Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
Michael Christopher (a.k.a Saint)’s testicles had swelled to half the size of his body. If theaverage man ejaculates approximately 40 million little swimmers every time he shoots his wad, I was guessing Saint had approximately 6 billion. If you showed a photo of his testicles to an elephant, it would have said “Holy shit, those things are fucking huge. He should really see a doctor.”
But Michael hadn’t gone to a doctor. He had come to me.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me if you give me a blow job.”
I did my impression of a velociraptor trying to distract a human while the other raptor sneaks up and eats him. Saint was what I called quasi-gay. He preferred pussy to cock and was absolutely petrified of the very existence of anal sex. He had no problem with two guys getting off together but the very idea of any part of a person’s body coming into any sort of contact with another person’s ass repelled him. It didn’t matter if the ass belonged to a male human, a female human, or a transgendered platypus, ass was not an appropriate place for any kind of penetration.
“Let me get this str...correct. If I give you a blow job, you’ll let me fuck you?”
He gagged. “Yes.”
“Ummmmm.” I really wanted to fuck him. Had, in fact, spent several hours of my life masturbating to the idea. Knowing his aversion to anything anal, I had long since given up the idea of it ever happening. We hadn’t even fooled around before. Much. He was mostly straight, and, as far as I had noticed, not the least bit interested in having me as anything more than a friend. Sure we’d made out a couple of times but he had been reeeeeeealy drunk. “Have you switched teams or are you testing your stamina for a Fear Factor audition?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He moved next to me on my bed, rested his head on my shoulder and began rubbing my back. “I just -- I really need -- it wouldn’t change our friendship, would it?”
“Would giving my friend and occasional roommate a blowjob before I fucked him change our relationship? Hmmmm. I would imagine so, yes. I’ll be happy to do it but it will change things.”
“For better or for worse?”
“Are we getting married or are you talking about the comic strip?” No laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe if you explained why the sudden change of heart or change of preference or change of cock or whatever this is I could give a better assessment.”
He leaned toward my ear and whispered, “I really need to cum.”
I matched his phone sex operator tone “So jerk off.”
I gave him the raptor look again. “You can’t jerk off?”
“I haven’t jerked off in over two years.”
“If I tell you, do you promise to blow me?”
"It depends. Is an alien going to shoot out of your meatal and try and kill me? Is there some rash I can't see from this angle?" I lifted up his balls. This was the first time I'd ever touched him in his bikini zone. He shivered, not unpleasantly.
"If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?"
"A couple of years ago, I bought a porn DVD for the first time. One of those fancy deals with multiple angles, chapter selection, and no unnecessary plotline, just really classy, really beautiful women getting fucked."
"And this was detrimental because -- "
He pushed me away with his head, and then pulled me back with his arms. "I watched it for at least six hours, I must have come like twelve times."
"If this story involves chafing I'm not only not giving you head, I'm making you put your clothes back on."
He stuck his tongue out at me. I put it to good use.
"Chafing? Please. I used to be a professional wanker. I never start without lotion."
"Go on, then, what happened?" The kiss had already sealed the fact that he was going to get his blowjob, even if he was going to come an alien life form.
"I turned off the DVD player, and the news was on..." He stared at me.
"Oh God, nothing kills an erection like Ted Koppel. Well, maybe Dan Rather or" I shuddered. "Connie Chung."
"Actually it was Katie Couric."
"The first thing I saw when I turned off the TV was the plane flying into the tower."
"Oh. My. God." I was starting to grasp the issue, as well as his cock. "You poor thing."
"I just feel like -- ahhhhhhhh, yea -- I feel like if I hadn't been jerking off, maybe the towers wouldn't have fallen."
I gagged a bit. Pulled my head out of his lap. "What?" Raptor look #3, a personal record for most times used during single conversation.
"I just — I mean, what if next time I jerk off Mt. St. Helen erupts or a meteor strikes Washington D.C."
"A volcano eruption would be tragic, but I think the nation would owe you a huge debt if you single handedly..."
"I like to use both hands."
"Okay, if you double fistedly wiped out Washington D.C."
He laughed. I returned to the business at mouth.
"Do you think that makes -- ohhhh God -- does that make meeeeee -- I'm going to" He did. Everywhere. Mt. Saint Christopher erupted all over my face, chest, headboard, wall, window, blanket, pillow. It looked like an explosion at the Liquid Paper factory. He smiled at me, and wiped the come off my face. "Does that make me fucked."
"It does now. Bend over."