Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
So what do you do when you find out the stranger you picked up in a grocery store is underage? You fuck him.
Maybe it was the pot mumbling, or maybe I was just an unethical hornball. Whatever the lame excuse, once I processed the fact that I couldn't actually be arrested for being a twenty-one year old fooling around with a seventeen year old, all my reservations about how his family could kill me anyway flew right out the window. Perhaps they were trying to catch up with the pot smoke. Tommy wanted to blow me again, and how could I say no to more head from the best barely legal fallater to ever walk the earth? We're on the bed doing some 69 and, as I'm wont to do when there's ass to be played with, I let my fingers do the walking. A little squishy squish, some slappy slap, and some pokey poke (I'm gonna stoppy stop now). I'll confess it right here, publicly, for all the cringing world to see that yes, I have an ass fetish. Tommy's ass, while not ideally round, was at least present. So I slide my index finger in and out a few times before upgrading to the middle finger. Next up is the thumb of doom which, while it obviously can't get in as deep as it's better hung companions, has better girth, and is much easier to make eccentric ellipses with. Tommy is bucking and thrashing and SPLAT. Drizzle. Drizzle. Moan. SPLAT. Drizzle. Yelp. SPLAT. Drizzle. Drizzle. Screech. SPLAAAAAAAAAT. Drizzle. Drizzle. Drizzle. Drip. Drip. SPLAT. Drip. Damn. "Fuck me. Please." I was taken a bit aback. Not that Tommy wanted to be fucked, but that he was so enthusiastic about it. He had been a typical mellow stoner up to this point. Monotonous voice, Garfield shaded eyelids, and slouch. It would be nice to think I had some sort of internal dialog about whether or not this was a good idea, but the only thing my dick could think of to say to my brain was "Thank God you keep your condoms within reach of the bed, now move my damned arm." And in we go, doggy style. This boy was tighter than spandex on David Lee Roth. The only word that accurately describes sex with Tommy is "Damn." When we were finished, we passed out draped across each other. When I woke up it was dark outside. I kept staring at Tommy, thinking he was bathed in moonlight, but it was actually a streetlight. Eventually we got up, and I drove him over to a friend's house, where he'd decided to stay the night. This was the start of something a tad more meaningful than just whoring around. You know that cliché about how there are other fish in the sea? I kept thinking Tommy would be the keeper. Turns out I had throw him back. He was too small.
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While most of the other people in CranberryLakeM4M room scrolled things like: "38/m/brown/brown/5'4/8," I would check profiles and send deliberately horrible one-liners to guys who I thought might be my type.
I was an AOL lurker. I don't know what ridiculous thing I said to Tommy, but it made him LOL. We talked for all of about twenty minutes before he relayed to me that he was horny. This was someone I could bond with, but not in that ropes and whips sort of way. He said he was saving up for a car, but was currently biking places. He said this as a way of telling me he was fit (little did he know how low my standards were). He was still living with his parents in order to not pay rent and save up for some HolyGrailMobile, and was not out to his parents, so he didn't want to meet at his house. While I didn't live too far from him, it was far enough that he didn't want to bike it. We agreed to meet in a grocery store parking lot. I was meeting someone in a parking lot for sex. I didn't think I could get much lower. Little did I know. Neither Tommy nor I had pictures online, so we gave each other descriptions. I didn't see anyone on a bike when I drove in, so I went into a bookstore, and sat at a table by the window, waiting. After about ten minutes, I went back into the parking lot. The only person I saw with a bike was near the grocery store carriages, smoking cigarettes with the juvenile delinquent bag boys. I waited another fifteen minutes, then headed home. I had been stood up in a grocery store parking lot. So I went back home and resumed my online lurking. About five minutes into it, Tommy IMed me. Tommyisawhore: What happened. Insafemode: I went to the grocery store, Insafemode: waited about a half hour, and didn't see you, Insafemode: so I came home. Tommyisawhore: Oh. Were you the guy in the bookstore? Insafemode: Yea. Tommyisawhore: Yum. Tommyisawhore: Sorry. I ran into some friends Tommyisawhore: had to smoke them out. Tommyisawhore: I wasn't sure if you were you, so I didn't say anything. Tommyisawhore: Want to try again? Insafemode: Sure. I was smitten by the fact that anyone said "Yum" in reference to me. I don't think it's happened since. Back to the parking lot I went. Sure enough, one of the boys who'd been smoking by the carriages earlier sauntered over to my car. It was my turn to say Yum. I did wonder what he was doing hanging with the Stop and Shop bag boys, but I was meeting a stranger for sex in a grocery store parking lot, so I didn't think I could take much of a moral high ground. We had a few good laughs on the brief car ride over to my house. We had a lot in common. So much so that we decided to hang out and play MST3K while watching TV for a while. At around 4 in the afternoon, Animaniacs came on, and we realized we both had a place of reverence for Wakko Warner and Pinky & The Brain. At some point in the episode, Pinky started playing with some sticks or something. "This is getting me incredibly hard." Tommy said, as he stood up and demonstrated. Due to the lack of visual barricades, and multitude of nosy neighbors, we headed upstairs to my bedroom where Tommy turned the TV onto Animaniacs, and began taking my pants off. I've mentally filed "Pinky & The Brain" under surprisingly gay pornography ever since. Though neither of us spent much time watching the TV. If Beckee gave the world's worst blowjob, Tommy gave the world's best. The prelude to the blowjob was a sexy striptease that lasted about thirty seconds before he was naked and and kneeling over my cock. He was all over the place. His tongue went from head to shaft to sac to belly button to shaft to sac to shaft to head. It was as if he was born with four tongues. I quickly reached the internalized orgasm phase where you use every iota of your sexual power not to be a victim of premature ejaculation (and when premature ejaculation is involved, everyone's a victim). He had pressed every button except the one in my ass, where I carefully guided his finger. Bingo. After about ten minutes, he took each nut into his mouth individually and began to hum. This was the only time I've ever had a hummer. Mind/wadblowing doesn't even begin to describe it. I fought the wave, and I won. Barely. He kept looking up and smiling at me. Then he'd go back to making me the happiest man to ever pick up a strange man in a parking lot. We'd been going about twenty minutes when I just couldn't take it anymore. So Tommy did. I must have lost ten pounds in that orgasm. I didn't think it would ever stop. Tommy swallowed easily a half dozen times before I was through. "Huuuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." was really the only appropriate thing I could say. After a few full body spasms while he continued to suck the sperm inhaler, I reached down to begin some well deserved reciprocation, but he intercepted my hand. "Mind if we go out for a smoke first?" He could have asked me if I minded if we went out and bought some submachine guns and took out a preschool and I would have said "No problem." We threw on some clothes, and headed to my back porch. Tommy rolled himself a joint, and we passed it back and forth a few times. My next door neighbor to the right was a really sweet grandmother. I used to visit with her every couple of days. Sometimes I'd make dinner for her, other times she'd come over to my house and listen to me play piano. When I used to work at a summer camp, she had her grandchildren attend it. They were great kids. Taylor was nine, Clayton was twelve, and John was sixteen. I'm reasonably sure she knew what we were smoking when she leaned over the fence and said "Something smells good. Oh, I miss being able to smoke my -- Well, hello, Tommy." "Hey, Miss M. How're you?" "I'm doing great. I didn't know you knew Insafemode." "Yea, we go way back." "Well you have excellent taste in friends." "Awww. And you're not at all biased because I hang out with John all the time." "Not at all. Ta ta boys." and she headed off her porch and over to the community pool. "Where do you know Miss M from?" I asked. "Oh, Johnny and I were on the JV football squad together last year." Uh. What? Any conversation that starts with dark depression, is bound to end with an angry albino.
I licked my lips. No blood, but you could have made dentures from the depression on my lower lip. "¿fine?" Alex asked again. "yes - sorry - think too hard" "¿not want?" he nodded at the pills. "sorry" "no - don't know word - not worry - me" There was a knock on the door. "Hello?" "¿who you think?" I asked "¿who me think what?" "¿who knocking?" "¿knocking? sorry - not hear - (shocked expression) maybe me deaf" I flipped him off. "sorry - not understand" anyone who thinks that sarcasm is all about vocal inflection needs to spend a day locked in a room with a sarcastic Deaf person. I got up and opened the door. "Hey Safe. What's wrong with your lip?" It was Bernard, the campus's albino asshole. What he lacked in pigmentation, he made up for in pigheadedness. I would have invited him in, but I was afraid he'd accept. "Is Alex here?" "Alex?" I yelled. "No answer. He must be somewhere else." Bernard pushed the door open. "Oh there he is. Hey Alex, something wrong with your hearing?" I translated. Alex signed back "no - ¿wrong with skin?" I felt like I was trapped in a very boring David Lynch script. "Ask him if he's coming to my party tonight?" "¿you go asshole party?" "No." Alex said. "Busy." It struck me that Alex's voice was sexy in that gravelly, hardly-ever-used sort of way. He turned his head back to the computer. Conversation over. "Well, if he's not going, ask him if he's got anything he might want to donate to the cause." "Like what?" I asked. "Ask him." "You want to know, you ask him." He tapped Alex on the shoulder and very slowly and loudly said "Do you have any ecstasy?" Alex cocked his head to the side, and expanded his eyes until they were frog sized "Noooooooooo." and to me he signed "tell asshole go" "What did he say?" "He either said 'sorry he doesn't have any pills, maybe you should ask someone else' or 'tell the asshole to go away', I'm not sure, my sign language is a little rusty." "Asshole." he said to the back of Alex's head, and slammed the door as he left the room. Alex turned toward me "¿hear that?" "no ¿you?" "¿his problem?" Any discussion that begins with an angry albino is bound to end with a sheep. At least, that's been my experience. "not know - ¿bad day for vampire?" Alex laughed. A sound I loved. "¿doing?" I asked. He waved me over to the computer. He had been writing me a note on my laptop. I not know sure if you know signs I want to use, and no patience for fingerspelling. Hope I not make you uncomfortable with ecstasy. Just like hanging out with you. Thought it would be fun. Don't know when the next time Matt go to parents's. Maybe my one chance to corrupt you. "¿sign c-o-r-r-u-p-t?" I asked. He showed me. "¿you corrupt me? ¿me?" He went back to typing. Yes. You. Reading the way he was typing, I realized that his English comp teacher was right, he was definitely picking up my writing style. Short, choppy sentences that get directly to the point. Of course, it was also possible that my writing was influenced by American Sign Language. You need corrupting. I saw your cache. Cache? Cash? Catch? What did cache mean? "¿c-a-c-h-e?" He dragged the mouse up to the history folder and opened up my cache. Ohhhh, cache. Fuck. He turned toward me. "me know you - same as - like you ¿like me?" It was my turn to get frog-eyed. "¿no?" "no" I shook my head "yes" I should have clarified by kissing him, instead I leaned over and started typing Yes, I like you. I didn't know you were...bi? gay? He pointed to gay, and then took control of the keyboard. Why do you think I hang out with you? Your ASL sucks. I waiting for you make move. But you slow. "you english shit ¿who teach you type?" Some faggot. "he suck" "me hope" I picked up the Ziploc bag and poured a couple pills in my hand. "¿many?" "¿first?" he asked. I nodded. "one" And like a good little sheep, I swallowed. A Insafemode entry that begins with ecstasy is bound to end in depression. Maybe Murphy's Law, Karma, Fate, Ka, or whatever you call The Mysterious Force Who Keeps The Universe in Check, decided my pessimism should be rewarded with realization. Maybe I'm just a precog. But when Alex pulled a Ziploc of ecstasy out of his pocket, my stomach sank.
"¿Try?" he asked I had read an article or two about how E made you lose your inhibitions. Not medical texts, but stories from the The Nifty Archive. I liked my inhibitions where they were, around my neck, strangling me. "No." I liked Alex a lot. He was track star/swimmer hot. Short blonde hair. Chiseled stomach. The type of face that looked awesome in sunglasses. Michaelangelo's David in swim trunks. He was also hella funny, smart, and always fun to be around. So, Insafemode, I ask myself, what's the problem? And don't say it's the drugs. But it was the drugs. I had no aversion to doing drugs, I just wasn't sure I wanted to do any drugs in the presence of Alex. I mean, why was he offering me ecstasy? Did he want to fool around? Was Alex gay? Was there some other cool reason to do ecstasy that I didn't know about? (Curse you Nifty for not having more thorough reports on recreational drugs!) Aside from the drugs, there was the issue that I wasn't out. I'd had some fun with Victor in high school, but I'd been going straight since then. And, frankly, the experience had been more traumatizing than good. So, assuming Alex was trying to get with me, why was I being so hesitant? I could get high and chalk everything up to drug induced experimentation. "¿You fine?" I came out of my daze long enough to realize I had bitten down so hard on my lower lip that I'd left teeth marks. |
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