Nasty, Dirty Sex

Warning (because the title may lead some to the erroneous conclusion that this post is about kittens dancing with ponies and rainbow-colored unicorns): this entry is graphic. You have been warned.

I've decided that hookups with strangers have their ups and downs. Ups: I get to have sex. Downs: as many people know, sex can also be a "down," especially when one expected it to be up Up UP.

So recently, through the sex-providers known as the Internet, (though not through Gay Face), I found a local college guy also on the prowl. He's not out, so we couldn't meet at his dorm room; I am quasi-out, but not in a way that permits free love (roommate issues). The solution: no one is at my office past 9pm. We met at 10:30, just to be safe.

Be apprised that I did have reservations about this: I'm sure I would at least get chastised if i were caught. In addition to the Biblical injunction against pre-marital and homosexual sex, there was also an ethical consideration: is it inconsiderate to have sex in a cubicled environment, a semi-public square? How would I feel if I knew my co-workers were fornicating right there against the water cooler, or over here on the rug that is considered a common space?

But, as is so often the case, I chose to ignore those better angels on one shoulder in favor of the demons goading me on with the promise of orgasmic bliss on the other.

I was surprised that he asked "normal questions," the kinds of inquires one makes when meeting a person one isn't planning on screwing five minutes later. What do you do? Oh, how do you enjoy that? Where'd you go to school? What was your major?

After some light making out, I unbuttoned his shirt. Since my typical venue for hookups is bath houses, I'm used to freshly showered guys. Not so with this collegian. Not that he was completely funky, but he had a trace of body odor that was surprising, but pleasing. It bespoke a manliness that I found alluring.

(Despite the stereotypes of gays as effeminate and being attracted to effeminate men, most of the gays I know prefer pretty masculine guys. I mean, if we were attracted to the super fem-types, we might as well go for women, and then we'd just be straight.)

So I gave nipples a little loving (which I assumed he enjoyed, based on the depth and audibility that his breathing assumed.) I let my hands travel south to loosen his belt, pull down his boxers...

Something smells heinous. The odor did not suggest masculinity, or any quality that might entice me sexually or otherwise. It wasn't manly; it wasn't even human. I tried to think of ways to describe the smell, but couldn't come up with anything comparable. The smell wasn't super strong, just highly unpleasant.

Thus was my predicament: Can I tell him that he's malodorous? Is it alright to ask him to go to the bathroom and wash up a little? We just met, so he's technically a stranger, and I would never tell a stranger that he smelled. Should I make a hint? I can't even threaten to break up with him over this, because we're not dating. Arg--the dilemmas of a one-night-stand. O_o\

He looked at me and smiled. "Do you wanna suck it?"

Thinking fast, I grabbed some cologne that I kept in my desk drawer, spritzed my hands, and rubbed them together.

"Whatcha got there?"

"Oh, nothing..."

I rubbed my hands all over his underparts. I think he assumed this was an act of arousal; I knew it was an act of remediation.

Okay, you can do this. You can do this. It isn't gross: bodily "fragrances" are natural.

I filled my lungs with as much air as possible and went down. Holding my breath for as long as I could, I felt like a marine biologist, interacting carefully with his gentle environment. I resurfaced, gasped for air, and back down I went. Repeat. (If you've never tried this, it's a rather strenuous activity to conduct with limited access to oxygen.)

We finish; I wash my hands and go home. At home, I clean my hands again, have a snack, then shower. I wash my hands a third time, then...what's that smell? Oh no: my skin has somehow absorbed the particular bouquet of his genitals. And even after three thorough rinses AND A SHOWER--ie fifteen minutes of continuous exposure to hot water, with the mitigating fragrances from my shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and facial cleanser--I can still smell him on my hands.

The horror of the possibility of living the rest of my life with dick-hands was just starting to set in when I realized that I had also given this guy head: from this point on, I may forever be known as "penis breath."