Our alma mater was located in a quaint, seaside town, and like all quaint, seaside towns, it had its resident creep. Mr. B.J.* was that creep (well actually, for much of our tenure, it had two resident creeps, but then what's-his-name, the alpha-creep, was found dead in his bathtub, allowing Mr. B.J. to rise to the top of the creepy-hill). He looked like a creep, a little homunculus of a man with a striking resemblance to a shaved chimpanzee in oversized glasses.** And he acted like a creep. Specifically he had a habit of propositioning the young men of my college for sex acts (he offered my room mate money to appear in "a movie" he was "producing" - my room mate declined).
I knew of him for several years but didn't personally make his acquaintance until the summer after we graduated, when we were living in town for a few months and I was working at the neighborhood pizza joint. He was a regular customer, and I quickly became his favorite waiter. Initially he started with overfriendly banter. Then, it progressed to thinly veiled sexual innuendos. Finally, one day it was:
"You know, some fellas would think a hundred bucks to give a guy a blow job is a pretty good deal."Golly, Mr. B.J., you're right. A hundred bucks to give a guy a blowjob is a good deal. Now I can buy the shame and degradation I've always wanted!
Actually, I said no. Maybe I should have gone into an uproar, given him a black eye, thrown him out on his ear, told him to scram, but he was so pathetic, so incredibly unthreatening, all I could muster was a "yeah, that's not going to happen" and went about my business.
After I got over the initial shock, this scenario became a source of much hilarity for my friends and me. All someone had to say was "you know..." in his croaky little voice, and everyone would bust a gut. We gave him the "Mr. B.J." appellation. And this coincided with the popularity of the song, "Hey Mr. D.J.," which quickly acquired an alternate set of lyrics in honor of my new friend.
He was undeterred, continuing to visit the restaurant every week. And, I suppose, you could admire his persistence. He made his offer as routinely as if he was ordering from the menu, and I rejected him just as routinely ("sorry, we're all out of blowjobs tonight").
Eventually we moved on. He remained, ambitions unfulfilled. I'm sure he found other young men to harass. I wonder if he's still there. Does anybody know?
* I use this moniker throughout even though he didn't actually acquire it until later in our story.
** I don't claim that the illustration is a perfect likeness (it's remarkably hard to draw someone from memory more than a decade after the fact), but I do hope it catches something of his hunched pathetitude.
Ask, and ye shall receive.