6 March 2008
Things I like: garlic bread. Proper stuff, French loaf, sliced into rounds, with garlic and herbs and butter in between, wrapped in foil and then baked to a beautifully tasty, drippy, garlicky unhealthy fabulousness. We had some with dinner last night, for no reason I could see. Usually it comes out when we have finger-food and snacks and that at parties and/or events; not complaining, though, even though it was weird. A peace offering from mom to dad, perhaps? He likes it more than I do.
I have news - I am becoming gayer, it seems. Hard to believe that just two years ago I’d never really considered it, then suddenly bam! Hard for hard-ons. I have yet to really broach this subject - my sexuality - with anyone except you, Diary, so mum’s the word for now, yeah?
Still, the reason I am saying this is because last night I was unbelievably horny and I may have actually gone through with it, the very thing I’ve been threatening to do for ages and although everyone on the internet says it’s completely normal, I can’t imagine reading about it in a Men’s Health. Maybe the readers’ submissions in FHM, sure; Bizarre definitely, but until MH carries it I won’t be convinced. Of course you know what I mean, don’t you? In case you don’t, well, bad luck. Still, bitter, slightly salty with a hint of boiled chicken and a bit like household bleach; Jik, to be precise.
At least what I assume Jik tastes like – I’ve never tasted bleach, I don’t think. Apparently, according to dad, I did have a few mouthfuls of that other cleaning standard, Handy Andy, as a kid before Mom stopped me; the lemon one which itself looks not unlike cum, really. Cum or come? I prefer come, if I’m honest. Anyway, was the guzzling of a bit of Handy Andy as a tot something of a foretelling? Parents, watch out for your baby boys – they might catch The Gay from a bottle of lemon-scented scrub.
Still, it was in the shower and I had the raging horn while trying to decide whether I should be manscaping or not - since it appears to be pretty common these days, and I don't want to be left behind, do I? - and so I had to take matters in hand. Don't judge me, Diary, it's been a long, dry season.
As The Moment of Truth approached, a stupid fucking pigeon flew onto the windowsill and scared the living piss – well, come – out of me. Usually I aim it up, up and away and really fire that shit out but I got such a fright I stopped after breaking point and just ended up dribbling into my right hand. Not exactly a five-star orgasm, either, a two-star at most in the end and a waste of a perfectly good buildup, I thought.
“But hey – make the best of a bad situation,” I said to myself. It took a bit of nerve to actually do it, though – it wasn’t exactly warm by the time I finally went for it, but I’m not sure that would have made it better. I don’t know whether I could do it again, mine or someone else’s. Still, is that a milestone of sexual development I should be proud of? I like to think it is.
Later I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote a poem:
MM, do you manscape?
Are you bald like a stone on the beach?
Or are you natural like Greek yoghurt
Your bum a little fluffy, and fuzzy like a peach?
That is a perfect metaphor for
your butt, so firm and untanned.
If I can’t put something up inside it
Could I hold it in my hand?
And while I’m at it, MM, would you swallow?
This awesome display of latent literary talent demonstrates why I am majoring in Chemistry.
It’s Thursday and I don’t have a big prac this afternoon. Paolo, who is across the bench from me in Chem pracs (there are 4 spaces on each bench; 2 on either side), has invited me and a handful of interested others to have a kick-around at lunchtime in the hope that we can put together a team for the indoor football league which starts up next month. New people to meet! I am looking rather forward to it.