Yep. It finally happened. It took me about three years of New York life until someone tried to finger my party hole in public. Let me start from the very beginning, a less horrifying place to start.
So the other day I was doing some thinking. It was depressing, and it required much binge-eating afterwards. But before the massive crying and cake-eating I realized I haven’t had sex in over a year. (Note: My scientific definition of sex is the peepee in the pooper with vigorous in-and-out humping.) It is currently the end of September in the year 2014. The last time I had any D in any A was approximately June of 2013. When I relayed this information to my roommates, they responded calmly with: “ON PURPOSE?!?!” The answer: no, not on purpose. It happened by accident for a little while. But about a month ago, when my Dry Spell Epiphany came uponst me, I decided that I didn’t want just sex; I decided I wanted to be anally penetrated by someone for whom I had deep adoration, equal to or greater than the love that I have for waffles covered in ice cream. After I came to this traffic-halting realization, I decided I would stop pursuing the things I didn’t want and I would start pursuing the weiners that I wanted to be in love with. So I promptly and politely ended all sexting conversations; they were very amicable and understanding (even sex-crazed gays know that sometimes you just want someone to care about you after they jizz all over your eye), and I started pursuing dates.
Tonight I went on a date. The prospect seemed promising. He and I had great chemistry. He’s a Leo; I’m a Cancer. (I get along FAMOUSLY with Leos.) We have similar values: eating too much and having all the feelings. We’re both silly and kind. What could go wrong?! Oh James, you are so naive… because EVERYTHING can go wrong.
We went out to dinner at an Indian restaurant followed by eating waffles at Wafels and Dinges. (Guess which portion of the date was my idea!!?) But at dinner, I slowly realized that all of our conversations seemed vaguely familiar. Then it hit me: he’d asked me all the same questions the last time we hung out. Now, I realize that I have an elephant’s memory but COME ONNNNN, BRO! I felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. But I felt way more annoyed…. similar to the way I feel when I WATCH Groundhog Day. Literally ALL the same questions. Then he started telling some of the same stories. I was like, “Am I on a date with a Stepford wife?” I laughed politely to the same jokes while I inconspicuously leaned to the side to check for loose wires sticking out of his ears. I answered all the same questions politely as I would if I was talking to a senile friend of mine: “My favorite restaurant is still Wafels and Dinges. Yes, dessert counts as a meal. My favorite feature on a guy? Yep, it’s still his wallet.”
Eventually dinner ended. Now, for the record, this is the second date in my life where I have prayed for a piece of ceiling to come loose and decapitate me. After dinner, I decided we would go eat Wafels and Dinges. More specifically, I decided that I would eat Wafels and Dinges. I mean, what better way to follow up a spicy meal of too much Indian food than a waffle smothered with whipped cream and ice cream?! I mean, can you ever be too lactose intolerant?? Probably not! But on our sojourn over to my favorite restaurant, I encountered some unusual behavior from my beloved.
First, as we’re crossing a busy street, he stops me in the middle of the crosswalk to kiss me. I try to keep walking because I value my life. But he stops me again for another kiss. After we exit the crosswalk and narrowly escape a speeding taxi he asks me, “Isn’t kissing in the street romantic?” And I said, “I think kissing is more romantic in non-life-threatening situations”. So we keep walking. But apparently he wants to feel closer so he puts his hand on my lower back. But apparently he wants to feel even closer so he puts his hand on my butt. But apparently he wants to feel even more close so he puts his fingers in my crack. But apparently he wants to feel the most close so he tries to weasel his fingers into my butthole. … INTO…..MY BUTTHOLE. And as we’re walking down the street, him the ventriloquist and me his dummy, I think to myself, ‘Well I sure do hate this.” So I start to walk faster towards my heavenly waffles. But he just keeps on putting his fingers into my wow hole. This continues for some time. In fact, when we arrive at Wafels and Dinges I start to order and I realize that he’s still elbow deep in my poop chute. I suddenly realize that he’s just scrounging around in there for extra dinges for his waffle. So I think to myself, ‘Party on,’ and I complete my waffle order.
At some point at Wafels and Dinges, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to execute several tasks. First, I expel several 20-second long curry-flavored farts. I feel slightly better but something else needs to be done. Second, I search around the bathroom for an effective way to electrocute myself to death but nothing seems fatal enough. So I decide it’s time to call it a night. I return to the table and let out some pretty dramatic yawns. He offers to share a cab, but if he’s gonna finger me on a public street I am absolutely terrified of what he’ll do to me in the dark backseat of a NYC taxicab. #WillIBeDoubleFisted?! I tell him I’m an independent woman, and I can get myself home. Luckily, we walk to the same subway station. Thank God, because I don’t think I could’ve gotten there myself if it wasn’t for him tickling my prostate with his grubby little fingernails. When we got to the subway platform and it was time to say goodbye, he gave me a goodnight kiss. And then a goodnight grope. And then a goodnight fingering. And it lasted for too long. I figured my unenthusiastic kissing would signal that I was not interested. Nope. So as his tongue was foraging through my teeth for lose scraps, I tried to inch us closer to the subway tracks. Although I’m sure if I had been hit by a subway, the biopsy would have discovered at least three of his dismembered fingers lodged in my rectum. But in the real world, our sloppy kisses were coming to a close. He was done rubbing his boner against my knee, and we parted ways.
As I sat on the subway riding home, I was fuming. I hated everything about my night. I felt totally used, disrespected and objectified. This will not happen to me again. I will not be fingered in public while my stomach fights to digest a frightening amount of Indian food and dessert waffles. I am a god damn princess. And why were his fingers all over my butt? He told me he was a bottom (for the record: I didn’t even ask)! And I wasn’t encouraging him to keep grabbing all of my butthole. I mean, sir, is there a brain in your head or is there just an empty cavity begging to be filled with your handfuls of my curry farts? I don’t want this to happen to me. You like my ass? Cool. You like my body? Cool. But I don’t care. I wish you would spend less energy mapping the geography of my insides and more energy remembering the things I say to you. I don’t want a formal first date to end with excessive public dry humping. It makes me feel like you don’t care about who I am. This is why I can’t do fuck buddies. Because it makes me feel used. I’m more than a dude with a dick and a cavernous asshole. I am super funny and cool and smart and gassy and kind. And I don’t wanna have sex with someone until they realize that there’s more to me than a genetically-created, aesthetically-pleasing exterior.
Sometimes I feel like I’m far too sensitive for this dog-eat-dog world of gay dating. I wish my chest had a million pounds of padding like that bad guy from Ghostbusters so no one could puncture my fragile heart. (Oh my gosh, wait, maybe he was TRYING to get to my heart and THAT was why he was so eager to shove his arm up my ass!!!)
This is me coming to terms with a devastating night. I make things funny to make them tolerable. I’m finding the joy in a night gone awry, and I’m telling myself, “James, at least you tried, god damnit.” This won’t happen again. I promise myself.
“I am see through, baby. So take a look inside. I am see through, baby. And I don’t wanna hide. For the very first time.”
~”See Through” by Pentatonix