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A Mouth is a Mouth is a Mouth

by Anthony Paull
Wednesday Oct 30, 2013
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Somehow I always get stuck at the wedding with the girl who needs to tell me she’s a pro at giving blowjobs. I’m all right with that but I only need to hear it once. In a whisper. Don’t scream it in my ear when I’m about to eat a piece of cake. When I’m digesting white sugar there has to be a boundary.

Seriously. When I have whipped cream on my lips the last thing I want to talk about is how you performed like a circus seal for some of the groomsmen back in high school. It’s not cute. But this is what happens when I befriend the single girl in the room that nobody talks to. Soon, I realize there’s a good reason no one wants to talk to her besides the fact she’s kicked off her heels and has her hair in a scrunchie. Besides, if she really gave good blowjobs, someone would talk to her, right?

"I’ll talk to her," my friend Aiden says, jogging with me the next day. "What’s her name?"

"Don’t worry about it. She’s not your type. She wants a relationship," I tell him.

"Blowjob girl wants a relationship?! Since when do blowjob girls want relationships?"

"Since the beginning of time. How do you think they lure guys into relationships?" I quicken my pace, training for some 10K race because that’s what people do in their thirties for adventure when they can’t afford to travel. "And stop calling her blowjob girl," I add.

"Then tell me her name."

I take a turn in a downtown park and refuse because Aiden isn’t about to offer her or any other girl a relationship. It’s not his calling. For women, he’s not the go-to guy. He’s the go-through guy. He provides shallow entertainment for women who are emotionally adrift. That way they’ll realize what they’re truly looking for in a man. He plays mind games with them, building and lowering their self-esteem. He’ll have sex with them. He’ll even do boyfriend things like take them to a movie if they pretend to like Sylvester Stallone and keep quiet long enough for the credits to roll. But he refuses to go beyond that. He says anything more is for the type of guy that settles. The type that wears pink polos and thinks an ankle tattoo makes him dangerous. Aiden is very honest about what he can offer. He takes his service very seriously. He says the key to his gift is making the woman aware that she can do better than him. He’s shit. Worthless. A mole on your ass. And damn proud of it.

"How charitable. If only you’d expand your services to men," I joke.

Ending the run he looks over to the bay, the sun erasing half of his face. "I’m open to that," he says, with a shrug. "Besides it doesn’t make me gay if it’s not going anywhere."

"If it’s going in your ass it might."

"A mouth is a mouth is a mouth," he notes.

"Seriously. You’re sick."

"What’s wrong? You don’t think gay guys will dig me?" he asks, with a pompous smile. "Look. Why limit myself to half the population when there is a whole world that can benefit from my skills?"

He rethinks things after a week of testing the waters. It seems playing his games with gay men isn’t gaining him the attention he seeks. "Gays are tricky, aren’t they?" he laughs, putting his helmet on for a bike ride. "It’s like they don’t get me."

"Or maybe they do get you and know you’re full of crap."

"No man. Seriously. They’re all about age, size, and location. I tell them I’m straight and they laugh. Isn’t that what you all want? A straight guy?"

"Yes. We all long for a man who prefers a vagina and breasts. We love men that are repulsed at the thought of having sex with us. It’s a total turn-on."

He chuckles, perplexed. "They don’t want to talk about anything but my penis. Am I into water sports? I tell them I paddle board and they laugh. What the hell? Who doesn’t like paddle boarding?"

"People surfing the Internet for sex."

"I can’t get a word in with them," he continues. "They don’t want to talk about their feelings. It’s like they don’t have time for the game."

Poor Aiden, I think to myself. It seems he’s having trouble being the go-through guy if he’s gone through too quickly. Aren’t his talents more valuable than that? Shouldn’t gay men be kissing his ass and grateful to have him? After all he’s straight and offering a false sense of connection. Isn’t that what gay men want?

Perhaps Aiden neglected to take into account that the game he’s playing is so prevalent in the gay world that his skills aren’t deemed an asset. In fact, men like him are deemed a pothole on the road to love --- a muddy pit that nobody chooses to step in unless they are only looking to get their penises wet.

"I don’t get it," he says, baffled. "What about getting a cup of coffee? What about talking for a few minutes?"

"Oh, gays can find a guy for that," I tell him. "They call those the settling type. Maybe you should regroup and consider an ankle tattoo."

Anthony Paull’s debut novel Outtakes of A Walking Mistake was recently chosen as an NPR Finalist for Best Teen Novel Ever.

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