Blue Balls, Blow Jobs & Blue Lips

Note: Given the recent scandal involving Newsweek, I feel that it is incumbent upon on me to let y’all know that some of the details in this post have been changed to protect the identities of the persons involved and the places mentioned. By no means was this done to deny the sluttiness of certain fella’s actions or the licentious activities that one can find in this metro area. I just keep my tricks anonymous and where I get busy top secret. After all, this is Missouri and I don’t wanna run into your ass or the cops when I decide to get my freak on.

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I’ve lived in St. Louis for a total of 15 years. In that time, I have made some great friends, had a few boyfriends and gotten laid more times that I can remember. As of late, I have forgone a great deal of sluttiness because it’s not as easy to have rampant, anonymous sex in St. Louis as certain right-wingers would like you to believe.

Since I’ve graduated from college, I’ve been fairly social and had jobs that provide me a lot of contact with the gay community. It is very rare when I go out that I don’t know most of the folks who are out, slept with a few of them, or have at my disposal a gaggle of friends who can provide the salacious details of so-and-so’s kinkiness in the bedroom. In addition to being gossips, I am proud that most of my friends are sluts, too.

This past Monday rolled around and I was in a mood.

I really wanted to get laid.

Before the three of you get all riled up and start hollering, “T.M.I….T.M.I!” – don’t worry. This isn’t my foray into pornography. As Ryan once again asserted the other day, “Your life resists all things normal.” Apparently that now includes anonymous sex.

Blue Balls

It began sluttily enough Monday morning when I arranged for a quickie before work. It sounded so hot. I’d be dressed in my busy-executive-on-the-go striped shirt, pinstripe pants and power tie, waiting for Mr. Rise-n-Shine. Cum and go, so to speak. Trouble is, he wasn’t so anonymous, after all. We laughed about that when he arrived and he asked me to not “breathe a word about this to anyone.” I couldn’t really say that I don’t kiss and tell, since I wasn’t sure if blogging counted…I just nodded. Things were about to get started when he realized he’d locked his keys in his car. Talk about an immediate…um… let-down. Calls had to be made, excuses and such issued forth. Whatever. It got me riled up for a Monday morning and I trudged off to work looking cute, but sexually frustrated as hell.

Blow Jobs

I hate to break it to any of you who think that men are faithful. They’re not. Go to any book store, strip club, hotel lobby bathroom, Target, or local Shop-n-Save and you’ll usually find a fella willing to administer, accept or trade blow jobs. I hate to keep it so real for any of you married ladies out there who worry if your husband will stray with cute little Stacie in marketing. In St. Louis, it’s more likely that he’s been blowing Larry in accounting. For years.

Since my morning started badly, I’d hoped that an afternoon delight would be feasible. I knew where I could do to find some daytime dalliance. I arrived at my destination, which was sadly empty, except for one cute fella who immediately asked me upon arrival if I wanted a blow job. “Gimme a second to look around...” I said, “...and get back to me.” I winked at him and proceeded.

I walked around the den of sin and found that it was pretty-much just the two of us so I went up to him.

“Damn…it sure is quiet here…” I said as dark-n-surly as I could manage.

“Oh...my God…Rob?”

“Yeah…do I know you? You look familiar…”

“Yeah…it’s [blah-blah]. I dated [blah-blah].”

Suddenly memories flooded in of an ex-friend who’d dated this cutie. Cutie’s ex is one of those fellas that drops you when he gets a new guy. We haven’t chatted for years, and it’s been at least five since he and Mister Blowjob broke up.

MB replied, “You look good….you’ve lost weight.”

“Yeah….I didn’t recognize you. You look…younger!” I said.

“Yeah…the years have been kind….” ****awkward pause**** “Well, listen...I gotta go.”

And he split. Just like that. And then I remembered that he may have had some “issues” in the past and maybe he felt guilty and ashamed. Fuck...who doesn’t have issues? I spat out my Double Bubble and lit a cigarette. I could’ve give a fuck about kissing-fresh-breath or somebody else’s tortured psyche. Mine’s tortured enough.

Blue Lips

Fortunately enough for me, I know some fellas that if you’re horny and they’re horny and you agree to some mutually agreeable terms, you can be in and out and happy within a certain amount of time.

After getting home from work, I got to work and managed to arrange a rendezvous with a fella that I’ve hooked up with off and off for more than a decade. Finally!

Things transpired and I’ll spare the details, except for these two: when you spend a lot of time in a sling and you’re with a guy who’s really into poppers, you can develop short term methemoglobinemia, which in some cases, is deadly. Basically, my red blood cells stopped processing oxygen! My lips turned blue, as did my fingertips, I turned shockingly pale and passed out!

While the epidemiology of my condition was being assessed, it also was brought to my attention that products containing lidocaine can also trigger a methemoglobinemia incident. And I’ve been slathering lidocaine on twice daily since I was diagnosed with eczema back in January. Yay me!

Bah Humbug!

This sad, sordid tale, sadly lacking in sordidness has been brought to you by my fucked up life. I’m not particularly bitter about it all. Well, that is a lie. But I am mostly annoyed. Annoyed with my friends who happily fuck around all the time. Annoyed with my friends who are single and loving it. Annoyed with the happy, cute couples in the park. I’m probably annoyed at you.

I’ve been in a blue mood for the past month. In one day, I’ve been blue balled, blown off and blood poisoned. The only solution I can see is to slink off to my Fortress of Slutitude to think about my current man-loving-man situation. Once I feel that it’s safe to venture out into the dating-world without being emotionally devastated or into the fucking-world without being physically assaulted, I’m sure I’ll be back, bells ringing.

My blue mood seems to be chronic, so I think I think I’ll just stick to biking. While it’s a bitch on the balls, it’s better for my brain and blood. And better blood is much more desirable than the bitter blood I seem to have too much of at the moment.