan lowered his eyes towards the floor.

Then, the black cop said, “Are you kidding me?”

Dan looked at him.

Then, he said, “I thought you were going to rob me.”

“What?!” the black cop said.

“You’re a huge black man. I offered you oral sex because I thought you were going to harm me.”

The black cop looked at the redhead cop.

Then, he said, “Can you believe this shit?”

Then, the redhead said, “Unbelievable, isn’t it?”

 

In his office space, Detective Bobby Jones was being interviewed by Heather Vandenberg, a brunette female reporter.

“My partners and I were in the area investigating a burglar case,” Detective Jones started. “Then, I noticed Mr. McGuire walking out of the bathroom. He turned around and walked back in. I saw him do this two times. Next, I told my partners I was going to the restroom.”

He continued the story about the interaction between him and Dan McGuire.

“I had no idea who he was,” Detective Jones continued. “I didn’t know until one of my partners mentioned it. I’m just shocked. A guy who voted against gay rights was caught cruising a men’s public restroom.”

 

Days later, in front of the building containing his office, Dan McGuire held a press conference. A small crowd of reporters stood in front of his podium.

“First, I want to thank those who continue supporting me, “Dan said. “I am now going to answer the accusations aimed at me. Like I mentioned previously, I feared for my life. I thought the undercover officer was going to harm me.  He was a big guy. For saying that, I was called racist.

“It angers me when accusations of racism continue to haunt Republicans.  Just because I’m a Republican does not mean I’m a racist. Accusing me of racism is nothing more than neo-liberal smear tactics.

“Republican peers have asked me to resign. I will not resign. I will fight these charges against me. Why? Because I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Next, Dan raised his right index finger in the air.

With his finger moving with each word, he said, “I…am…innocent.”

photo credit: Darwin Bell clear and easy instructions via photopin (license)

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My Blog Address is Now Patrickscottbarnes.com

Even though the service is free, I got tired of looking at wordpress.com at the end of my blog’s address.

Also, experience from a previous blog taught me domain names bring more traffic.

Another thing, you won’t be seeing ads on my blogs, unless I’m getting paid for it.

Since I had the money, I figured why the hell not. Go ahead and get a domain name. Plus use a name Central Florida folks always recognize, my full name.

No more Patrickscottbarnes.wordpress.com.  Now, it’s Patrickscottbarnes.com.

To celebrate, here’s some booty pics. Enjoy!

Latina Booty Pose at Orlando's AeroShowing Her Back at Orlando's The BeachamClosing Time Booty Pose at Orlando's The BeachamBooty Shot at Orlando's The BeachamBackstage Booty at Orlando's The BeachamWearing Red at Orlando's The BeachamUh...somewhere in OrlandoLatina Booty Pose at Orlando's The BeachamBackstage Backshot at Orlando's The BeachamEbony Booty Pose at Orlando's The Patio

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75 Multiracial Photos of Orlando Nightlife Women

These pics are from the following Orlando Nightclubs: Aero, The Beacham, The Patio, The Social and 64 North. During the weekends, I am hired to photograph these places.

Enjoy the pics.

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Selfie Pics with My New LED iPhone Case

Last week on Amazon, I ordered a Neatday LED selfie case.  You place the case on your iPhone.  Then, when your camera phone is in the selfie mode, you turn on your case. Next, the LED light from the case provides enough light for a selfie pic, a good thing for taking selfies in dark areas.

I first used it on a Thursday night.  Then, during my weekend photo gig, I used it.  I need more practice with taking selfies. My eyes are always aiming elsewhere.  Anyhow, enjoy the pics.

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50 Multiracial Photos of Orlando Nightlife Women

Friday and Saturday nights, I photograph four Orlando nightspots: The Beacham, 64 North, The Patio and Aero.  On these nights, The Beacham plays mostly hip hop. The Patio plays a mixture of hip hop and pop music. Music from the Patio is heard inside 64 North. Aero, a rooftop spot, plays electronic dance music.

Sundays, I photograph both The Beacham and The Social. On these nights, The Beacham plays current Latin music. Also, hip hop and reggae is played. The Social plays the traditional Latin music.

Currently, I use a Canon 80D. From my camera, I Wi-Fi some pics to my iPhone. On the iPhone, I edits pics using the free photo app Snapseed. Then, I upload the pics to Facebook.

For the blog, I retouched some photos using Photoshop’s Lightroom.

 

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Celery City’s Racist Ghost

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In August 2012, African-American Terrance McNeil was traveling from Greenville, South Carolina to Orlando, Florida. Before reaching Orlando, he stopped in the small town of Celery City, Florida. On the Internet, he had read about Celery City’s friendly residents and sunsets over Lake Jackson.

Driving on Lake Jackson’s riverfront, he ran across Monroe Hotel.  McNeil later reported a middle-aged white man checked him in for two nights. The man wore glasses.  Also, he owned short grey hair.

“Nice to have you, Mr. McNeil,” the man said. “My name is Walter.”

After checking in, McNeil walked to a nearby picnic pavilion located on the riverfront.

Sitting on top of a picnic table, McNeil watched the sunset over the lake. Fish jumped out of the water and plopped back down below the surface. A few sailboats glided across the water.  McNeil also spotted a lone alligator.

He later reported that as he watched the sunset, he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey, boy, what are you doing out here?”

McNeil turned his head. He later claimed seeing a white man wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. A brown fedora rested on top of the man’s head.  Also, the man was chewing tobacco.

“I said what are you doing out here?” the man said.

Burning with rage, McNeil turned his whole body around and faced the man.

“Minding my own business,” McNeil said. “And watch who you’re calling ‘boy’.”

“Listen here, boy,” the man said.

“Didn’t I tell you stop calling me ‘boy’?!”

“In this section of the riverfront? Coloreds aren’t allowed.”

“Say what?!”

“You best get going. Or else your uppity black ass is gonna live to regret it.”

“Says who?”

McNeil later reported the man spat towards him. Brown liquid splashed on the concrete in front of the picnic table.

McNeil also later claimed the man completely vanished into thin air.

“I did not see that,” McNeil said he told himself. “Ghosts are not real.”

———-

Later that night, McNeil was walking from nearby Manatee’s Bar and Grill back to Monroe Hotel.

He later claimed hearing an infant crying. He looked around. Nothing. He didn’t see anything. The crying continued.

Next, he heard the infant screaming as if in pain.

Then, a familiar voice said, “I thought I told you coloreds aren’t allowed here.”

McNeil turned around. Standing in front of him and holding a shotgun was the man he saw earlier.

Again, the man was chewing tobacco. He spat on the ground. Next, he aimed his gun at McNeil.

Then, he said, “Run, nigger.”

Quickly, McNeil turned around and ran. He heard a gunshot. Then, he heard the man laughing.

McNeil ran all the way to Monroe Hotel and started pounding on a room’s door.

“Help me!” he yelled. “Somebody help me. A man out here is trying to kill me!”

He continued pounding, but the door never opened.

Another gunshot ranged out.

McNeil ran towards the hotel stairs and ran up to his room located on the second floor.  As soon as he opened the door, he saw a bull alligator waiting for him.  Suddenly with speed, the alligator moved towards McNeil.

McNeil turned and ran.

Yet, coming up the steps was the gun toting man. When he reached the floor, the man looked at McNeil and smiled an evil grin.

Then, he said, “Well, if it isn’t uppity Little Black Sambo.”

The man aimed his gun at McNeil.

McNeil turned to run but he saw the alligator was out of the hotel room. And he was moving towards McNeil.

Then, McNeil looked at the hotel’s railing. He ran towards it and moved over it. Then, from the ledge, he jumped.

After landing on the ground, McNeil started running again.

Yet, he bumped into Walter the hotel clerk.

“Man, what kind of place is this?” McNeil said.

With a calm face, the clerk said, “Let’s go back to your room.”

“I’m not going back there! Fuck that!”

“They’re not going to hurt you. They just scare people. Now, let’s go back to your room. I’ll help you pack. Then, you can check out.”

“You damned right, I’m checking out!”

McNeil followed Walter back to the room.  The alligator was gone.

Like he promised, the hotel clerk helped McNeil.

Next, they headed to checkout. As he stood behind the desk, Walter reached down and pulled out a greetings card. He handed the card to McNeil.

On the card, a black baby was sitting on a riverfront’s coast. Behind the baby, an open-mouthed alligator was moving in.

“What the hell is this?!” McNeil said.

Then, Walter said, “On the riverfront, there was a time when black babies were used as alligator bait. The guy you saw with the gun? That was Harry Roberts. He ran the whole thing. Spectators from all over Florida would come and watch those alligator events. Of course, things like that don’t happen here anymore. Yet, the ghosts live on. ”

McNeil started handing the card back over to Walter.

“No,” Walter said. “You keep that as a souvenir.”

“Thanks, man,” McNeil said.

Soon, McNeil was on the road to Orlando.

After telling his story, interesting facts were found. In Celery City’s nasty past, the alligator events involving black babies actually happened. Yet, during the time McNeal claimed he visited the town, Monroe Hotel was closed for almost a year.  Also, before the hotel’s closing, longtime hotel clerk Walter Rinehart had already died. Due to ghost rumors at the time, no one wanted to buy Monroe Hotel.

Terrance McNeil still claims his story is true.

photo credit: E. Krall via photopin (license)

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Lake Jackson’s Riverfront Ghosts (A Short Story)

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“How long are you staying?” the hotel clerk asked him.

It was an elderly white guy who wore glasses.  Also, the guy owned short white hair.

“Two nights,” Terrence said.

Terrence noticed the pause on the clerk’s face.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

He hoped this wasn’t some racial shit.  Terrence thought black people’s money spent just as well as everyone else’s. The last thing he needed was some redneck clerk believing differently.

The clerk smiled.

“Oh no,” he said. “I just thought of something else. It isn’t related to this. Of course, you can stay two nights.  There’s no problem. Stay as long as you want, sir. It’s nice to have you.”

———-

Later that evening, the summer sun still shined over Bradford Hotel.  The hotel existed on Lake Jackson’s riverfront. A few cars were parked in front of Bradford.  On the hotel’s far right existed the restaurant Riverfront Eats.  Further down, a marina existed.  On the hotel’s left stood Manatee’s Bar and Grill.

As the evening sun continued shining, Terrence walked out of his second floor room.  He walked off the hotel’s property, passed Riverfront Eats and found a brown wooden pavilion sheltering over two picnic tables.

He sat on top of a picnic table and watched the sun set over Lake Jackson.  He saw a few sailboats.  Sometimes, a fish would jump up out of the water. Then, would plop back below the surface.

As he looked across the lake, Terrence saw mostly trees. Yet, a few houses existed here and there.

Suddenly, a voice from behind said, “Hey, boy, what are you doing out here?”

A chill crawled down Terrence’s spine.

He turned his head and saw a white guy wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. A brown fedora rested on top of his head.  Also, he was chewing tobacco.

“I said what are you doing out here?” the fedora guy said.

Burning rage filled Terrence. He turned his whole body around and faced the man.

“Minding my own goddamned business,” Terrence said. “And watch who you’re calling ‘boy’.”

“Listen here, boy,” the man said.

“Didn’t I tell you stop calling me ‘boy’?!”

“Coloreds aren’t allowed out here after sunset.”

“Say what?!”

“ You best get going. Or else your uppity black ass is gonna live to regret it.”

“Says who?”

The man spit towards Terrence. The brown liquid splashed on the concrete in front of the picnic table

Then, the man vanished.

“I did not see that,” Terrence said to himself. “No, I refuse to believe I saw that. Ghosts are not real.”

———-

At Manatee’s, Terrence sat at the bar counter.  Another black guy was sitting beside him.

In front of the bar, a middle-aged white guy wearing shades sung the blues as he strummed his electric guitar.

“So, where are you from?” the black guy asked Terrence. He was a big dude, looked like he hadn’t skipped a four course meal in his whole entire life. Earlier, Terrence learned his name was Carl.

“South Carolina,” Terrence said. “I’m on vacation. Thought I’d stop here before I hit Orlando.”

“Why this town, bro?”

“Read on the Internet it was a nice town to visit. Why do you ask? You don’t like it here?”

Carl looked down.

“What’s the matter?” Terrence asked.

Carl looked back at Terrence.

Then, he said, “Nothing. It’s an okay town.”

Then, Terence said, “You know, you’re the second one I saw doing that today.”

“Doing  what?”

“First, when I mentioned staying here two nights, the hotel clerk paused.”

“You’re staying here two nights? You didn’t mention that.”

“You see? Now, when I mention my staying here to you, you act funny too.  The way folks are behaving? I guess what I saw earlier must have been real.”

Carl aimed a serious look at Terrence.

Then, he asked, “What did you see earlier?”

Then, Terrence said, “I was sitting at the riverfront. Next thing I know, a hillbilly ghost was telling me to leave. He even spit chewing tobacco at me.  What kind of ghost spits chewing tobacco, man?”

Carl remained silent and continued looking at Terrence.

”Because I don’t believe in ghosts,” Terrence started again. “I thought I imagined the whole thing. Seeing how locals are acting, I guess I didn’t.”

Carl tilted up his beer mug and swallowed it empty. Then, he slammed the mug down on the counter.

“Look here, bro,” he said. “Leave this town.”

“So, I did see a ghost.”

“Just leave.  Go back to your hotel room. Pack your things and haul ass. Forget you even passed through this town. Just go.”

Carl stood up.

“Was that really a ghost, man?” Terrence asked.

Then, he noticed a few other patrons of various races staring at him.

Then, Carl said, “Just get the hell out of here, man.”

With that, he walked away.

———-

From Manatee’s, Terrence headed towards the hotel. He noticed a small bat flying through the air.

Then, he heard an infant crying. He looked around.  He still heard the crying but didn’t see anything. Yet, he heard the direction the sound was coming from. The picnic tables.

He walked towards the direction. As the infant continued crying, Terrance stepped up the pace.

He almost reached the picnic tables. Then, he heard the child screaming

“Holy shit!” Terrence said.

Next, a familiar voice from behind said, “I thought I told you no coloreds are allowed here after sunset.”

Terrence turned around. Standing in front of him and holding a shotgun was the tobacco-chewing hillbilly he saw earlier.  The hillbilly aimed his gun at Terrence.

Terrence’s heart started beating rapidly.

Then, the hillbilly spit on the ground next to him. Next, he re-aimed the gun back at Terrence and smiled.

Then, he said, “Run, nigger.”

With the quickness, Terrance turned around and ran. He heard a gunshot. Then, he heard the hillbilly laughing. Then, he heard another gunshot. Then, he heard more laughter. Then another gunshot.

Terrance ran all the way and started pounding on a door.

“Help me!” he yelled. “Somebody help me. A man out here is trying to shoot me!”

He continued pounding, but the door never opened.

Another gunshot ranged out.

Terrence ran towards the stairs and ran up to his room.  As soon as he opened the door, he saw a bull alligator waiting for him.  Suddenly with speed, the alligator moved towards him.

Terrence turned and ran down the hall.

Yet, coming up steps was the hillbilly. When he reached the floor, he looked at Terrence and smiled.

Then, he said, “Hey, Little Black Sambo, I got a present for you.”

The hillbilly aimed his gun at Terrance.

Terrance turned to run but he saw the alligator looking at him.

Then, Terrance looked at the railing. He ran towards it and moved over it. Then, he jumped.

After landing on the ground, he started running again. Yet, he bumped into the hotel clerk.

“Man, what kind of place is this?” Terrance said. “This hotel is haunted!”

With a calm face, the clerk said, “Let’s go back to your room.”

“I’m not going back there! Fuck that!”

“They’re not going to hurt you. They just scare people. Now, let’s go back to your room. I’ll help you pack. Then, you can check out.”

“You damned right, I’m checking out!”

Terrance followed the hotel clerk back to the room.  The alligator was gone.

Like he promised, the clerk helped Terrance.

Next, they headed to checkout. As he stood behind the desk, the clerk reached down and pulled out a greetings card. On the card, a black baby was sitting on a riverfront’s coast. Behind the baby, an alligator was moving in.

“What the hell is?!” Terrence said.

Then, the hotel clerk said, “On the riverfront, there was a time when black babies were used as alligator bait. The guy you saw with the gun? He ran the whole thing. Spectators from all over Florida would come and watch. Of course, things like that don’t happen here anymore. Yet, the ghosts live on. It’s as if they want folks to remember this town’s ugly past.”

Terrance started handing the card over to the clerk.

“No,” the clerk said. “You keep that as a souvenir.”

“Thanks, man,” Terrence said.

The clerk watched him leave.  Next, he walked to the door and watched Terrance drive off.

Suddenly, the few cars in the parking lot disappeared.

Then, the clerk spit tobacco on the floor.

In the hillbilly’s voice he said, “Run, nigger.”

photo credit: Aesum Restless Gondolas [Explored] via photopin (license)

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