My Gay Stalker

"I have no problem with two men having sex, as long as one of those two men isn't me." -- Charles Bukowski

I didn't write about my Gay Stalker, back in April or May, before I left for the summer.

Where I live, a college campus, is located on a stretch of highway between two developments -- I'll refer to them as Al Filthy, where all the Bangladeshis and Pakistanis live, and Al Swanky, which is an upscale development of malls, big houses and fast food places arranged around a very pleasant beach and embankment. Al Filthy is always crowded; Al Swanky always seems deserted.

I started going on my days off to the beach at Al Swanky; there are thatched umbrellas there to protect one from the sun and even wireless internet so I can listen to Podcasts on my Ipod Touch. Arabic families usually go to the beach in the evening; during the day the beach is all but deserted.

Then came my Gay Stalker.

He was a Saudi guy in his early 20's, a bit pudgy but all in all unremarkable looking.

First he came up and sat down next to me and I thought he just wanted to practice his English; it turned out the phrase he wanted to practice was, "You have a beautiful body." I stood up and walked away, and rode my bike to the Subway to have a sandwich.

He was gone when I came back.

The next week, he appeared again, and apologized for his comment, and then put his hand on my arm. I told him not to touch me, and got up and rode away on my bike.

The next day I was riding my bicycle in a different area of the beach and he drove by in his car and said hello. I nodded grimly and turned onto an area of sand road which would have been difficult for him to follow. He parked his car and got out, and started walking to the waterfront area where I wanted to sit.

I got on my bike and drove off again; I decided to go home and eat something and wait for him to leave.

Then there was a knock on my door.

He'd managed to follow me home. The college is only a few minutes from the beach and I guess he'd seen where I went.

I told him that he was not allowed in the faculty dormitory, and if he didn't leave immediately I'd call security. I was braced against the door, in case he tried to push his way in. He was not any larger than I was and I thought I could take him in a fight, if it came to it.

"Okay, I'll go." he said.

A couple weeks went by; then, once more, he appeared on the beach. He came over to apologize for knocking on my door. I told him to remember it is not allowed for him to be there, and then got on my bike and rode further down the beach.

When I got out of the water after swimming for a while with my mask and snorkel, he was there.

"LOOK!" I yelled. "If you don't stop following me, I'm going to tell the police that you approached me. You know homosexuality is illegal here."

"I am just talk with you. This beach is for everybody," he said.

"If you follow me again, I'm going to tell the police, understand?"

"I think you are alone man," he said.

I blustered a bit more, then I got on my bike again and rode back to the first place on the beach I usually sit.

I considered my options. The police probably wouldn't speak enough English to understand what I was saying. But if I punched him out, I'd probably find out even more quickly how much English the police could speak.

A few hours later a shadow fell over me. There he was.

"ALL RIGHT, THAT'S IT." I lept up. "I warned you. I'm telling the police."

He said, "Okay, I go."

I walked up to the embankment and started looking for a police car to flag down. My Gay Stalker yelled, "Goodbye, teacher, no problem" and started scurrying away.

No police cars came by anyway, and he disappeared.

And then, the next week, I left for America.

More on this, as it develops.