We were, as usual, curled up on the La-Z-Boy, it was hot, he was reading, I was bored so I said, "I had a weird dream last night.""Good for you," he said, not moving his head from his book. Not even looking at me, the fucker!
"Don't you want to hear about it?"
"No."
"Jeeeeeeeez."
"Take it from a writer, pal, two things no one ever wants to hear about: dreams and sex."
"I'm not buying that," I said. "I thought that all you people talk about is sex!"
"Us people?" he said menacingly.
"Oh fercrissakes you're thin-skinned! Not queers! People! People! Straight! Gay! People!"
"Well, a lot might talk about it, but the others listen only by politesse."
I said, "So if it's a sex dream, I guess you really don't want to hear about."
"You got that right."
"Hm."
"Look, when we're young we talk about it all the time. We don't listen, but we sure like to talk. I used to date this couple—"
"—Excuse me? This isn't going to be one of those sordid gay threesome things because I really don't want to hear about that!"
"No, no, no," he said and explained: "They were a couple, they were friends, and we always went out together. She was my friend more than him, but he was real eye-candy so I didn't mind so much. But then their relationship started to get rocky and I was put in the middle. She was very good and discrete about it. He, however, would come over and whine and whine and whine and it was always something to do with sex. Worse: straight sex. The worst time started when he said, 'I thought she liked getting eaten out.'"
"Yee-ikes!" I said.
"Straights think gays like to share this way, though I don't know why. I never told him about my sex life which, in those days, was pretty colourful—"
"—you mean raunchy—"
"—well, yes." And he paused and his feeble, aged mind harked back to the days when he catted about. But finally he broke out of the spell and went on with his story. "So...He started like that but then it only got worse. It was like a train-wreck. 'I think I'm pretty good. I have a good tongue. All the girls I've been with have told me I have a good tongue! And until last night I thought she (his girlfriend and my friend) did too. She always squirmed and squealed when I did my thing. I have this thing; this little buzzing thing I do...' Then he stuck out his apparently talented though, I noticed, fat little tongue and started spitting around my living room. Like a vibrator with eyes!"
"Just how desperate were you for friends, back then?" I asked and really wanted to know the answer though he took it to be rhetorical.
"I passed him a Kleenex and feigned appreciation of the spine-melting effect that buzzing must have on any woman. But he went on: 'So last time I'm doing it when she yelled, "Would you stop that buzzing shit! It doesn't turn me on and you get my thighs all wet!"'"
I had to get off his lap because I started to scream with laughter and, like some little old lady, thought I might pee myself. "True story," he said, "I kid you not." But he was laughing too. "I think that was the last time a straight sex story was interesting to me and it was for all the wrong reasons."
I went to drink some water but had to stop because every time I tried to sip, the image of the naked chick telling the naked guy about her wet thighs came back and I would choke on the water. Finally I got a relative grip but I was still chuckling as I hopped onto his lap. "What happened then?"
"Well, I was trying desperately not to laugh—"
"—I guess!—"
"—Then I asked him why, instead of resorting to 'tricks' he didn't just make love to her. He said, 'Well, it's that, after a period of time, heterosexual people bring in little tricks to keep love-making from becoming bland.' He was patronizing me. Heterosexual people are not a mystery to gays. We don't needs Margaret Mead to explain heterosexual people to us. We hear about heterosexual people day in and day out. So I said, 'Excuse me...but if you're resorting to tricks already, three months after your first fuck, how long will it be before you're making snuff films!' He didn't get it. He resented me for saying it and, needless to say, it wasn't a month before the friendship was over and I went on with my life. She stayed my friend—my best friend—for a long time but he disappeared." He said this wistfully (thinking about the girl's friendship? the guy's hunkdom?). "Since then," he concluded, "I've made it clear to all my friends that I have a very limited attention-span for sex stories. Sure, if sex is the root of a problem I'll listen and help, but telling about sex (or dreams, you) bores me to tears. Even from gays 'cause we all experience sex (and dreams, you) differently."
"But doggy sex dreams? You're not the least but curious?"
"Oh, Lord! No!"
"Well, it was just chit-chat anyway," I said because, after that story, it was.
The image of the chick yelling at the guy came back to me over and over all day and the next and I kept snerfing with laughter each time. Gotta say: those people are hi-larious!
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