On occasion, everyone has had some less-than-stellar sex before. For example: you're just laying there—while he's humping on you—and you're wondering what flavor smoothie you'd rather be having: benign bad, not horrible, just uneventful.
Have you ever experienced a sexual encounter so horrifically horrendous that you seriously considered being lobotomized in order to forget it ever happened? Sexual instances where you're literally convinced that you should consider relocating to a monastery in Tibet? Nearly one year ago, I was the unwitting victim of a bad sexual encounter of that magnitude. It was so heinously bad that I took my own personal vow of celibacy for the following six months. Chile, it was really that BAD.
A little over a year ago, I was the textbook “good little gay boy” with a serious hankering for the homo thugs. If he was: handsome, tall, with a fitted broke way to the left, and a vocabulary of 25 words (or less), then he had me at, “Sup, Shawty.” At the time, I had a very intense relationship with my now ex-boyfriend. (We'll just refer to him as 'D')
In the sex department, D could do what he do! (Ya feel me?). Sometimes I got the feeling that we'd break up just to make up. Yet, outside of sexual chemistry, our relationship was a big fat nothing. In spite of the sex being off the hinges, he was getting on my damn nerves by the day. So, after the final argument, I told D “up out my face, boy” via text message. (BTW, when I break, I BREAK).
After kicking D to the proverbial curb, I wanted to give a different type of dude a chance. After dealing with those Hoody Hood Bois (they are addictive) I needed to kick the habit. So I started seeing a dude named Gabe (of course, not his actual name). Chile, for the record, I was NOT vibin’ off Gabe when we first met, at all. When I met him, “Uncle Fester” from The Addams Family was the first person that popped into my mind! Gabe was quite portly (his fingers looked like they were cream filled); bald; pasty (like he had been seeing Michael Jackson's dermatologist); and his mouth was really crooked (when he smiled it looked like he was still frowning. It was weird). If Gabe had been wearing a dark hoody I would have been looking around for Morticia and Gomez to show up. Needless to say—and reiterating a previous point again— I had ZERO physical attraction for Gabe. He was literally the complete and utter antithesis of every dude I've ever dated in my life.
On the bright side, Gabe had taken to being my accidental sugar daddy. The more we hung out, the more he would splurge on me. He bought me new clothes, paid for my dinner, gas for my car and even took me to the zoo and art museum. (I'm not a prostitute. He did that of his own volition!). Naturally, I started feeling some sense of obligation.
It was no secret that Gabe wanted to be sexually involved with me. In addition, I felt that since he was financially enabling me to go shopping he could be “boyfriend material.” Foolishly, I thought, “Hmmm, maybe if I have sex with him it will make me like him more?” Mind you, by this time, it had been three months since I'd broken up with D. So...a young brotha was feeling a lil’ vitamin D deficient! One day after, our obligatory dinner and movie, I found myself at his place.
In retrospect, I think the universe wanted this to happen so that it could obliterate my naiveté.
Honey, it was a disaster from JUMP! First of all, we are both bottoms; yet, he would continually regale me with his fantasies of me topping him. We'd even act it out during phone sex. Never once experiencing being a top before, it made me stop to pause and ponder, “Maybe I could actually use my thing for more than jacking off, blow jobs, and peeing?” In addition, I'm a little bitty thing (about 5'6 and a $1.28). Gabe was like 5'11 and nearing three hundred pounds. Us fucking would be the equivalent of Pomeranian humping a Saint Bernard. Oddly, I found the idea intriguing.
Okay, so we're in Gabe's bedroom and he turns on his television set. I'm sitting there watching when I notice he's looking at me really lustfully. So, at this point, my body knows it does not want him anywhere near it, but, I kept telling myself, “Okay, I need to do this to find out if I can like him...” So, he asks me to sit next to him. I grudgingly scoot over. The next thing I know. his big ass starts kissing me and touching my face with his cream filled fingers. My conscience's still small voice screamed, “Toddy don't let him touch us! Run!”
I started kissing him back. At first the kissing was cool (I love to kiss anyway); but then Gabe started shoving his tongue down my throat. So I gently pushed him off and said, “Don't rape my face.”
After saying, “I can't help it, you taste so sweet,” he proceeds to slobber all over me! Due to this newfound closeness, I can see and feel just how unattractive he is to me. Gabe felt like sack full of lard and smelled like fried baloney. That's when I sought out his only attractive body part: the side of his neck. I kissed that instead (it helped me avoid his face and body). Unfortunately, it must have been his erogenous zone because Gabe starts going buck wild! Sitting his big ass on my lap, I'm like, “Oh hell no!” Pushing him to the side, that's when he proceeds to pull my shirt off (coincidentally, I was wearing this new Ralph Lauren Polo that he bought me). “Damn, I didn't know you were such a little hard body.” Beginning to suck on my nipples, he kids, “Awww, your nipples are so cute!”
Naturally, Gabe had to take his shirt off, too. To this day I wish that he hadn't. Oh my god I've never seen something so obscene. It was positively ghastly! Revealing the upper torso of a woolly mammoth, I nearly vomited at the sight. Gazing upon Gabe’s double D Cup, the little voice in my head cussed me out, “What the fuck are you doing?! RUN, I SAID!” I still didn't heed it.
Instead of touching him, I told him to give me a BJ. Gabe quickly undid my trousers. I will say that he do know how to bob and slob. So I closed my eyes and imagined Will Smith in his place. That helped tremendously. Next thing I know we're on the bed making out. I'm naked and Gabe's still in his underwear. I’m thinking, “Screw it! I'm going to have some ugly sex; I'll never tell my friends.” Plus, I was kind of excited about learning to be a top.
Making out and dry humping, he's up there sounding like a big woman, which was strange. Furthermore, Gabe had led me to believe that he was this big super power bottom. Why was he just laying there like a dead fish? What was all the more sad: he was drenched in sweat and we were BARELY doing anything! That scared me. I pondered, “Will I get arrested if he has a heart attack?”
Getting ready to saddle up, I put on a condom, Gabe starts to pull off his drawers. That's when I witnessed the most bizarre and awful thing I've probably ever seen in my twenty some odd years of existence. Gabe is laying on the bed—doing his best impersonation of Beyoncé: writhing around like he was in the Baby Boy video (you would have to have seen it!)—and I noticed something quite peculiar, “Heavens to Betsy, where is his dick?” I thought. Something was not computing. Gabe's dick appeared to be missing!
Gabe turned around to face me, I see, what appears to be, a stream of pre-seminal fluid coming out of—what looked like—nowhere. My heart raced. I blinked my eyes incessantly (wondering if I was hallucinating or something). For whatever reason, Gabe's penis looked like it was inverted (That and his ass was hairier than his chest and back. This dude OBVIOUSLY knows nothing about man-scaping). It literally looked like a botched circumcision that had resulted in an accidental castration. When it sank in my gut reaction was to scream and bug out like Ola Ray did in Thriller.
At this point, Gabe's weight, excessive hair, fried baloney scent and horrible Beyoncé impersonation did not matter. His entire being was eclipsed by that monstrosity...that innie! “No wonder he's a bottom! It's by circumstance...not choice.” I thought. Furthermore, I do like to perform oral, but I couldn't hold that thing between my thumb and index, let alone, get it into my mouth! It really pissed me off that he did not even prepare me for that. He told me he had a little dick but I didn't think it would be two Garbanzo beans and peanut.
Granted, I've never been with a guy that wasn't generously endowed or at least average. So, I had no frame of reference for something that looked like a navel. My conscience took the wheel, “Uhm, y'know what? I don't care what it's supposed to look like. I'm getting the fuck out of here.”
A terrible, poorly timed lie flew from my mouth, “Uhm, I have to go somewhere. I got errands to run.”
Looking at me really funny, Greg asks, “Are you okay?”
I looked at him like a tree was growing out of his neck. “No. I'm not, Innie man. I'm traumatized!” I didn't actually say that though. “Yeah, I'm good, ” with that, I put my Polo shirt on—inside out—and get the rest on in about 10.5 seconds flat, “Uhm, I'll call you later.” That's when I power walked out of the door and fled to my car faster than Tina Turner running across the freeway in What's Love Got To Do With It.
I've never been so scared in my life. It felt like I had cooties. When I got home I stripped naked and took a rape shower! (Get it off! Get it off!) I stayed in the shower for about an hour because...ew.
Since then, brave men tried valiantly to get in my jeans but they were all deemed unworthy. All I could imagine was that one of them would have an innie. And the next innie would’ve ensure me a space in the psychiatric ward (complete with a pretty pink strait jacket).
Since then I've finally gotten over the trauma and had a little sex.
The moral of this story: Never try to get over a hot homo-thug by getting under Uncle Fester.
Sorry this ran long. Brevity is so not my forte'.