Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
When I was seven or so my grandmother gave me a prism to hang in my window so I could watch the colors bounce around my room. A little green off the television set, some rainbow action on the handles of my dresser drawer, some red off the naked boy's back.
Naked boy? Right, Seith. The sun seemed almost abusively bright. Like it was trying to remind me of something. Right, work! I threw on some clothes, wrote a quick note for Seith, and went to work. Of course, it was actually my day off, so I pretended I had just come in to hang out. I talked with some of my coworkers for a few minutes, hit the grocery store and went home. Seith and I had been up until about eight in the morning playing Breath of Fire 3. I was actually getting quite good at it. I figured he would still be asleep when I got home so I opened the door very quietly. I placed the groceries in the kitchen and started to head up the stairs when I heard him talking. Let's not even pretend that I'm not an eavesdropper on an average day. If you're in my presence and you need to have a private conversation, tell me and I'll go away for a while. Otherwise, I'm listening, and I'm taking notes. "--absolutely beautiful. We showered together the other night and it was so hot. Seriously, it was some of the best sex I've ever had." I rock. This beautiful boy is on the phone with (please don't let it be his brother) someone, and he's talking about how beautiful I am and what amazing sex we've has and-- "Seriously I have the smallest cock here." Ummmm. "We all sleep in the same room. Four bunkbeds. No, no, it's really comfortable. Unfortunately, the cutest one is straight. I know, I know. Aren't they all? Anyway, I should probably go, we've got a shoot in the park in a few hours and I have to get ready. Love you, too. Bye" I am relatively sure I wasn't supposed to hear that conversation. I live alone. No bunkbeds, no other roommates and as previously mentioned my cock is not bigger than his. I begin to rationalize: he broke up with his boyfriend, and I'm the rebound guy and he's trying to make the ex jealous. No, it was his brother on the phone and he's trying to make him jealous. Or-- I get up and walk quietly back down the stairs where I loudly open, then close the door. "I'm home." "That was fast." "Yea, just did a little grocery shopping. Turned out I wasn't supposed to work today." "Cool." "So it's your first day here, did you want to do some sightseeing or anything?" "Sure. Want to fuck first?" I can't think of an occasion where I've turned down sex in favor of sightseeing. I hope that day never comes. So up the stairs we go. Clothes fly off like monkeys in Oz. I throw him playfully on the bed, get my face real close to his and almost say "so which one of us is hottest?" but being a true male, I don't want to give up a chance for sex, so I decide to fuck first, accuse later. The sex was amazing. There were a few times that I thought there really might be six of us in the room, and I just hadn't noticed. An extra arm would be kneading my back, I'd swear there'd be a tongue in my mouth, and on one of my nipples. I mean, we were bending each other into positions that the Kama Sutra knew about but didn't have the balls to write down. By the time we were finished it was too dark to sightsee. I was ok with that. The prism was flashing streetlight patterns over the wall. The moon was hovering above the skylight, and I swear it was saying "Damn!" All suspicions were forgotten. I don't think I would have been able to tell anyone what my name was by the time we were through. All I could remember was nibble, nibble, suck, lick, twist, thrust, thrust, wow. The questions would have to wait for another day.
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There is little in life as agonizing as the anticipation of knowing your mother is about to walk in on you having sex with a boy when she doesn't know you're gay. I suppose it could be worse. I could have been being gang banged by the football team when my dad walked in, but I've never had much of an affinity for jocks, and my Dad lived over an hour away. He also had a sense of personal space. Something my mother lacks to this day.
There is no way to make this look innocent. We're two guys in a bed who reek of long amazing sex (you can barely smell the "you're better than my brother" at this point), and Mr. NoAss's Gila Monster is still visible through the sheets. The tension is mounting on me, and I'm pretty sure it will hurt worse than Seith's cock when I hear the door open and-- It's not my door. It's the door to the spare bedroom. This is where the sobbing begins to waft under the doorway. I'd been so focused on my pulse moving north from cock to inner ear, that I hadn't noticed it. I threw on some baggy clothes and knocked on the door. "Mom?" "Insafemode, you're awake? Of course you're awake. It's only ten. Insafemode, I did it, I broke up with my boyfriend." Now my blood drains back down from my inner ear, into my feet, and escapes through my toes and on to the carpet. My Mom is breaking up with her boyfriend. My Mom, who owns my house is breaking up with her boyfriend with whom she's been living. My Mom is totally going to kill my fuck factor. Then my blood comes back with resounding force into my brain and kicks my ego's narcissistic ass. "Are you ok?" "Yea, Insafemode, I think--" her phone rings, it's her boyfriend. I do the wiggle-your-feet-while-your-mom-is-on-th e-phone-dance while she sobs, then steels, then says. "Oh--Why didn't you tell me that it--Ok--Well that changes everything. I'll be right over." I never did find out what the fight was about. "I'm so foolish sometimes." My mother said as she picked up her purse, and yanked her jacket off the floor. "I just get so emotiona--Insafemode who's in your bedroom?" I turn slowly. Each crisis has been thus far averted, so this must be the point where Seith and his serpent wave at her from my bad. But Seith is no longer in my bed. He's fully dressed and playing PlayStation. "Oh, Mom, this is Seith, he's a friend of mine. He'll probably be staying here for a while." "Well, lucky thing I won't be needing the spare bedroom then. Goodnight Insafemode. Goodnight Seith." "Night. Good to almost meet you." And my mother, The White Tornado, spun down the stairs and back over to her boyfriend's. The whole ordeal took about five minutes tops. "I figured if we had been playing video games it could have accounted for any noises she would have heard." "Good thinking. Certainly the 'Oh God, you're better than my brother' comment would have been in a better context." "Yea, sorry about that. Are you any good at Breath of Fire 3?" This is your new blog post. Click here and start typing, or drag in elements from the top bar. Three days after The Brian Incident, I woke up sick. I believed it was karma. All I wanted to do was puke. So I puked. Repeatedly.
After about an hour of my bulimia impersonation, I drove to the doctor's office where my mom used to work. The receptionist was as frigid as my Dad’s joke about her lack-of-sex-life had led me to believe. Her armchair diagnosis was appendicitis and she recommended driving to the hospital instead of “wasting the doctor’s time.” I made sure to puke on the bathroom floor before I left. I drove the five miles or so between the doctor’s office and the hospital with my head out the window, howling like Ludo from Labyrinth. It felt like there was a small raccoon trying to dig its way out of my stomach. "Kidney stones" said the hospital receptionist as she wheeled me into the ER. I harassed Passing Doctor #1 until he gave me an IV full of weak-ass pain reliever. I then became “the lost patient.” Despite the fact that my breathing was slightly louder and more annoying than Darth Vader’s, the doctors managed to misplace me in several small rooms until Passing Doctor #4 pumped my IV full of Demerol. I liked Doctor #4. The next thing I remember my mother is shaking me awake. She asks me where I've been for the last 24 hours. Beside my bed are a bottle of pills, a reminder that I have a urologist appointment, and a pee strainer. I have a hazy recollection of a hospital. Apparently the doctors of Malpractice Med allowed me to drive home when I was out of my mind on Demerol. A few minutes after my mother left, I went downstairs to check my messages. Seith called to remind me to pick him up at the airport. Seith…I didn’t recall… My brain clicked. Seith was Prittib0i, the guy I'd been talking to on AOL recently. I wondered how he got my phone number. Airport? I rushed upstairs and checked my computer. I always saved the really important IM/chatroom conversations as word files. Sure enough, I had invited Seith to come up and stay in Boston for a few days. Not only that, I had purchased a plane ticket for him with my credit card. Fuck. I arrived at The Airport about ten minutes after his flight did. As I wandered toward baggage claim, I saw him on a pay phone. We made small talk on the way out to the car. It’s hard for me to recall the details of our first few hours together, as all I could think was “whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.” He was exhausted when I got home, so I let him set up shop in my room while I went to work. When I came home, he was sitting in my beanbag. Naked. Aroused. He was watching a Backstreet Boys video on MTV. Had the sound been off, I might have been able to understand what he was doing. As it was all I could think of was “thank God my mother didn’t drop in to see how I was doing.” Then something sank in. There was a hot, naked, aroused boy sitting in my beanbag, smiling at me. He stood up and asked if I needed a shower after my long day at work. I stammered a yes, and we headed upstairs. On the way up the stairs I noticed his one physical flaw. The boy had no ass. None. He was very slim, and had a back that was completely flat between shoulder blades and whatever you call the reverse side of kneecaps. It looked like he had been ironed. I undressed as he tried to figure out the shower. When he bent over, I could almost make out his butt cheeks. If I squinted real hard. When he turned around he took one look at my naked body and laughed. “Awww it’s so leeetle and kyoot.” I had never had my cock belittled before. I’ve got the lovely average thing going on. Nothing spectacular, but hardly a microphallus. He may have been nine inches long, but a boy without an ass should never criticize anyone else’s body. Only twice in my life have I ever showered with another guy. The second time was awful but mercifully short. The first time was with Seith, and it was long and wonderful. As long as I kept my hands away from the place where his ass should have been, I was in heaven. Our mouths fit together perfectly. We had each seen enough porn to know where all the erogenous zones were, and we made full use of them. After about a half an hour we turned the shower off and headed into what had once been my bedroom. I could now see it was our bedroom. All the furniture had been moved around, there was a Playstation hooked up to my TV, and my computer background was a naked picture of Seith. This made me point and laugh. “What?” “That picture!” He tilted his head to the side like a Velociraptor, “What about it?” “You look like a total skank.” In the picture, Seith was wearing a club boy shirt and Adidas sweat pants, which were pulled down to show off his huge cock. It was his facial expression that was hysterical. The sort of face you only see in cheap pornography and Abercrombie & Fitch ads. Maybe in Zoolander if you know when to look. He pushed me on the bed. “I thought you liked skank.” “Uhhhh-” and then his tongue was tickling the roof of my mouth. After another ten minutes of foreplay, he lay on his back and spread his legs. Looking back, I’m grateful he didn’t assume the doggystyle position. I can’t imagine maintaining my erection while looking for his ass. Condom on? Check. Proper application of lubrication? Check. And off we go. The first fifteen minutes were amazing. Perfect rhythm. Position changes. Everything was perfect until he said “Oh, God, you’re better than my brother.” Five years later a friend and I used to play a game where we tried to think of the most awful things to say to someone in bed. Not surprisingly “you’re better than my brother” was near the top of the list. I believe it was between “I thought you said this wasn’t your first time” and “excuse me.” Needless to say, I stopped, completely stunned. “Don’t stop.” “But--” “Don’t stop.” So I started up again, trying to push what he said out of my mind. After about twenty minutes, we were both spent. I propped myself on my elbow, meaning to ask him about the brother comment when he shushed me. That’s when I heard my mother coming up the stairs. |
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