Thursday, January 10, 2013

Sex, Love and Brooklyn: Learning to Suck It

Posted By on Thu, Jan 10, 2013 at 9:41 AM

sexy_shark.jpg

Whenever I’m asked if I'm into men or women, I always say I like sharks.

That's right, the people who will order you a drink without asking, push you up against the wall outside the bar, and had decided you were their prey before you even made eye contact. They don't care what you think, they just want you. They may never call you back, but there's something magical about being pulled up from your bar stool while they whisper in your ear, “Hey, let's get out of here.” I'm no pushover, but cocky and confident folks flip my switch, no matter the gender.

I met my first shark when I worked at a summer stock play in upstate New York during my last year of high school. Back then I was a complete nerd. All I wanted was to work on a play where I could kiss somebody and convince them to “improvise” with me, but I kept getting cast as the fat older nurse. So, I gave up my pursuit of dry humping and focused on trying to crack up the room by flailing around my fat bingo arms.

The other actors that summer were college students, and I was in love with the lead actress in our show. She was tall, confident, hilarious and crazy talented. I wanted to get close to her, hoping some of her charisma would rub off on me. Unfortunately, talent doesn't work like HPV; it's not something you can catch from skin-to-skin contact. Also, she was involved with a beautiful ingenue who placed way above me on the sex appeal meter. Since my crush was unrequited, I settled for seducing a stage manager named Mike who had an addiction to Adderall and The National Enquirer. Years later, I received a 12-step apology phone call from him. What he had to be sorry about I'm still not sure.

I tried to give him a blow job in the bathroom of the scene shop. Twenty minutes passed with no reaction; no groaning, no hair pulling. Nothing stiff at all except my neck. I mumbled something about having to memorize my lines, got off my knees and walked straight home to the house all the actors were given to share. I was underwhelmed and undersexed.

As soon as I walked in I confessed to everyone in the living room I'd just given my first blowie. The “romantic lead” halted his ukelele playing. He went to Hampshire College and had “apparently” slept with 32 women. He asked if I'd spit or swallowed. I admitted Mike hadn't cum. They all broke out laughing. That particular brand of cackling haunts me to this day. But, the woman of my dreams stopped the noise with a sharp wave of her hand, “Fuck off people, I've got an idea.”

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