It doesn’t feel the way you think it will you know, this life malarkey! In my experience there is a distinct lack of soundtrack and sympathetic groan, also the bad stuff feels like it goes on for fucking e v e r, seriously – is it only me, or is grief endlesss?
Now that I am clean and soberish, there really isn’t anything left to hide behind, I’m not even in a serial-fucking phase – more’s the pity – suddenly there is cock everywhere. A man approached me in Tesco today, he wasn’t bad either; I had walked past him three times, wiggling my arse slightly, but still – the cheek of it!
After a brief laugh about beef, he asked me if I wanted to fuck in the toilets. I said no, thanks, but the truth is I would have loved to. I hate being a real person sometimes, free of self-loathing, it stops all the fucking fun!
I have been thinking I may adorn a new kind of habit and live chased, sorry – I mean chaste, like a nun or some kind of pope. I was going to say priest but I instinctively gagged. The problem is that I am a horny bastard and have more love to give than Mother Theresa (she was filth..), but that can lead to serious errors of judgement; it often has. I just don’t want to put it out so indiscriminately anymore; to be clear – I’m no whore, I just want to treat my flower with the dignity and honour it deserves.
Maybe I’ll dress it up like a palm tree or something.
I met this one guy some time back, he lived over the wall, he was “straight” but couldn’t find a single (or attached) women who would indulge his particular brand of perversion. He caught me with an open mind and gaping hole – in my love/sex-life. He begged me to call him baby, or doggy but I simply wouldn’t, because neither should be sexual beings, to an adult human, ever. You’d think I’d run, but you have to understand I’d walked all the way up that hill, so…
It was more chain and whip based than any previous convergence, by 100%. I’d always wanted to try some control work; I made for a surprisingly stoic master.
“What now Master?”
He’d thoroughly enjoyed the cat-whipping followed by foot-worship. I felt distinctly Grey.
“Call me Brown Sauce..”
I don’t know why. I was being sexy and in the moment. It was the first thing that came to mind; I guess I was hungry for forbidden meats. Pause.
“..You serious? Brown Sauce?”
He was looking up at me, his deep-blue eyes piercing vaguely through his gimpish-mask, I had to imagine the rest of his face. I decided to stand by my Freudian-condiment.
“Why the hell not? Are you a racist or something?”
“You what? I’m actually questioning it because it makes me feel racist having to say it, so I wanted to check that it was really OK with you! Typical of you lot to turn it around on me and make me look bad..I don’t know, come to our country, take our jobs..shag our birds..”
He pulls off the mask and smiles cheekily, he’s fucking adorable; lucky. I don’t have many triggers, or weapons for that matter; he knew me. It was time for Brown Sauce to come in to his own, so to speak (or stifle). There’s nothing better than non-penetrativeish insult-sex when truly raged.
We lasted for a good few sessions, we’d take tea, smoke a joint then act out various fantasies; he encouraged me to find any bad, stuck memories then sexualise them with him, in the hope of sexarthis. It really works!
You only need so much fantasy though, before reality calls. We never really got that close, all the leather I guess.
Recently there was this other guy, he was “a” bisexual. I love bisexuals. Fuck all that “greedy” bullshit, they are the most giving! By the way, I am pretty convinced that 70% of the world is actually some kind of bisexual, so go love each other folks, it’s really, really fun!
Anyway, so – “Bi Si”, the builder.
We’d swapped cock-shots before we’d seen each other’s faces; his penis was just what I was after at the time, a nice practice model – beautifully average and obedient. His legs were nice and thick, a man of the world; I could tell he wasn’t a driver – its all in the thighs and arse.
He wasn’t all that much to look at, or to listen to – he sounded a little like Tim Lovejoy, but there was definitely something, a pull, a permission; he felt good on my lips and tasted like cinnamon. Must have been his gum, or paste, although I liked to imagine it was natural somehow.
Man, he could kiss, really kiss; I preferred it to the surprisingly enthusiastic H, B & R-J’s. Like a desert lion, he seemed starved, and parched. He didn’t often meet blokes, or so he said, just when the urge overtook, and then I was always his first call (so he said..).
Once, while we were playing a little, I noticed he had a tattoo of a hamburger on the inside of his left arm and a slice of watermelon on the right. It was so confusing, how had I never seen them before? What could they possibly mean? I couldn’t help but laugh as he shook my palm-tree.
“Am I doin’ something wrong, fella?”
A snort, followed by far more laughter. He looks a little hurt, it breaks my heart instantly, so I stop.
“No, no..it’s great, I just never noticed your tattoos before..”
He smiles, stands-up on the bed then flexes, kissing both foods, he then pounces on me and makes me do the same, it quickly turns in to food-themed love-play. He knows I can’t resist fun. I stop, mid-hot-dog, to ask the inevitable.
“So why do you have a hamburger and watermelon tattooed on your arms?”
I imagined there would be some significance, assumed that deciding to have something imprinted on your body eternally would mean it truly meant something.
“Well.. just ’cause they’re tasty, aren’t they?”
I look at him waiting for more, he looks at me in the very same way.
“Yes, they are..but is that really the reason?”
He seems slightly annoyed, but I make the cutest face I can (one can only imagine..), he instantly softens and kneels by me, putting his watermelon round my shoulders.
“So. I was on holiday..”
“Don’t say in fucking Magaluf, for fuck’s sake..”
“No, not in Magaluf, you fucking snob, it was in Turkey..”
“Dalaman I bet..”
He scowls at me, I relent.
“Anyway, you twat, I went to Turkey with some mates, we went to this tattoo place, I didn’t know what to have done, so they just told me to pick something I liked. Well, I was really hungry like, we’d been paragliding, I couldn’t choose between the hamburger and the watermelon, so I just went with both..”
I laughed so hard milk shot out my nose. I loved his answer. Completely him.
As in life, so in sex it seems.