What’s Your Dick Like, Homie? or,The Sexual Journey

Kelsey and I have been playing this game where we make educated guesses about what we think our mutual acquaintances are like in bed. It’s a game that I’ve played my entire life, but it’s pretty fun to play it with someone who is equally as (if not more) sexually seasoned as I am. So far, we have been really, really wrong about one person and dead on the money about another, and we’re currently building up the betting pool for the odds on a certain third party we’re currently researching.

I was pretty surprised when we were dead wrong about the first one. You fuck enough people, and you get a pretty good sense of what their sexual potential is. However, I’m glad to know that I haven’t reached my sexual limit when it comes to learning about other people’s sexualities. There are still things out there that surprise me! Which is a relief, I’d hate to be at the upper limit of human sexuality already. That’s a bleak prospect – I’m really hoping that there are still fun, exciting sexual activities for me to explore up until the day I die, but I’m probably going to have to slow my roll on a few things to ensure that I don’t dead end into sexual ennui (or criminal paraphilia) within the next five years.

Basically, the reason that I miscalled my sexual prediction was because I hadn’t accounted for what was an honestly very unexpected plot twist: a man in his 40s experiencing a sexual awakening of sorts. Having run among a crowd of very sexually confident and sexually experienced people for my entire life, it didn’t even occur to me that someone could enter my realm of social reference without being on the same sexual wavelength as everyone else here. A sexually repressed man? In his 40s? With money? And a totally sweet personality? And a willingness to grow and learn?

So, yeah, I know: this is not a common occurrence by any means. But the reason I’m so fixated on it is because, well, it gives me hope. My sexual prediction had basically been: you know when you go to those suburban buffets when you’re out there trying to do the decent thing and spend time with your family, but you’re there with your grandparents so you gotta suck it up and eat whatever weird jello salad retiree food they give you, so you go and grab a shrimp cocktail because it seems like the classiest and most palatable option possible (especially after breezing past tray after tray of weirdly gray meatloaf and sloppy joes and the obligatory Filipino dish that you have no idea what it is, but these old white dudes love wifing up Filipino ladies after that first disastrous marriage that spawned your family, so of course the buffet has Filipino food here), and then you go to eat it, and as you’re holding that piece of shrimp in your hand you realize: this shrimp has probably been sitting in a freezer for like six weeks next to an expired bag of frozen tater tots and five pounds of ground beef that were on sale at Big Lots, and now the shrimp has been thawed out but not quite completely and sitting in this weird, stuffy restaurant filled with recycled air that all these lifetime cigarette smokers have been wheezing in and out, and while the shrimp itself isn’t quite lukewarm, there’s something slightly salmonella about the whole situation, and you realize it’s probably not a good idea to eat this artificially pink shrimp, but it’s literally the only thing you grabbed to eat, and actually you’re pretty hungry, and if you don’t eat it your grandparents are going to give you grief, and if you do eat it, you’ll probably be sick for the next 36 hours, but fuck it. My prediction was basically the sexual equivalent of that. But I was wrong. And, my god, it felt pretty good to be wrong about that! Granted, I was pretty proud of the vivid metaphor that I painted for out little exercise, but I prefer faith in humanity over my own self congratulatory puns anyways, so I take this defeat with grace.

My current sexual prediction for another anonymous member of the local community is: bet she only fucks when she drunk. I know, not a very exciting prediction, and, honestly, a very tried and true, unfortunately all-too-common prediction that I wish we could eradicate from the lexicon of female sexuality because it’s so god damn played out and pathetic. (I know this from personal experience, as any long time readers would know, but, trust me, a love for alcohol and a love for sex do not need to be interdependent. PMA, ladies.) To expand on the prediction, let’s just say, you know when you’re newly single and you’re actually kinda heart broken about the situation, but you have too much pride to do the healthy thing and stay at home and drink fresh fruit smoothies and get 8 hours of sleep every night, so instead you hoe hop from bar to bar in search of literally anybody to fuck, but in order  to forget your ex and actually get into fucking some random dude, you have to get super drunk, like, no avoiding a hangover drunk, which also means that your inhibitions slip down, and sometimes that means you wind up doing some weirdly emotional and off color kinda kinky shit with a stranger, like ask him to choke you, but then he chokes you, and it’s too much, so you cry uncle, and just go back to four minutes of room spinning pillow queening it and asking him too frequently did he cum yet because clearly you’re not really into it, and then the next morning you do not talk about it at all, but for some reason doing one kinky thing makes you think you’re queer, and if you ever fuck this person again you’re just as drunk and weird as the last time because it’s not about being shy around new partners it’s more about a long term self loathing that results in a lack of sexual prowess or the basic libido that people think young women like you should have? Like that, except, after you do that for the majority of your entire adult sexuality there’s something kinda perfunctory and uninteresting about the desperation and drunkenness.

Now, the only question that remains is: who’s gonna fuck her, me or Kelsey? I mean, I have a feeling that neither of us are going to do it, just out of mercy, and also out of ethics, so the hunt is on for the answer to our burning question: how’s she fuck? Anybody want to help us settle this bet? Am I on the money or is there hope for humanity?

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