A Few Minutes In The Life Of A Fudge Packing Fool (Part 3: Juice)

I can only fit 10 1/2 inches in my mouth when I've taken my socks off first. I have no idea how much I can take in the ass because no one has made an attempt to kick it since I was in junior high. While I think Aaron would be entitled to pull my foot out of my mouth and insert it up my own ass, I believe he has made other plans for that particular orifice.

"We should maybe continue this conversation at your house, with alcohol."

"Yes," I say, "lots and lots of alcohol." I'm not sure if there is an actual volume of alcohol that can be drunk to erase away the memory of gender identity confusion. But if there is such an amount, tonight I shall drink it.

Aaron rides my ass all the way home. I have a feeling he may continue to ride my ass once we get there.

"Nice place." He says when we've put the last shower-capped pan of fudge on my kitchen counter. "Beer in the fridge?"

"Yes."

"Where? All I see is hard lemonade, cider, and Zima. Are you sure you're not a girl?"

"There's Guinness in there somewhere. Let me see if I can find it for you." I reach in and start moving around the various togo boxes and Cherry Coke cans that have filled the lower two shelves. "Ah, there we are, one" penis presses firmly against my ass. "Hello."

"Just wanted you to be sure that it was there."

Apart from Randy, no one has ever been remotely as forward as Aaron is being. I am equal parts turned on and horrified.

He reaches over me toward one of the widget cans on the top shelf. "You, uh don't want one of those, let me get you a bottle."

"I prefer the cans, if you don't mind."

"No. They've been in their since R...they've been in there for a long time. The bottles are fresh."

He backs away from me. "Ok."

A Guiness for him, a Pumpkinhead Ale for me, and we are good to go. I go into the living room and sit in one of the cranberry wingback chairs that my mother left in the condo when she moved out. I am not terribly surprised when, instead of sitting on the couch, or the other chair, Aaron straddleds my lap. "Comfy?" He asks. I am decidedly not, but it is the type of uncomfortablity that I am growing accustomed to.

"So how many years have you been working at the faire now?"

"Three years."

"And all this time you thought I was a woman?"

Truth be told, I hadn't thought of Aaron at all until he approached me about working for us. I had taken the blank slate approach to working at the renaissance faire. I stayed in my little booth and did not very exciting fudge centered things, while the faire moved flamboyantly around me. In three years I hadn't learned the name of a single person who didn't work in my booth. "Well, to be fair, until last night, I'd only seen you from a distance."

"So you weren't interested in me at all? You were too busy drooling over Ben and CSB, I guess."

"Ben drools enough on his own, he doesn't need me helping him, and CSB is straight. I didn't notice you because I'm incredibly" He kisses me. Like a girl. His face is soft, like he just came from swimming in an ocean of aloe and vera.

"You're a pretty good kisser for a first timer."

"First timer?"

"Have you kissed a guy before?" His gaydar may be finely tuned, but his whoredar is apparently on the fritz.

"One or two" hundred.

"Anyone else from the faire?"

"No. Are there a lot of gay guys working there?"

"Most are trendy-bi at least."

"Like who?" I asked.

"Both nut boys, one of the mud men, the village drunk, three of the wax workers, three of the fudge men, one blacksmith, the jeweler, two of the leather & chain mail salesmen, the entire staff of the costume booth, and the red knight. The court jester, one of the guys at the fried dough booth, the other mud man, and about half a dozen of the actors are straight up gay."

"Jesus, is there any guy there that you haven't fucked?" I ask incredulously. Whether I am incredulous at the volume of people he had slept with, the shittiness of my gaydar, or the hypocrisy of me being shocked by someone's whoring, I'll let you decide.

He shakes his head and laughs at me. "I didn't fuck all of them, I just know they're gay or bisexual. I've only slept with" he began counting on his fingers, "most of them."

"Wait a second. You said three of the fudge men."

"Yea."

"I know CSB shows up on gaydar, but I'm reasonably certain he's bi. You haven't..."

"Well," he says, "I think he's at least bi, but I was talking about Brent."

"Brent's bi?"

"Yea," he says, "we work together at the hardware store during the off-season. Everyone there calls him Juice."

"Why?"

"Because when he gets drunk, he takes guys home and asks them if they'll juice themselves on him. You know, cum."

"Thanks, I got it." And I want to give it back. Brent is fairly cute when he isn't speaking or otherwise making a fool of himself, but I do not want to think of him spread eagled on a floor somewhere asking people to jerk off on him.

"I take it you don't want to invite him over for a threesome. It's just as well. I'd rather have you all to myself."

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/62770.html

CSB

I don't think I'd ever refer to something as The Kiss of Death. Depending on who they get to play Death in Good Omens, I can't imagine Death being kissable. Let's review the people who've played Death in TV shows and movies: Norm Macdonald, William Sadler, Jason Alexander, and Adam Corrola. None of them are on my top million list of guys to fuck.

If there were any characteristic of a person that I would even consider labeling "The Kiss of Death", it would be the use of patchouli as a bathing substitute. Even before I lived in Vermont, where showers are viewed with a disdain that Republicans reserve for a gay marriage ceremony involving a black guy and an Iraqi civilian, I couldn't stand the vile smell of patchouli. Even typing that word makes my nose hurt.

On the first night of my Acting class in college, I caught a whiff of something patchouliesque. Something *sniff* *sniff* almost like patchouli, but somehow not displeasing. Nasal gaydar. When I turned around I saw the hottest, obviously gay guy I had ever laid eyes on. I made small talk with him, and bided my time before I went full on flirtatious. This was back before Whore Month, before Ryan came into play, before I had dared do anything remotely gay near where I lived. Sure, there'd been Victor at boarding school, and Alex at college, but those were faraway places.

After a couple of weeks, the boy in class had done some obviously gay things. He had rapped the complete lyrics to Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby", he wore tight fitting t-shirts, he kept mentioning that his friends said he looked like Leonardo diCaprio. He couldn't be gayer if he was walking around with my dick in his ass, something I was hoping to prove with extensive testing.

We started hanging out a lot. More than a lot. When he went through a rough patch with his mother, he moved in to my condo for a while. Neither of us were yet twenty-one, but I looked old enough to not get carded very often. So every other night or so we ended up plastered and sharing the pull out bed in the living room. It was on one of those nights that I decided to grow some balls and tell him how I felt. Why that night? I was hammered. How hammered? Hammered. I was hammered. There were nails buried in plaster mumbling "That guy is hammered." That's how hammered I was. Hammered. I was playing some sort of show tune on the piano, the boy was singing along. He was singing beautifully. (I later discovered he was practically tone deaf, but it sounded amazing while I was hammered) At one point he leaned in real close and started close crooning. I turned my head toward his and leaned in to kiss him. Well, that's what I did in my head. In real life, I turned toward him all googledy eyed, and we started laughing.

He'd been in the house about two weeks when I finally said "I am so in love with you" in a way that I could pretend it was a joke if he didn't feel the same way.

"Dude, if I was gay, I'd be all over you." He said. I hate that phrase. You have no idea how many times I've heard it. Usually from guys who later came out as gay. This was the first time. It stung like a wasp with a harpoon gun on his abdomen.

"You're not gay?" I asked with mock mock horror.

"No. But every gay guy I've ever met crushes all over me. You should meet my friend Tom." So a couple of weeks later, after Cute Straight Boy had mended fences with his mom, and moved back into his garage apartment, he took me to hang out with his friend Big Gay Tom. It was hate at first site. I find uber-queeny gays annoying, Tom didn't like guys who weren't flamboyant. Tom was insanely jealous that CSB had lived at my house for a few weeks, I was insanely jealous that Big Gay Tom was always giving CSB the option of getting kissed or hit, and CSB usually picked getting kissed. We each hated the fact that the other person was crushing on their not-gay boyfriend.

After a particularly funny remark that CSB made, Tom brayed like a donkey while I said "I would so have his babies." And the claws came out. Tom's claws. I let him go absolutely crazy and catty and vicious while I sat quiet and reserved, imagining that CSB wold think I was classy for not stooping to Tom's level. When he realized how not Gay I was, he'd surely fall in love with me, and we would have hot hot sex in his mother's garage. That would be so hot.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/84348.html