Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
A few days ago, I was bored at work, when I remembered there was a porn store on the other side of the building that I'd never been to. I needed to (and this is not a pun) rectify that situation. But I didn't want to be the creepy loser who goes to the porn store alone, walks around the aisle, but doesn't buy anything.
This induced a flashback. A week previous, one of my four current guythings (none of them will commit, so I'm not going to choose just one), Zach had called me, drunk, which is the only time he ever calls me. It was around eleven, and our conversation consisted of "Long time, no talk."
"Wanna fuck me tonight?"
I thought about it for a second. "Yea."
"I'm on my way over."
At 1:30 in the morning, I fell asleep, not having seen him. As he lives down the street from me, and works about a ten minute drive or so, I assumed he'd passed out somewhere. Hopefully, not behind the wheel of his car.
At 3 AM my phone rang again. "I'm outside."
I was still mostly asleep. "Who are you? And what are you outside of?"
"Who were you thinking of fucking tonight?"
Is there ever just one person I think of fucking a night? "Joe?"
Oops. Wrong FWB. "Just kidding. Hey Zach, let me...I'm gonna..." by the time I figured out how to articulate that I was on my way to the door to let him in, I was at the door, having already let him in.
"Who's Joe?" He said, still talking into the phone.
I grabbed his phone from him and hung it up. "Just some guy I've been fucking."
While this might sound cool, and all, it should be noted that I had Sleepy Voice going on, and it probably sounded more like "jussome guyvebeenfuckn".
"Weirdo." He said.
"Why do you smell like calamine lotion?"
Apparently, just after calling me, Zach had been corralled into going to a club with one of his friends. There, he tried to flirt his way into anyone's pants. Not a particular someone, a general anyone. Apparently, his main target was the DJ, and one of the other dancers took offense to this. Instead of slapping him, hissing, or queering out on him, this guy seductively took off Zach's shirt (which is really unnecessary, you just say the word shirt to him, and he takes it off on his own. It makes it really awkward to compliment his clothes when you're out at a restaurant. Anyhow, the shirt comes off, and the guy leads Zach into the middle of the dancefloor, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a bottle of calamine lotion, which he proceeds to dump over Zach's head.
Why he was carrying around calamine lotion during the middle of winter in Boston is positively beyond me. The whole story stunk of having been made up, but, then, why would Zach deliberately cover his hair and chest with calamine lotion?
"I need a shower." He said. And was correct.
"Pants." I said, and off his pants came. I pushed him, gently, into the bathroom, checked to make sure my roommates were asleep, and began to strip myself.
I hadn't really planned on shower sex. It never goes well for me. I just thought Zach might have been a little too drunk to get all the calamine lotion off on his own. I don't know how he'd managed to drive to my house. Or what god he prayed to that kept him from getting pulled over and having to explain to a police officer why, on a freezing March night, he was driving shirtless and covered in a hard pink shell. I mean, shit, it's been over fifteen years since the FDA said that calamine lotion is nothing more than a placebo.
Once, he'd been depinkified, I started to play with his ass a little. My plan being, I would arose him, then leave the shower, and have him follow me to my room.
"I want you to eat me out." He said. And then he pushed the shower head toward the inside wall.
I figured, why not, and got down and my knees, and began to get my lick on. I knew he was clean down there, I'd watched him soap it out. The thing is, I wasn't at quite the right angle, and I'm no expert at eating ass. There are other appendages I prefer squeezing into them. After about thirty seconds or so, he repositioned his feet. His whole body moved a bit. I assumed I was doing something right, or else he was standing uncomfortably. Then, the water started streaming down his back and into my nose and mouth. Shampooey water.
"What the fuck?" I choked.
"I'm doing my hair." He said.
I spit some water and shampoo at him, and said "I quit. I'm going to go into my room, and wait for you. Jerk."
"I'll let you fuccccccccccccccccccck me." He mocked.
But I knew he was too drunk to get in the right position in the shower. Still, I tried. Still, I was right.
Ten minutes later, I'm in my room, frantically throwing papers, plastic bags, and books around because I can't find any lube. Anywhere.
"S'all good." He said. "I'm sick, anyway."
This led to an unenthusiastic blowjob on my part, a facefucking that nearly drowned the poor boy in sperm, and a few hours of cuddling before I had to go to work.
Which is where I was having this flashback. So I sent Zach a text. Going to porn store for lube. Preference?
Zach: anything non-water based
Me: were you raped by Aquaman?
Zach: yes. jerk.
Flash ahead a few hours, and I'm texting with the semi-famous (you don't know him) closet case that I've been slowly seducing, when I get an I'm on my way message, which I assume to be from the closet case, but is, in fact, Zach.
I actually checked my text messages before I opened the door, just to make sure I wasn't going to end up with two people showing up at my house for sex at the same time. I mean, I wouldn't mind, but they might.
"Shirt." I said when we reached my bedroom. "Pants."
"Underwear?" He asked.
He laid, stomach down, on my bed. I proceeded to massage his shoulders, slowly trailing down his back when "Cough cough cough cough co-ough" I choked a tiny little loogie on his back.
"Hot!" He said. I assume he was kidding.
"Sorry." I coughed. "You must have gotten me sick. Bastard."
He craned his neck around and gave me an eyebrow raise. "You have rectal cancer?"
"Because that's what I've been sick with. I don't know what you've got."
I got a towel to wipe my loogie off his back, and returned to the massage. It wasn't too long before the briefs were off, and he said something in the vicinity of "I want you inside me", but hopefully, not that cliche.
This was when I realized that I'd left the bag of lube and condoms that I'd bought, at work.
"It's like you don't want to get laid or something." He said, my arms having already assumed the just cuddling position. "I mean, when was the last time you got a chance to fuck a hot twenty-two year old?"
"Thursday." I said.
"No. I stopped by on Monday, and you didn't have any... Oh. I guess that would be Joe, then."
And I know I should have said yes, or just kidding, but somehow the words, "Rick, actually." came out of my mouth.
"You whore." He said, in a non-committal, sleepy voice.
And that's the last thing I remembered until I woke up the next morning with Zach's face hovering over my penis, which had definitely been in his mouth in the not so distant past. "Ok." He said. "Joe. Rick. Who the fuck is Sora?"
I was still mostly asleep. "My ex."
"You are such a whore." And then he returned to business at mouth. It wasn't too long before I solidified his tonsils, at which point he smiled at me, and then spit his huge mouthful of my come right in my face.
I almost choked to death, laughing.