Well, it's happened, I've become a member of an online gay dating website. So far the only men interested in me go by the code names; CummyBear69 and Dixin2deep24, and whose interests include but are not limited to, sucking cock, clubbing, and reading the Twilight series. Maybe it's because most gay men share the mentality of horny teenage girls, but every gay profile I've looked at, under books reads, Twilight. To me, liking the Twilight series is about as unattractive as hairy nipples, it makes me gag. I'm not ugly by any means, but for some reason no one of any caliber has messaged me. Perhaps I shouldn't have put the disclaimer, "Don't talk to me if you've ever considered clubbing as a hobby of yours, also sluts need not apply." "Are you trolling for men?" Jen asked me last night as I was glued to my computer ferociously clicking on random profiles. I fought the urge to slam my computer shut and throw it against the wall, but I couldn't cover it up, she knew.
It's been a while since I've met a man online. When I was younger I only met men online, usually on myspace.com. I was 17 when I met my first boyfriend. His name was Doug, and when he messaged me on myspace telling me I was cute, I instantly got diarrhea. My bowels have a cosmic reaction to emotional bombs, like I usually have to stop someone half way through breaking up with me so that I can go blow my brains out of my ass. I don't cry after I loose a lover, I just shit a lot. Getting that message from Doug was the first affirmation I had of my sexuality I was desperately trying to conceal by dating every overly religious girl in high school. I figured dating religious girls meant no sex until marriage, which I was more than okay with. Unfortunatly, this plan backfired when I dated Alison Petters, who man handled me for a good hour one night, getting more and more confused when I couldn't get an erection. I told her it was the anti-depression medication I was on, and when she found out it was actually because I was a full fledged goo gobbler, she punched me so hard in the face I swear I almost lost consciousness.
I messaged Doug back a week later after finally coming to terms with my sexuality. His profile picture was of him on his bed, the camera on his waist, and angle that captured perfectly, his sculpted abs and 90 degree jaw line. We decided to meet in the middle of Naperville Park after midnight. This was before I had common sense. He looked just like his pictures, only clothed, and he smiled the the entire walk towards me, over the dark field. I remember my heart beating so fast that I could feel the fatigue in the form of agonizing chest pain, but more than anything I remember the conversation we had under the stars. It was the first time in my life I felt normal. The first time in my life I didn't feel like I was sick and perverse. It was also the first time in my life that I flirted.
I don't know if it was his soothing voice, or his movie star good looks, but within a few hours I was in his bed giving him the worlds worse blow job. At that point the closest thing to oral sex I had ever experienced was the banana I tried to deep throat at my sophomore lunch table, after which I blew chunks all over my basco stix -a delicacy at Oswego High School-. Even though I nearly bit his dick off, we became boyfriends the next day. I still marvel at the power a blow job, even if it's bad, holds over a man. Oral sex or really any kind of sex is a tool in which you can trick men into commitment or even into paying for dinner.
I was working at a dog kennal, and my job was to clean the trays that caught the falling puppy shit from the cage above. I would preform this duty by jetting boiling hot water through a sand blaster and obliterate the shit clean from the tray. It wouldn't have been a bad job had it not been for the fact that when boiling water traveling at the speed of light collides with runny puppy mush, a chemical infusion forms and shit steam is created. It was like taking a hot shower and having a mastodon poop in your sink, or in my case, having Jen poop while I'm taking a shower. Try as I did to cover the smell of turds excreting from my skin with axe body spray, the smell just wouldn't leave. So I would go to Doug's house after work, smelling like a horse stable and try to cuddle up next to him. He told me once that I smelled like a barn, and quickly lost interest in his boyfriend who smelled and gave blow jobs like a garbage disposal. Now, for the sake of redemption, I must say that over the years I have achieved an expert status in the field of blow jobs. I was once told by one of my recent ex's that I could blow the screws off of a fire hydrant.
I accidentally memorized his password to myspace after accidentally watching him login a few times, and decided to sign in and rummage through his inbox, mostly because he hadn't talked to me in a week. Good thing I did because I saw a message from some douche named Sam saying, "Thanks for dinner, and a great night." After shitting out sand I ate when I was 4, and knowing Doug and I were over, messaged Sam and invited him over for some of my parents vodka and a blow job. He was surprisingly okay with the idea and had the same motives as I did, once he found out that Doug was playing both of us like puppets. Sam came quick to my house the next night and I blew him in my basement while my parents watched a Carol Brunet marathon upstairs.
I walked Sam to the door, my mother watching me from the couch, we said goodbye and hugged each other the way that hookups hug. With one arm patting the shoulder blade and the other dangling to the side. I sat down next to my mom on the couch, a few minutes later I got a text from Sam thanking me for a good time. I smiled a revealing smile, and my mom looked at me with a revealing look. I was so embarrassed I wanted to slam my phone shut and throw it against the wall, but I couldn't cover it up, she knew.
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