Hang Ten

A young man with scruffy cheeks and chin-length hair told me to hang ten today. He was what I can only describe as the surfer type, with matching attire as you might imagine. When I got home, I did exactly as he instructed: I hung ten.

After hanging the first five, I admit my satisfaction. Hanging another five seemed superfluous—but then I had never hung ten before, and had no experience by which to judge whether hanging five was in any way more appropriate than hanging a full ten. Besides, the young man had clearly told me to, “hang ten.” If anything, I consider myself to be diligent in my obligations to others. So, despite my own satisfaction, I continued the act of hanging.

Hanging the sixth was quite a different experience. I felt a distinct rush, not unlike brushing against someone you secretly admire, or spotting an enemy advancing towards you from across the street.  My breath shortened and blood quickened. That young man knew what he was talking about! I quickly hung a seventh.

By the eighth, I was reeling. My entire body—every freckle, every mole divided by a hair, every fingernail, wrinkle and tooth—my every part burned with erotic possibilities . But soon my reverie waned, so I hung a ninth. Alas, the bliss brought began to walk apace, stepping further in stride with each passing moment. Oh, that ninth hanging! Pure torture! Would the tenth return the sexual—no, no—the spiritual satisfaction that the eighth had provided for the seventh?  The seventh for the eighth?  Or would this hanging of ten simply cast me further from what I can only describe as a “sphere of  gratification?” Depressed, I sat in silence for many a moment, contemplating the various possibilities. My heart hung heavy while awaiting the act decision would bring. Not knowing what to do, I sat there, exhilaration fleeing my body, dispersing outwards into the chilly night. Shaking, I hung the tenth.


It was gone.

Several days later, I saw the surfer guy across the street and quickly advanced upon him. Meeting his eyes with my own, I uttered two distinct words. The surfer’s eyes widened with horror.