I've spent a substantial portion of the last couple days on lines. And since I've managed to fucking forget some portable reading material each and every single fucking day, I've had a lot of time to think. Ordinarily, I'd just be thinking about sex on its own, but in light of the "Baby, I wanna fuck you so bad..." bit, I've been thinking a lot about sex and violence.
Try this experiment - if you dare!
The ideal place to do this would be work, unless you're a K-12 teacher. But regardless of what you do, it's probably not the smartest thing in the world to do. HR people are more superstitious and cowardly than entertainment industry people. It's just that the perfect "control group" would be a bunch of individuals who know you, but in the most vague way possible. It may or may not work with close friends, it just kind of depends on how deep your conversations go. The shallower, the better.
Why? This experiment has two phases.
Phase I is easy. I guarantee you, if you did this at work and left it at that, you wouldn't be in hot water. At all.
Just discuss an injury with somebody. You don't have to use my "script." Feel free to do anything you want with it. The main thing is that the injury can NOT, under any circumstances, involve an injury to your "naughty bits." No crotch shots, no hits to the tits, and so on. But lay it on thick.
Example:
I nearly lost two of my toes when I was a kid. [Note: true story, for the record.] I was riding a Honda "Kick and Go" scooter. It was like a Razor scooter, but a little bigger, and it had this little pedal at the back you would pump with your foot to make the scooter go.
There was a decal with "rules" on the handlebars. One of those rules was "no bare feet." I'm a fuckin' kid! Think I'm going to pay attention to your silly rules?! Bah!
So I'm laying in the middle of the hot-ass street, in August, with the second and third toes on my right foot wedged between the tire and the chain. Now the chain, being a moving part (and greased up) was gradually slicing into my toes - went all the way to the bone, incidentally. I don't know which hurt worse - my toes, or my ass and legs. I don't know if you really can fry an egg on a hot sidewalk, but I know you can braise a seven year-old!
I'm screaming my fucking head off, trying to get the attention of my brother, friends and/or babysitter - who were all inside the trailer, [That's right! At my roots, I am very much "trailer trash."] watching cartoons. That's right. Screaming. Not yelling, "Help!" - a nice, high pitched, co-ed being murdered scream. I was seven, and I think the last thing I was worried about at that moment was whether or not I'd take some shit for "screaming like a girl."
After what seemed like hours, an old lady came out. Say what you like about the elderly, but that woman was FAST! She ran out, assessed the situation, dashed back into her place, and a couple seconds later, was out in the street with her toolbox, taking apart the rear wheel. It had to be like diffusing a bomb or something - one wrong move and she'd have had a toe-less hysterical seven year-old on her hands!
But it didn't end with a visit from the paramedics. At the hospital, they had to give me a local anesthetic and sterilize the area. Having a dirty chain saw into your fucking toes is like setting up a bacteria colony.
Now I wasn't a particularly skittish kid when it came to injections, but fucking SIX of them into an already injured area on a little foot - OH THE FUCKING AGONY!!! I know the doctor thought he was being helpful when he told me not to worry, it would just feel like a bee-sting. However, being a little alergic to bee stings, that really was no comfort. At all.
Now give it a couple days.
Phase II is where you'll get into trouble. It's going to be like riding a mechanical bull. I'm pretty sure you'll get "thrown" in a matter of seconds. Again, you don't have to stick to my script. But this time, you have to discuss an orgasm with the same person. Try not to lay it on thick this time. Even straight-up lie if need be. But don't pull any punches, either.
I was with a girl, briefly, I called "Planet Janet." This is because being with her was like being in another world. Free-spirited, "hippy-adjacent" kind of girl. Super-cool when it came to movies and music. Didn't own a TV. Not a college girl, but she read.
She went with some friends and I to a Santana concert. The guy riding in the back with us must have sensed the chemistry, because I shit you not, he chose to ride in the trunk all the way from LA back to Riverside. Maybe he thought she was going to give me a handjob underneath my poncho... In any event, we were passionate, but not exhibtionists - so we made out all the way home.
During the show, she grabbed me by the back of the head and just planted one on me. I'm not a timid guy, and I was working my way around to it, but I really have to say that I love a woman who takes charge! Fuck yeah!
Oh yeah - I'm not so narrow as to say "she was the best I'd ever been with." That's frat-boy bullshit. BUT SHE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PLANETS IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE. I loved being on her. And her on me. And to the side. And up against the walls. And on pretty much every stick of furniture in our apartments. I mean, I'd read some of the Kama Sutra in hopes of blowing somebody's mind, but she walked me around the fucking block.
Do you know I actually lost count once? Not hers - mine. Lost. Fucking. Count. I was so there, I actually forgot how many times I came. Sure, we were baked like cakes a lot of the time too, but I swear that weed has never really affected my memory that adversly...
Did you stop reading yet??? I rest my case.
No comments:
Post a Comment