Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
I've since been told that the odds of finding a half Chinese, half Mexican in Madison Wisconsin are not just slim, but completely anorexic. And you can see the ribs of the probability of finding a gay half Chinese, half Mexican in Madison Wisconsin. And the odds of finding a gay half Chinese, half Mexican with amazingly colored hair, from Madison Wisconsin who reads my livejournal and wants me to stick my dick in his smooth, twenty year old ass are so malnourished, they'd make a Sudanese refugee puke in horror and disgust. Yet I find myself staying in the penthouse of a nice hotel in Madison, Wisconsin, face to face with just such a creature.
I've texted my hotel roommate, Mazarine, to let her know that our room will be occupied for a couple of hours, and things will be done that she might want to read about, but probably wouldn't want to experience first eye.
I am loving my first eye experience. His photograph, and LJ Icon didn't do him justice, and his photographs and LJ icons were hot. He's instantaneously half-tongue deep in my mouth, and his hands are locked on to my shoulderblades. He kisses like we've been in love since birth, but haven't seen each other in a year. And, usually, when people kiss this well, they're amazing on the bed (when someone who looks this good wants to have sex, you don't ruin the view by getting under the covers).
Sure enough, it's not long before the pants are off, my cock is in his mouth, and he's making the most spectacular guttural noises. I have not had this much fun, sexually, since I stopped seeing my sort-of-boyfriend, Sora, months ago. This guy is just...wow. And then the condom is on, and he's bent over and even wowier. And it's about twenty minutes worth of wow, where I have to completely hold back to keep from coming, because he's got great rhythm, and...and he just totally came all over the hotel room covers, but that's ok, that's why God invented hotel room washcloths. And it's a thrust thrust, twist, thrust, pull, spank, thrust thrust kind of night, and.....I'm done. I spend a minute or two post-sperminization, continuing to fuck, and then we stand up, me still inside him. And there's more great kissing, and then I pull out, and then...and then we have a problem. This thin running of red fluid starts leaking out his ass. It's not blood. It's certainly not sperm (I was wearing a condom). I don't think it's shit, because I don't think shit comes in the color of Beaker's hair.
Not even having the words to try and figure out what the hell is going on, I say "We should...shower."
And we're in the shower, and we're making out, and the leaking has stopped. And it's not long before he's on his knees, sucking me off, and then he's standing back up, ass toward me, and at no point does my brain go "remember what happened last time you pulled out of there...I know it was ten minutes ago, but dont'cha?" No. My brain only had the foresight to place condoms on the shower ledge, and here we go again, and it's equally amazing, and he's making fantastic noises. And I pull out, and this time everything appears fine. I towel off, I toss him a towel. And while he towels off, I walk into the room to make sure Mazarine hasn't texted that she's on her way back. She hasn't.
Well, as soon as I turn around, he's got his tongue back in my mouth, and his hands back on my shoulderblades, and we're right back where we started, and I have no complaints about it. I fuck, I come, he stands up and comes on the floor, which I'm not too pleased about it, but as transgressions go, it's pretty minor. Again, hotel towels. And then he says he has to go. And he turns around, and he's leaking again.
"Uhm. Hon, you're....are you okay?"
"You appear to be...leaking. From your ass."
He wipes his hand down his crack. "Huh. Weird." And then he puts his pants on over his still leaking ass. "I'm supposed to meet my friends at a restaurant downtown. Want to walk me there?"
"Sure?" But...but your...I mean your ass...I mean...you're leaking some sort of alien fluid.
And we take the elevator to the lobby, and we're barely outside when I run into a couple of friends of mine who are also in town. As soon as I say hello, the dude, who now has anal Tang juice spreading across the back of his khakis, bolts. He says goodbye, but it shoots by all Doppler Effect style as he shoots across the street and back into whatever wormhole he came from.
I shrug, and walk back into the hotel with my friends. We hang out for a few minutes, and then I go up to my room. The room smells like sex. Which makes sense. Luckily, I brought a bit of Febreeze with me, and I Febreeze the bed covers. I had wiped up his two come stains (one on the covers, one on the floor) before we left. But the floor is still a little damp, so I go into the bathroom to fetch a towel to dry it up.
The towels. The white hotel room towels. The white hotel room towels are covered in varying shades of bright red. It looked like someone had used them to crush Fraggles to death. There was clearly no saving these towels. Housekeeping was going to wonder what the hell had gone on in room 1419. I had a vivid image (complete with soundtrack) of their conversation, but as I don't speak a lick of Spanish, I couldn't tell you what they were theorizing.
And what did he tell his friends when he got to the restaurant? How do you explain a huge orange stain spreading across the back of your khakis? Gang raped by these guys?
I e-mailed him the next day to find out if he was okay, but I never heard back from him. Whether he was embarrassed by his towel-Tanging, or whether he evolved into some liquid orange state, I'll probably never know. Though, I should probably be ashamed to admit, I'd totally hit that again.