My Baby's Mama

When I first started working at my current place of employment, I was determined not to be an asshole. This can be difficult for me. I have a habit of purposely saying the wrong things to the right people in order to get laughs at their expense. I think this is why I've almost exclusively dated morons.

I lasted a record two shifts before I became the poster child for Eye Rolling and Sexual Impropriety. I got to be really good friends with Former CoWorker and She Who Would Eventually Become My Baby's Mama. A few months into our friendship she asked me if she looked fat. The girl is 5'3" and possibly 11 pounds, maybe 12 if you dip her in a vat of bacon grease. Maybe.

I told her that she did look like she'd put on a few pounds, but what did she expect? She was carrying my child. It was a throwaway joke and probably wouldn't even be memorable if it weren't for the next night.

I was hungover like a towel on a dormroom closet. Between paperwork and the actual waiting tables, I'd been working for nearly ten hours str---gay. My last table of the night was a group of frat boys. Like koala bears and Elijah Wood, frat boys are cute in their natural habitat, but you wouldn't want one up close and eating in your restaurant.

Fifteen minutes into their debauchery, I realize they hate me. I mean they HATE me. Enter, She Who Is Now Referred To As My Baby's Mama. It's her night off, but she stops in to meet some people after work for a few drinks. She looks a-fucken-mazing. You know, if you're into short chicks.

One of the guys at the table starts to get huge hearts in his eyes, his tongue falls around his ankles and his erection would have knocked over the table except for the fact that he's a frat boy, and everyone knows frat boys have macroscopic phalluses.

Frat Boy #1 turns to Frat Boy #Who Cares? and says "Dude, I could totally get her phone number." This starts a barrage of comments affirming their heterosexual machismo while reducing She Who Is Nearly Known As My Baby's Mama to nothing more than a walking ass with tits on them. An affliction of sight prevalant in the wild frat boy.

She Who Is Seconds Away From Being Known As My Baby's Mama has great hearing. She pivots towards the table, which does little to hush the bravado of Frat Boys The Musical. As she walks by me, she pushes my order book out of my hand and kisses me quite hard.

*Thunderstruck Silence*

She looks right at the table and says "You guys are lucky My Baby's Daddy isn't a jealous man," and then walks away.

The Fratboys ask me if she's seriously my wife. "No." I tell them. "We're not even really dating, we just kind of fool around, and thought it would be fun to have a kid together."

The Fratboys name me their king, toss me on their shoulders and lead me to the infinite land of keggers and Madden Football. They also leave me a sweet tip, and ask me if My Baby's Mama has a sister.

Now the offhand comment about our relationship become a long-running joke. Nine months after the comment we name the baby Unique, and make jokes about my deadbeat-daddedness. I keep leaving for three or six month sabbaticals, and never pay child support. What can I say? I'm a bastard. So is Unique, I suppose.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/15509.html

His Name Was Marc

Sometimes this journal makes me fall down stairs. I'll be at work, dropping off someone's check, and I'll see someone giving me the eye from another table. Not the "let's take off each other's clothes and fuck right here on the table" look, but the "I think I know you from somewhere" look.

Two weeks ago, I dropped off salads to a guy that I had gone to elementary school with. Hadn't seen him in fifteen years, but we immediately recognized each other. No, this story is not going to get kinky.

Before I took a six month desert sabbatical from work, I got the eye from one of my own customers, while I was taking their order. I'd already introduced myself as Insafemode, so I figured if the person really knew me, he would have recognized the name, and figured out how we knew each other. He did look somewhat familiar to me, but I happen to think that all white people look alike, so I dismissed it.

When I stopped by the table to make sure they liked the food, he asked me if I went to some high school near Boston. No, I didn't. He then asked if I ever worked at a movie theatre. No, I hadn't. We went back and forth about places we might know each other from, Cranberry Lake, a renaissance faire I used to work at, places I'd performed, the state he had lived for a few years. Nada, nothing, zip. We just looked familiar to each other.

At least, when we recognized where it was we knew each other from, that's what we led the rest of the people at the table to believe. Oh, we'd met alright.

I think the chronology went: Guy I Blew on the Beach, Joey, Tommy, Marc. I don't know, I was rather busy with the ass and cock that month.

You'd think I'd be fixated on Tommy. He was beautiful, astounding in bed, had many common interests, and had the libido of a seventeen year old...you know, because he was seventeen. I wasn't. Not because I was a whore, but because Tommy was seventeen, and just as much of a whore as I was. While I thought he was amazing, my self-confidence led me to believe the feeling was not mutual. So back to AOL's Cranberry Lake Whore4Whore I went.

As soon as I entered the chatroom I got an IM. Marc had read my profile, and wanted to hang out somewhere public and safe. So we did. He was a twenty-five year old student who was about to transfer from UMass Cranberry Lake to some Ssuthern University. He really likes Cranberry Lake, but he hadn't found anyone interested in the same type of films, animation, books, whathaveyou until he read my profile.

The scene resumes at my house. We're talking about Run Lola Run. We're naked. Because, really, there's no better way to talk about a foreign movie than when you're about to fuck a film student.

The conversation was great. The sex was equivalent. I wasn't aware of it as it was happening, but we were having angry sex. I wasn't aware of it because I wasn't the one who was angry. I was in bliss. He was way better than Joey or The Guy I Blew on the Beach, and nearly as good as Tommy, who had only left the house about eight hours earlier.

When we were finished, he immediately started to put his clothes on and head to the door.

"Have somewhere you've got to be?"

"Kind of." He said, as he put on his Southern U cap.

"Want to get together sometime and rent a couple of movies."

"I can't. When I get home I've got to tell Joey that we're even. Then, I'm hoping he'll be faithful to me. Otherwise I'm dumping his ass. Even if that happens, I won't be calling you."

"Oh."

I was almost tempted, as I cleared their dishes away and dropped the check off, to ask how Joey was doing. For all I know, Marc was a sleazebag who dumped Joey when he failed to be a cutiful nineteen year old hornball. Marc was pretty sleazy. He lied to me about his age, wasn't up front with me about having a boyfriend, and he apprently monitored his BF's Internet use by reading over his chatroom logs. But who was I to judge? I was the guy that blew his boyfriend on his bed. I didn't say or ask anything. That may have been the reason he left me such a good tip.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/14961.html

Giggles The Chowderhead

Giggles and her boyfriend arrived in the restaurant I work at, just before I was to go home for the evening. They took a seat in my section and informed me that they were waiting for six of their friends to show up. They ordered two waters (of course), and said they wanted bread on the table at all times. I got the feeling there were no other friends showing up, and that they were on some sort of prison diet.

An hour later the friends showed up, all talking on their various cell phones, and shaking their heads and shushing me every time I went to their table to ask if they were ready to order.

Giggles was the Alpha Bitch. When she was ready to order she yelled my name across the restaurant. The table ordered a plate of Cheese Fries, two salads, and a bowl of Clam Chowder.

Someone had rung in a Cheese Fries by mistake earlier, so there was an order sitting in the window when I got into the kitchen. Since I wanted to get these people out of the restaurant as soon as possible, I brought it right out to them. I then went back to the kitchen to wait for the salads and soup.

Just as the salads were coming out, one of my coworkers rushed into the kitchen and said I was needed at my table immediately.

Giggles was no longer chattering with her boyfriend, or their assorted friends. Her lips were sneered so high that I couldn't see her nose, and I'm reasonably sure there was steam coming from her eyes.

"Sir," she snorted "I usually don't like to complain" *cough* YEA, Right. "but I have never been so disgusted in my life. The clam chowder you brought out is cold, has no clams in it, and the portion is ridiculously small. I demand a refund, AND I want to see the manager. There is no excuse for such horrible food."

I did my best to keep my polite customer-service smile as I said "Miss, that's not clam chowder, it's ranch dressing."

original post: http://community.livejournal.com/mock_the_stupid/889252.html

Sexual Harassment Theatre

As a general rule, I don't mess around with people I work with. Sometimes I break that rule, but it comforts me to know the rule is there to fall back on.

I recently discovered that several people I've known and worked with for the last two and a half years don't even know I'm gay. I mean the gay people I work with don't know I'm gay. The dreaded curse of the SSGG (Straight-seeming gay guy). I don't hide my sexuality. In fact, they should make videos of the way I behave at work and show it to potential employees just to warn them away. I'm like a roving Scared-Not-Straight Campaign.

I'll be posting a bunch of stories involving myself, Jeremy The King Of Bisexual Harassment and Equality, and John The Weirdest Perv I Know Outside of My Friends List.

Here's tonight's story:

I was training a new kid. Let's call him...Jason because that's his name. Normally when I'm training I tend to be more matter-of-fact than normal, but this was the kid's fourth night. If he didn't get it by now, he was gonna be busing tables instead of waiting on them.

I thought I had been fairly low-key the past few shifts, not being the perverted ass that I can be. I was wrong. I know this because after my sincere conversation about what I expected him to do, and what I felt we should work on, I asked "Is there anything you think you need my help with?" To which he replies: "If I need anything from you, I'll scrape it off my zipper."

¿¿¿What???

I'm fairly sure he got the line mixed up, but I can guess the intention behind it, so I preceded to make the rest of his night Sexual Harassment Hell. I sicced Big Rich on him.

Big Rich is far gayer than even Big Gay Tom. Big Rich is a fiftyish year old man about 6'2", at least 300 pounds. He kisses the tops of guy's heads for no discernable reason, likes to pinch people, and seems to have a fetish for youngish looking asian and/or jock boys. Who doesn't?

Anyhow, I have Rich invading his space all night. After about a half an hour, Jason playfully slaps my ass while I'm carrying a tray of food. Oh, it's on now, motherfucker.

I start carrying a big wooden breadboard with me. I "accidentally" slap his ass with it while he's taking an order from a table. He retaliates with a bread board while I'm up at the bar. As he reaches into the bread oven I wind up and CRACK!!!

I (A)break the breadboard on his ass, which causes (B)his upper body to spasm upwards, pressing his (C)arm against the top of the bread oven (D) which is very hot causing him to (E)curse so loud you can probably hear him outside in the restaurant's parking lot, which causes (F)another server to drop a plate, and eventually the whole kitchen is involved in a very Rube Goldbergesque scenario.

His arm is not actually burnt, making me feel a little better. He whimpers out "I think my ass is bleeding." and then proceeds to go check. Of course it's not. Bruised perhaps, but it's not like I poked him with a skewer.

That ended our breadboard warfare. While I don't know if I ended up winning for the night, I know he ended up losing, as another server for reasons that had nothing to do with me took his cell phone camera thingy into the bathroom and left him all sorts of blurry dirty pictures.

Sometimes I love my job.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/4289.html

Converting Straight Boys

Tenth grade shall be etched in my memory forever as The Year of The Porno. It was several years after my initial contact with porn (or perhaps my initial contact with myself in connection with porn), but tenth grade was the year I first found out about group porn.

I'm not talking about orgy videos or gang bang photos, I'm talking about the curious practice of a bunch of straight boys wanking off together while watching porn. I don't get it. I like it but I don't get it. I'd feel weird jerking off to gay porn while some woman was fisting the kitty, and not because I'm repulsed by pussy (I'm not, I'm just not turned on by it) but because I find it an unerotic distraction from my special time with porn. As a gay guy, however, the fact that I lived in a dorm full of straight boys who masturbated together was a huge turn on. That said, had I been out as a teenager, this story might not be such a fond recollection.

I'll never forget walking into the basement at 3 AM on a Friday night and hearing the fap fap fap of future frat boy self love. I didn't stay too long. I watched enough of the porn to remember that it was a Star Trek ripoff where the set is made of paper, and a woman actually ripped through the paper as a naked guy made the "fsssssssssh" sound of Star Trek doors opening.

There were four guys fapping away. They weren't the hottest guys in the dorm. I suspect, it being a Friday night, the hottest guys in the dorm were out cruising in a girls dorm getting their fuck on. I returned to my room with only my curiosity aroused.

I found out that the Friday night fapfest was a weekly occurrence. And while I knew that some of the regulars were guys I wouldn't mind seeing spew into a towel, I would have felt exposed if I ventured down there on a regular basis, so I tended to avoid the basement on Friday nights. On one particular Friday night, I was in the midst of a movie marathon. Alien, Terminator 2, Caddyshack. About halfway through Caddyshack, the seat & beat crowd came in and demanded we eject our movie so they could watch porn. My fellow marathon watchers were sophomores, like me. The sit back and whackers were seniors. Our dorm was so famous for hazing that freshmen had been banned from living there. The porno went in.

The opening scene featured two trampy women sucking an ugly looking guy's dick. After a few minutes, the guy begins fucking Tramp #1 while Tramp #2 shoves a dildo up the guy's butt.

A few minutes into the video I went upstairs to wrap my head around a bunch of straight guys jerking off to a guy getting a dildo shoved up his butt by a woman who could have easily passed as a man, had she not had an innie.

Of course I walked in on my roommate experiencing a fap-attack. In the three years I went to boarding school, I had four roommates, and I caught all of them in mid-jerk. Little phased me. (I bet they'd all hate to think that I'd used the word little in such close proximity to the image of them jerking off) JBOB put his trouser snake away and flushed.

"Can't I go anywhere without seeing dick tonight?" I lamented for the last time in my life.

"Huh?"

"Oh, I'm just cranky because we were in the middle of watching Caddyshack when the Friday night crew took over the basement to watch a video of some chick sticking a dildo in a guy's ass. Bunch of homos." Yes, it's true what they say about people who protest too much.

"Dude, just because a guy likes getting a dildo shoved up his ass doesn't mean he's a fag." JBOB said, a bit too defensively. "I mean, it was a girl sticking a dildo up his ass. If he were gay it would be a guy sticking...whatever into his ass."

Of course, he was right. Our discussion drifted around various gender and sexuality issues until we came to the issue of guys jerking off with each other.

"I just don't get it." I said "The other day I walked into Seth's room to find out what the Algebra homework was, and there's nine guys sitting in a circle jerking off with a pile of nachos in the room. What the fuck?"

JBOB shuddered. "Dirty nachos. Bleurgh. Stupid fucking hockey mutants. I don't get that shit. Why you'd want to jerk off with a bunch of guys is beyond me, and the idea of the last one to come having to eat nachos with a bunch of other guys' come on it is---"

"WHAT???"

We agreed that Dirty Nachos was, along with Dirty Sanchezes, one of the most disgusting sexual ideas ever invented. Eventually we got around to discussing gay sex.

JBOB: "I mean, if I had to have sex with a guy, I'd want to be the guy getting fucked. That way I wouldn't get any pleasure out of it."

"There's something wrong with you. I'd want to be the guy doing the fucking so that I'd at least get to shoot my load. Besides, getting fucked in the ass sounds painful."

Then we started talking about pain in a very non-sexual way. What stayed with me, though, was the idea that he would rather be a bottom than a top, and he thought that enjoying things being stuck in your ass was not necessarily a gay thing.

JBOB and I never had anything remotely like sex. Walking in on him (to date, I've never been unexpectedly interrupted) was as close as we got. But I did eventually meet a straight boy who reminded me of him.

Randy lived up to his name. While I was working at Kookaburra Canyon in Cranberry Lake, it was my job to train new employees. Randy was finishing up his menu test when I came in. While I graded his test he kept looking at me oddly. I initially thought he was coming on to me. When I told him he passed he said "Is your name Insafemode?"

You can guess my answer.

"Oh wow. You used to be a counselor at the camp I went to. Remember me?" I didn't. "I was the kid who jumped off the boathouse and sprained my ankle." Now I remembered, he was the stupid kid. He wasn't one of mine. I had been sixteen at the time, and working with the eight to ten year olds. Randy had been fourteen. We spent the night working and reminiscing, and at the end of the shift, for no apparent reason he leaped on my back much the way the kids had when I worked at camp. Of course, the kids weighed about fifty pounds, and Randy weighed a buck forty. Had I been prepared, I would have lifted him easily, as it was I nearly fell face first into a table. "Sorry about that."

On a particular Friday night, while a new generation was lurking and jerking at my alma mater, Randy needed a ride home. He started talking about a girl he was casually seeing and how she liked to do E and let him fuck her. He was quite the charming conversationalist. "When she's feeling really frisky, she throws on a strap-on and fucks me up the ass."

I pulled over to the side of the road. "Bullshit. Why would you tell me something like that?"

"I don't know, maybe I'm hoping you'll take me back to your place and fuck me."

Who says that shit? Randy. I'm sure it was meant as a joke. Still, I pulled a U-ey.

"Where are we going?"

"My place. I've got a hard-on and a refrigerator full of beer." I am absolutely positive that it was not meant as a joke.

Randy was tall, blonde, and cut like a Bel Ami porn star. He wanted more than anything in life to be a Navy SEAL. I could never date anyone like him, but I could get him drunk and fuck him, though I didn't imagine things would go as planned. I figured we'd get drunk and pass out, have some really cool conversation that didn't involve either of us getting naked.

We didn't even make it to the refrigerator before he started taking his clothes off. "I have a few rules." he said.

"Ok."

"Tell no one. Seriously, I'm not gay, I'm just really turned on right now." Whatever,

There was nearly no foreplay. A bit of fingering to prep him, naturally, but no kissing or anything. Just him bent over the arm of the couch, upside down in the middle of the living room floor, laid down on the chaise lounge on my back porch. We fucked everywhere that night. And the next night, and a week later. By then we were making out first, caressing each other like lovers. The fourth night was so amazing we knocked over and broke my computer monitor and I didn't care. That time he spent the night, playing with my hair, nibbling on my ears. I knew that this was going to be my first post-Seith relationship. I sensed the coming of an overwhelming happiness.

Hence, I don't work for The Psychic Friends network.

Randy didn't show up for work the next day or ever again, A few weeks later a mutual friend told me that he'd run into Randy at the mall buying clothes for his move to Florida. Having no idea that Randy and I were anything more than acquaintances, he was quite surprised that Randy asked how I was and told him to pass along the message that he was sorry to move out without saying goodbye.

original posts: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/25618.html
http://community.livejournal.com/2_much_sex_info/92893.html