(Ladies and Gents, once again, I’ve picked up some newbies. I’d like to welcome them all aboard! All of them should know about TMI Thursday, invented by the ever popular “cool chick” LiLu. For those of you who don’t know about it, well, now is your chance to leave. It’s where I tell a very embarrassing or personal story about myself. If you aren’t thoroughly disgusted, click on the picture of those two old people having more fun than you did last night. She’s got more. Don’t say you weren’t warned!)
The penis wasn’t out.
I really feel like I should say that in opening. Somehow, it seemed very important that I should clear that up.
I also think I should say that I don’t have a problem with gay people.
Yeah, that’s not how I was raised, but the way I see it, there are a lot of other things we need to clear up in this country before we go hitting the gays in the head and tell em they’re all headed straight to hell. That ain’t cool.
Also, I’m not one of those guys who thinks that every gay man wants my junk. I know that I am not an especially attractive sight for the FEMALES, much less a gay man.
That being said, I have had a gay man who has wanted to have a 3 way with me and The Missus, only he wanted her to “just watch.”
Thanks. Really. Thank you. But…no thanks.
However, this story involves a hair cut.
I was in Oklahoma City, and I had a work party that evening. The Missus decided I needed to look a little more like a respectable employee, and a little less like a “guy who just touched a wiener in the bathroom for a line of coke.”
I love her.
So I sat down in the chair, and this rather…gay…black man stands next to me, and starts cutting my hair.
Right away, I’m kind of weirded out, because he starts scissoring it. Well, scissors and my hair don’t like each other much. It’s a clipper kind of hair. You know, buzz buzz, I pay them 10 bucks, come again. Right?
Naw.
This guy scissors the whole thing. And, I have to say, he did a damn fine job. Damn fine. Except for the end.
On the very last snip, he leans in.
When he leans in, I feel something.
Something on my arm.
I move my arm.
IT POKES MY ARM AGAIN.
I look up, directly into the eyes of a man who is boldly poking me in the arm with a semi-erect penis, and eyebrows kind of up in a “Eh? Eh? What do ya think? You want some of this silky smooth chocolate, husky boy? Just the tip. Just for a minute, just to see how it feels. Eh?”
Oh. My. God.
I don’t remember specifically how I expressed my distaste, but I know I did it quietly, and quickly. My arms went straight down to my sides, and I just stared straight ahead like someone who had just been raped. I really felt like I had.
I came up with a new rule that day.
If I get a tip, you don’t.
That’s real.
(I totally googled “gay man touches arm with penis,” Moog style, just to see if a funny picture would come up that I could use. I’m very sorry I did that.)