My apologies, it took my a while to get all my thoughts together...
Welp... you could say it all started when I got into my dad's skins. He didn't protect them very well, I guess because at the time my parents didn't have many kids, and we were all very young. But I got into those skins. And even though I was miles away from puberty, this, I understood. Somehow I saw the appeal. From cartoons and stuff I knew what kissing and romance and intimacy was, so that must've been the stepping stone to understanding "But what if you kissed someone, and they didn't have clothes on? What if that? Wouldn't THAT be awesome?"
I developed crushes on girls in my class. But what stands out for me is, some time around either kindergarten or 1st grade, my teacher led us in a singing game of "Punchinello In The Shoe." I think it was kindergarten, this sounds like a thing that would happen in kindergarten. Way it worked way, we would all get in a circle, and the song would play, and it went like "Who do you choose, Punchinello, Punchinello? Who do you choose, Punchinello in the shoe?" And that was the turn someone was chosen to go into the center of the circle. And when they went into the circle, the song went "What can you do, Punchinello, Punchinello? What can you do, Punchinello in the shoe?" And whoever was in the circle did some kind of action or something of their choice. And then we all mimicked them when the song went "We can do it too, Punchinello, Punchinello. We can do it too, Punchinello in the shoe."
And all of the kids, they were picking actions that, to me, really spoke to who they were and their personalities and stuff. Like picking the perfect avatar or username. Each action, the way I saw it, was taken as an impression of who that kid was. And so I thought "Oooh, I better pick something good. Something that really lays down how I wanna appear to these people. Something they'll remember me for." So up comes my turn. And I get to the center of the circle. But, shit, I can't think of anything. I need more time! I start patting my head in thought. And my teacher is like "Oh, that can be your thing,
FrothySolutions!" And before I knew it, "We can do it too, Punchinello, Punchinello..." and my time was up. Before I could even finish processing the thoughts: "Wait, no, this wasn't supposed to be my thing! Everyone else got good ones and they're all cool and mine is a non-thing!!!"
I went back to my lessons bitter. I was angry with my teacher, I felt like she could've given my time but didn't wanna listen to me. Didn't care about me expressing myself properly. And that bitterness twisted into something else: I started to covet my teacher. Can't really tell you what this stemmed from, maybe I wished that she would comfort me as an apology for ruining my Punchinello opportunity. Like maybe I felt hurt by her and wanted her love. Maybe, as revenge for her ruining my Punchinello opportunity, I wanted my due. I wanted to "take" something from her. I don't know. But ideas of seeing her in her underwear or naked, ideas of kissing her and feeling her body on me, they swept through my mind.
Was it anyone else's experience that, pre-puberty, girls were a lot more interested in boys than boys were interested in girls? They demanded it. Not from me, but, like, from other boys. It was something like a status symbol to have a boyfriend, I guess it meant you were sophisticated and mature. And so they would fight these boys, like, "You ARE my boyfriend so stop being difficult about this!" And they had it in their heads the whole plan of how a life between boyfriend and girlfriend or husband and wife should be. Playing kitchen, making sure to kiss every now and then... but the boys, they were like "Nah, that romance shit is for GIRLS and I'm a BOY so I don't like it!!!" After puberty, I think it flips. Speaking of pre-puberty rules, pre-puberty you were the top dog of the class if you were a "good student." As in, you got good grades and the teacher liked you. It was fashionable to be the teacher's pet.
So that's what I did through school. I made it a point to be the smart kid. The good kid. You know the kind, the worst kind of insufferable smug jackass who gets off on feeling superior? It wasn't hard. Just use big words, that's all. You don't even have to use them correctly. Use big words, do your homework. Work hard, you don't have to work smart. Writing assignment? You don't have to be succinct, nah, that's for suckers. Just write lots and lots. It's the same as being smart. And when other kids are disobedient, be the paragon that upholds the rules of the hall. When the other kids are fighting or otherwise rowdy or whatever, be the kid reading a book, but make sure the teacher SEES that you're the kid reading a book. Then the teacher will praise you, and then your classmates will be all like "Wow,
FrothySolutions is the best student." I think, perhaps, my doing this was because I wanted my teacher's praise. Shades of the unresolved baggage of wanting to do a sex on my kindergarten teacher. I didn't have a "girlfriend," nah that went to the boys with the light up shoes and the weekly allowances. But when I had an opinion about something, the students would gather to learn how I felt. When I was angry, people listened. When I was pontificating about stuff, people listened. But I wasn't invited to anyone's social groups. I don't know where that puts me on the social hierarchy. It got to the point where people were curious about what kind of life I was living at home. "Oh, yeah, y'know my parents, they keep a family bible of rules that we uphold. I'm just so holy, that's how holy I am."
But that was a lie, it was only at school that I put on this act. I made sure no one knew where I lived, as far as I wanted them to know I was privileged and proppa, that's how come I talked like I did. Because the second I was out of sight and earshot of my classmates, I could finally take a break from the charade. Maybe flip through the thesaurus to make sure I knew what words I was saying. And it was at this point in my life that I knew my dad's skins well enough that I recognized their smell. A kind of musty perfume, I think? Even now when I smell it I think of those magazines. Speaking of my cultured boy act dropping at home, lemme take you back to when I had my first alcoholic beverage. See, my dad was a whiskey man. And I knew not to touch his whiskey. But what he didn't tell me was that sometimes he likes to mix his whiskey with Coca-Cola. A "Jack and Coke" they call it. Me and my sisters, we'd never heard of such a thing. And my parents, like I said earlier they don't protect their valuables very well. And one day my dad just leaves a bottle of Coca-Cola out. And it's a lazy summer day, me and my sisters are all inside and we see a bottle of Coca-Cola. Some of it's gone, and whoever left it here doesn't look like they want the rest. So drink it, why not? We start passing it around. It's got kind of a strong taste. Strong and bitter. But we just chalk that up to how Coca-Cola always tastes. Eventually my sisters, they say they don't want anymore because it tastes bad. But me? I dunno if I was feeling brave because I was drunk, or brave because I was the eldest and had to flex on my sisters, but I made a point to keep drinking. "Ah, you buncha big... you cowards! You're not brave like me I love this stuff!!!" I guess I felt mature and sophisticated. I polish off the rest of the bottle.
Later that day, my mom wants us to help her clean up. But I guess I was too drunk to understand that she really wanted us to clean up. To me, it just sounded like a suggestion. So I just didn't help. I slouched back on the couch and laughed to myself. My mom told me to get up and clean, but I laughed at her. I felt the coolest and funniest I had ever been in my short few years of life. "Pfft, she's not mad. What, it's... this room is already basically clean, mostly. They're gonna finish this last bit of sweeping and we're all gonna forget this ever happened." That's what I was thinking. I didn't say this, but I thought it. Angry at my defiance, my mom sent me upstairs. When I was upstairs, I staggered in circles down the hall. I passed the upstairs bathroom, where my dad was taking a bath. My dad sometimes took baths instead of showers, he was a spiritual, like, meditation kinda guy. And so the baths were therapeutic for him. Also, he was bathing with the door open. For some reason my parents were too lazy to close the bathroom door. But he saw me, right? Staggering around? And he asks me if I drank his Coca-Cola. And I say yes. And he explains to me that it had "beer" in it. He called all alcohol "beer" when talking to me.
The fear sobered me up in a snap. I drank "beer!" What's gonna happen to me??? I ran into my bedroom, flopped on the bed, and bawled my eyes out. I don't know when it's no longer appropriate for a dude to cry like I cried, but I'm pretty sure I overstayed my crying privileges. Probably had something to do with how every school day I played the weiner boy who was good and pure. Full disclosure, when something didn't go my way with teachers, I would cry. I was that kind of manipulative. Even if I didn't know it, subconsciously I was like "But I'm so good! Why are bad things happening to me!" So I built up a tendency to cry. Anyway, my mom, now understanding that I was drunk, came any picked me up and carried me like a baby. If I wasn't too big to cry, I was definitely too big to be carried like a baby.
Speaking of bad things happening to good boys, I don't know how it happened, but when I was 10 I was put on school basketball. Maybe it was mandatory for school, maybe my dad told me to, I don't remember. But I was on the basketball "team." And once again I play up the apple polisher angle. After school when it was time to do basketball, I would run laps while everyone else was socializing. Some people weren't socializing. Some people were practicing shots. But it didn't matter. I didn't know how to play basketball. So I just ran laps. And I got praise for my lap running. Maybe unfairly, because it's not like I was trying to get good at basketball. But on the other hand, I think all of my "teammates" and the coaches knew this. I was the baby, they saved the real coaching for the boys who actually had potential. Which is why when we split up to play games, I was one of those guys who didn't get the ball passed to them, unless it was just for a quick pass back. So it felt like I was contributing. And the coaches knew what the players were doing, too. But here's the thing, I was bad at basketball. And so it's not fair to the good players to let me ruin their game. So just... kinda trick me or fool me into thinking I'm helping.
But back to the point I was trying to get to, one time we were doing, I dunno, some kinda free play before or after a game, I guess we were waiting on a bus, and I was playing with a basketball. I don't remember how I came to be playing with a basketball, but I was. And I was being watched by one of the coaches, for some reason. Whatever I was doing, she was watching me do it. And so when I was done, I pass the ball to her. Y'know come to think of it, I think she passed the ball to me, and asked me to do something. And then I passed the ball to her. But anyway, I passed the ball to her, right? But she alleges that I passed it too hard to her and was trying to catch her off guard or hurt her. I don't think I understood her the first time she said it, because I must not have defended myself very well. Because she tells me she's punishing me and I must run laps. Now, I don't mind running laps, I run them at the start of every meet. But I'm like "Wait a minute, am I really in trouble?" And she's like "Yes, go do laps." And as I went to go do the laps I was thinking "Does she know who she fucking with??? I'm the GOOD KID!!! You can't punish me!!! Not only did I not do anything to her, but I AM THE GOOD KID!!!" And what eats my ass is, I never got around to telling on her or anything. I don't know why I didn't. I feel like I could've cried or something. Did I not know who to cry to? Anyway, I never saw her again after that meet.
6th grade through to middle school, The Change™ started to take hold. Puberty. If as a young man you didn't want pussy before, and you don't want pussy now, you're probably gay. And it was around this time that my Golden Boy persona doesn't have the same effect as it used to. Oh, I'm still the Golden Boy, but it was around now that people were realizing "Hey, this smart kid, he's not actually cool!" Having actual fun, that was cool. And because puberty was setting in, fun meant talkin' about, like, sex and stuff. It was basically all anyone talked about. And so me, upholding my persona, had to basically pretend like I knew zero about anything sexual at all. Which was mostly true for all of us. But I had to know less than zero. Have no interest whatsoever in anything sexual. Was I bullied? It's kinda complicated. See, I wasn't bullied outright, because I was that one good kid that all of the teachers in the building knew about and I wasn't to be messed with. Plus, a lot of these "cool kids," they still didn't mess with me because what, pick on the most defenseless worm in the school? Gotta be a real piece of shit. Which is why... But on the other hand, I was just so weird, having no interest in girls. Was I gay? What was wrong with me? And from that, I was seen as an object of fun that people had to poke at every now and then, just to see how I would react. Or because I wasn't gonna do anything because I was too much of a puss to stick up for myself. So I wasn't bullied in situations where the bully couldn't get away with it. Like, I remember this one kid, he pelted me with mechanical pencil leads. And he called it "fly poop." He would throw them when I wasn't looking. Maybe he knew I knew it was him. Maybe he felt like I didn't have it in me to tell on him. I didn't tell on him.
Another kind of "bullying" that wasn't really bullying was, sometimes people would ask me sexual questions to see how I, a prude, would react. I remember this one girl, she was stick skinny, ass was practically nonexistent, but she was cartoonishly developed up top. Like she was wearing water balloons. A lot of people suspected she was on crack. Because there was word that crack makes you super skinny in the way she was. Anyway, like a grapefruit each, just about. And she knew what she was working with too. You'd have to be blind not to notice. And she made a point to flaunt it. Mostly amongst the other girls to assert her worth in their society, but I remember one time we were in class, I was sitting next to this guy, and she was nearby, right? And she asks the guy sitting next to me "Hey, if I sprayed whipped cream on my tits would you lick it off?" And he's like "Hell yeah" in the most confident voice he can muster. And then... she turns to me. And she's all "Hey
FrothySolutions, if I sprayed whipped cream..." she hesistates. Then she finishes "...on this desk, would you lick it off?" And so I say "Oh, but that's so puerile, to debase myself in such a
mannerrrrrrrrr..." She withheld because I was the good kid. And it would be unkind to sully my virgin ears like that. Or maybe she didn't want me to tell on her. But it always felt bizarre to me because I was right next to the guy. Did she think I didn't hear the original question? Maybe... maybe she DID think I heard the original question, and intended to ask the question indirectly? Was she expecting my answer to be an answer to the original question? Wishful thinking? Anyway, one day late in the school year there was a big panic where she was found by some teachers in the bathroom. There was a rumor that when they found her, she was collapsed or something from drugs. I don't remember seeing her again.
Now, I had some years under my belt of lusting after women, but I busted my first nut (that I was awake for, I dunno about anything nocturnal) on Halloween Night when I was 12. is 12 too old to Trick or Treat? Anyway, we had just finished Trick or Treating, and it was a chilly autumn night. For some reason, probably because we were broke and the heating bill had not been paid, we all had to sleep in the same room, insulating it with blankets and stuff and stocking it with space heaters. The place was like a cozy den. Now me, I love the "feel" of the seasons. The mood and pace and, like, rhythm. And so, after a well scaveneged Halloween haul I felt very at peace. This copypasta I think does a nice job of explaining the power of seasonal moods over me. Like in autumn.
And so I was overcome with autumnal snuggliness, I wrapped myself in my blankets and rolled around. I felt, maybe, like a rabbit or bear cub or something. Who lived amongst other rabbits or bear cubs. In a community of such plenty and proof against the cold. Imagine, like, turning a hot dog around in a bun to spread the mustard? That's how I was rolling. And then it just... happened. I had known what ejaculation was, and so I had an idea of what it might be like, so this was only enough of a surprise for me to still realize what must've happened to me. It happened. I must've busted. From that point on I made it a rule: Jack off thrice or more times a day. Once in the morning, once before bed, once or more times throughout the day.
Around high school I started to notice some things. Like I started seeing my classmates in the wild. And that was bad for them seeing the real me. I don't know what changed between elementary school and high school, but I used to never see my classmates around my neighborhood or at the local five and dime or anything like that. But high school? I remember once I walked out to a payphone a few blocks from my house. In my bare feet. Because that was acceptable in my neck of the woods. But who should I see before I make my call? Some guy from my school in his car. I run across rough sidewalk for... hold on lemme Google Maps it... 0.3 miles, all the way home. Some people on their porch asked me what I was running so fast from, and I just shouted "RED CAR!!!
" And from that day forward, as long as I lived in that neighborhood, when people saw me running they would shout "Red car!!!"
I started to wonder, why am I maintaining this persona? Is the paranoia worth it? Why can't I just be myself? That was another thing I noticed: "Myself" is unimpressive. Also? "Myself" is short. And being small and meek really sells the bookish nerd thing. I was kinda short in middle school, but high school I was a squirrel amongst a forest of trees. If I had dropped the nerd act, would girls have been interested in me? I don't think so. The physical superiority of the other boys was clear, and what was also clear was, this is what the girls wanted. For instance, they were all bigger and manlier than me. And there's key functions you just can't do when you're short. You can't carry your girlfriend. You can't bend down and kiss her. She can't wear your too-big clothes and have them hang off of her tiny frame, so that she can wrap herself in them and breathe in your smell for comfort. So many basic things that are taken for granted in a normal relationship between man and woman. It's just taken for granted that the man is some measure of big and strong. During sex, no woman wants some halfling too small to kiss her while flicking her bean. Or has to spider his way to the various erogenous stations of her body like she were a jungle gym. And no man wants to be that small either. You need to be tall enough to hold her with your body. I'm not saying all tall people are volcels who didn't try hard enough, you've got your disadvantages too. You maybe have disadvantages I don't have. But being short is nothing but a disadvantage. And I have it. And you don't. And DON'T SAY "Just find someone smaller than you." Short women like tall men too. They like them especially. Because a tall man to a normal woman, he's just "normal tall." But a tall man to an especially small woman? She has the capacity to enjoy levels of comparative tallness in her man that only exist in the fantasies of normal women. Find yourself a really short woman? Watch yourself get heightmogged on a daily basis and see how long your heart can hold out.
There were voices. Voices who told me "Now now,
FrothySolutions, you're holding on to limiting and outdated gender roles. You just wanna be tall because you think as a man, you should be tall, and women should be short. You want to dominate. You shouldn't be so preoccupied with that." And so I said to the voices, if that was what women actually wanted, then you'd have a point. But they don't. I find myself surrounded by women who want men who are tall and manly. And don't want men who are unmanly. So why is it I gotta be the progressive one when ACTUAL WOMEN IN LIFE don't? Why am I getting shit on for wanting to be a man because that's an "outdated gender role" that we don't need, but women don't get shit on for perpetuating this gender role? If you want a fucking soyboy then drink your fucking soy sauce. And eat your fucking tofu. And your fucking, uh, what... edamame. That's what I say. But the girls didn't eat it. The girls like beefsteak. And that's okay. But don't gaslight me. Just... just admit it. We had speakers come in to reinforce positivity and stuff like that. And they told us that being yourself was the way to be. Don't worry about being cool. Just be yourself, stay in school, don't do drugs, don't do guns, don't do AIDS, and don't worry about what the superficial kids think. You don't want their friendship. The right people will gravitate towards you if you're a kind and decent person. They'll recognize your worth and see what a good person you are on the inside. And if nothing else... if that's just a platitude at the very least I think that's the way things should be. But I didn't want the right people. I wanted the wrong people. I didn't want to be wanted for my deeper qualities. I wanted to be liked for my superficial qualities. But I didn't have any.
So my status from middle school more or less carried over into high school. There's a Mark Normand joke that captivates this well for me. I don't like Mark Normand, but the joke is relevant when applied to me specifically. He says prudes are like mom and pop shops? Only good in principle but no one would actually shop at one. I was handled like a mom and pop shop by some people. Mostly girls. They didn't bully me, but the thinking was "Leave him alone, he's so nice! He doesn't mess with anybody! Don't invite him to anything either though. He's too nice. He's too good. And he probably wouldn't enjoy it. I mean, I'm not attracted to him, but I'm sure there's some woman out there who'll see the soul that is inside. Not me. I'm not interested in his soul. But someone is!" Other people, they did still pick on me. But bullying in general was a lot more open in high school. Not just against me, there were a lot of us who were bullied. Maybe your voice was funny. Maybe you had busted up shoes. Maybe you had an odor about you. A table of the cool boys would see you sitting alone, and just crack wise about you. There was this one kid with busted up shoes, his shoes were usually busted up. And one day he decides to come to school in a military jacket. And so they make fun of him during I thin a lunch or a free period, and one of the guys just says "Hey, the army dropped a bomb on your boots, man!" The army kid with the busted up shoes, I later learned was harassed by those guys daily. And he always looked very fed up.
But being the good kid started to pay off ever so slightly around this time. Ever so slightly. Like... just within a hair's threat of actually paying off. People did still pick on me by trying to see how I reacted to sexual things, but eventually this turned into questions like "Have you ever felt tiddy?" And me, now Flanderized beyond believability, would answer "What's that?
" And so baffled by how obtuse I was, they were like "Well, we gotta see how he would react if he ever did feel tiddy. Just out of scientific curiosity." So now I'm like "Oh, I see where this is headed." See, they're so intrigued by my doe-eyed virginity that they wanna break me in. And me, being a doe-eyed virgin, what am I gonna do? Tell them no? No, I don't know enough about sex to know I shouldn't have it. That's how I'm playing it. So what they would do, sometimes, is call over girls and tell them to do stuff to me. Like, "Hey, take
FrothySolutions' hand and guide it to your breasts, because he doesn't even know what breasts are and we need to enlighten him." Now, I never actually got to feel any tiddy. But if you can believe it, very rarely was it because these girls stood up for themselves and said "No, I'm not just giving my tiddy away because you tell me to." Some did stand up for themselves, but not most. Most just did what the boys told them to do. But because of the watchful eye of teachers and teaching assistants and general supervisors and hall monitors (we had adult hall monitors), shenanigans like that were busted up quick. It usually happened at the tail end of class when the teacher was in and out of the room, but the teacher always came back in time to tell us to stop horsing around and get to our next class.
Make no mistake though, these girls would not have agreed to do these things if I approached them. I couldn't just be like "Hey, can you sit on my lap and wiggle around for me?" But the other boys could. On my behalf. These girls didn't actually wanna do these things, but when the boys asked them to, they were only so proud and eager to try it. Used to be that kind of lack of agency was frowned upon. Used to be that "feminism" was about having more dignity than to eat shit for an audience. But now any shit eater can come along and say "You don't like that I eat shit? You're shaming me! That's very unfeminist of you." So now there are no "negative" traits or stereotypes to fight against. There's no "wrong way" to be a feminist. Which is why the Internet managed to fool some feminists into bleeding on themselves as a statement. That's how ridiculous this "No one's wrong as long as they're a woman" feminism has gotten. Today these women, who would do anything the right man asks them to do regardless of their own feelings, would be thrown a parade. And damn any man who raises the question of "Shouldn't you have more dignity than to do that?" Now you might be thinking "But
FrothySolutions, didn't you WANT them to sit on your dick? Even if only on a dare?" Yeah, I did. And probably still do. But don't play it up like some great empowering statement to sit on my dick. You sat on my dick. That doesn't make you some sociopolitical revolutionary. So maybe get over yourself. I like sex as much as someone who's never had it can, and I'm not mad at sloots for being sloots, do whatever you want. But can we please drop the pretentiousness and call this shit what it is? Don't suck my dick and pretend like I did YOU a favor. You put out the favor, and I received the favor. Or maybe I would have, if the teachers hadn't busted up the party.
Another way this kinda sorta almost paid off was, I had this Spanish teacher, see? And she was very young. Like, had to be fresh off the college boat. Half the age of many of my teachers, easily. And maybe as a byproduct of her being so young, she was almost like a child. Sense of humor of a child. And also sensitive like a child. And I felt bad because she tried so hard to be good to us, but we couldn't handle even the slightest bit of privilege or unconventional teaching. We wouldn't listen during lessons. She would try to discipline the students, but she would always come to a crossroads with them. She would even break down from time to time. And we would all be quiet when she did, like we all felt guilty, but we didn't learn. It didn't take long for us to blame her for what we did, for how we don't listen. Because that's what high school students do. "Y'know I would do better in school, but it's, like, my teacher isn't really making, like, an effort to reach me. I don't get the lesson, and she just, like, what am I supposed to do if I don't get the lesson?" And it wasn't just the students who gave her a hard time, it was the teachers who gave her a hard time. I thought it was just the students who dabbled in high school drama, but no, often I would hear gossip on the grapevine that some of the teachers were being "mean" to her. I guess they didn't like her cutesy bubblegum ways. Didn't find them professional. Also probably didn't think it very professional how she courted so many dudes who worked there. I think some of the other teachers let it be known that they were rolling her eyes at her and her suitors. It wasn't that she had many suitors, it was that she brought her love life to work. It didn't sit well with the brass that she was like some giggling schoolgirl, and that the hall monitor (we had adult hall monitors) was bringing her flowers at the end of the school day. Teachers are supposed to be a little classier than that, so said some of the other faculty.
Basically, she was beset on all sides by meanies and the white knights who came to her defense. Me, I decided to be on the side of the white knights. Not in a "I think it's fine that you're making macaroni with the hall monitor" way, because that was none of my business and as far as she knew, I didn't know anything about that. My battlefield was on the student front. In a class full of ignorant students with bad grades, I was gonna be the "joy to have in class." Like I said, she was like a child. I remember one day she wanted to have some kinda Mexican snack day for us. And we were prepping the ingredients for tacos and nachos and all that, and she turns to me with a block of Monterey Jack and says "
FrothySolutions, look! I'm cutting the cheese!
" So how do I react? I should be nice. What am I gonna do, boo her? But also, I'm the stuffed shirt smart guy. I'm not supposed to know what "cutting the cheese" is. So I smiled and nodded. As far as I knew she was making a literal statement. Why shouldn't I be glad she's cutting the cheese? That's one step closer to getting to eat. Yes, smooth. But this was a major challenge of maintaining my persona. Keeping a straight face and not laughing at jokes. Not this joke, this joke wasn't very funny. But my classmates would make off-color jokes and if I laughed, the jig was up. I came close, but I like to imagine I didn't crack. Anyway, her class was before this "free period" of sorts. Something like gym, except no actual physical education took place. They set out some basketballs and the like and just let us have the gym. So because that was a free period, when she was exasperated with us she tended to excuse us early. We weren't headed to an actual class, so there wasn't any real conflict of schedule. Didn't matter if we showed up to the gym early, several other classes had overlapping "free period," sometimes when we showed up no one was there, sometimes when we showed up other kids were there. It was a wild deck and no one seemed to care to keep track. But me, I didn't leave her class early. Everyone else did, but I didn't. In fact, I gave her some of my free period. Sometimes all of my free period. I started giving her all of my free period after a particular turn in our "relationship."
I'm sitting in her class, it's just me and her, and I'm flipping through this book of European architecture. It's her book from home or something, used it to stock the shelves of the classroom. She walks over and sits next to me. "
FrothySolutions? You're still in class?" And I'm all "It didn't feel right to leave." And in all honesty, it didn't feel right to leave. I probably would've said anything to make her happy, but that's because I hated to see her unappreciated by the class. And besides, I meant it. And besides besides, I liked her book. So I'm reading the book, and I notice she continues to sit with me. Not saying anything. This piece of Italian or Spanish architecture catches my eye. If I remember it correctly it looked like several houses linked together at their balconies by a series of bridges/pathways. And I thought, whatever this thing is called, that's cool. I'd like to know what this thing is so I can seek it by name. So I turn to her and I say "Do you know what this is?" She said it was a plaza. I think she either misunderstood my question, or she was wrong, or I'm wrong, because I've seen what I think are plazas and this didn't look like that. But she follows this up by saying she's actually been there. To that place I'm pointing out. So I'm like, okay, so she must know what she's talking about. And she starts going on about how, after college, she went to Spain and through Europe with her friends. And because I took an interest in her story, she asks me if, when we have free time, I'd like to stay behind and talk about this stuff more and maybe also learn more Spanish than I would if I only went to half a Spanish class. And so I spend my free periods with her, learning Spanish and talking about Europe. And she would look me right in the eyes when she spoke, with so much soul in them that I'm like "God damn it. She's not even 8 years older than me, Jesus Christ, not ONE JURY. NOT ONE JURY WOULD CONVICT HER!!! PLEASE JUST THIS ONCE!!!" But it was the dreamiest of pipe dreams. I knew she didn't want me. Wasn't she dating the hall monitor? But even though it felt good to validate her teaching, the part of me that still wanted to fuck my teacher was chasing a high that would never come. But this was something like enough. To be "with" her in this capacity.
I had a friend in this class, and in not going to free period with him, I kinda bailed on him. I kinda chose her over him. Was that a shit thing to do? Do I cheat two people, in not siding with my friend to pass on the rest of the class, and staying behind with my teacher even though I don't actually wanna learn Spanish as much as she seems to think I do? He was something like my best friend. I mean, I thought he was my best friend. But whenever anyone asked us, he had no qualms in correcting them by saying "He's 'a friend.' Not my 'best' friend." And how am I gonna argue? I chose to make him look like one of the skippers by not siding with him. But other than that, he and I were seen together so frequently that it was just assumed we were very good friends. High school was when I finally started to make friends. Going over all of them, I had...
- My best friend who isn't really my best friend. Like me he was basically relegated to the side. He wasn't openly bullied, but because he had more self-respect than I do he was willing to stick up for himself. And as a result, people didn't think he was as "nice" as I was. So people would snicker about him behind his back more than they did me. Said his dream was to play college ball in the Big Ten Conference.
- Two brothers that I think my "best friend" was closer with than I was. They both had that "My mom dresses me and packs my lunch" air about them. They introduced me to a game called Shadowrun and a few of us went to their house to play it for one of the brothers' birthday.
- The busted up shoes guy. He liked Shadowrun, but he also did a lot of "imagining" in general. He wrote. And I think he wrote as a form of escape, or to be someone besides the guy who gets laughed at for his shoes. He would write stories and put us in it. He wanted to create his own RPG, and he wanted to make video games too. One time we were "jamming" and just fantasizing about one day having a local pizza arcade, but instead of actual popular cabinets, we would just fill it with cabinets of games we made. And because they were games no one had ever played before, the pizza arcade would be really popular. We even gotta around to starting on planning one. It was this game where you had to rescue allies caught behind enemy lines.
- The coolest one of us. Of our group, he was the only one known for getting in any kind of trouble. Had an affinity for 2D girls and as a group we would often talk about which ones we thought were hot. As well as girls in our school we thought were hot. Which should've been depressing, but if I couldn't have a girlfriend it was kinda nice to talk about girls. Having a girlfriend became comparable to being a millionaire. I'm not a millionaire. But I also don't mind not being a millionaire. If you told me "Chad lives off Saudi oil money in the Hollywood Hills," I would be like, that's nice, but I don't necessarily feel a longing to live that well. If you told me "You will never have Saudi oil money" I'd be fine with that. And, in those moments of talking up other girls with my friends, I was fine with not having a girlfriend. For the moment. I guess it was like therapy.
- This one guy who I'm pretty sure had some issues. He liked to play pranks, but they were pretty... like, I dunno, this one day I was headed to a local ballgame, right? And he gives me these cookies or whatever to eat. I don't eat them because they don't look very good. When I get back, he asks if I enjoyed the cookies. I don't wanna seem ungrateful, so I say yes. But it turns out he spiked them with a powerful laxative. Is that too far? Or is that fair grounds for a prank? Also, he would regularly decide he was fed up with some of the people in our group. Usually my "best friend." He would secretly confide in me "Hey, y'know as far as I'm concerned Suchnsuch can go to hell! Just, just burn in hell! Rot in hell!" But after a while he'd make up with him again. Who knows? Maybe my "best friend" was an asshole? Also, and this doesn't really count, but he was into the "havy metal scene." Which was kind of a red flag around this time but in all fairness that alone doesn't make you some kinda maniac. But it was just weird, he didn't seem like the heavy metal time. He was a squat, chubby boy with a faint voice and a slight lisp. But he had this regular look on his face like he was ready to burn the school down. But he wasn't really into "mainstream" metal like Dio or Motörhead, he had his ear to the indie sound. He shared a tape with me of this band he knew. I gave it a listen, and I personally didn't enjoy it, but y'know this guy, he and me we were just out of step, I guess. He probably wasn't a bad guy. But if you met this guy, you'd feel it. He was low inhib gone wrong. The kinda guy who might snap, and then shrug at it.
Speaking of people I met in high school, there was this other guy who wasn't really my "friend," he was more or less friends with everyone. Ostensibly you might call him a nerd, but somehow he had the tongue to rap with the cool kids. Slopping over with charisma. And it was a little infuriating. Because the nerds would get made fun of for their hobbies, right? But this "Friends With Everybody" guy, he could introduce a nerd hobby to the cool kids and these cool kids would be like "Look, see how I'm enjoying this nerd thing? See how broad my interests are? I'm such a good person for tolerating this nerd thing!" And "Friends With Everybody" guy would affirm this, helping the cool kids feel good about themselves for playing a board game. He validated their nerd cred, more or less. He was the Rosetta Stone between the clique worlds. Always smiling. Verbal fencer. But I didn't spend my days wishing I was him, because I was pretty sure I was gonna go into the pizza arcade business with my friends. That was fine for me.
And then there was this other guy. His name was Rodgerick. And he would hang out with girls the way girls would hang out with boys. See, oftentimes you'd see a crew of virile men sat together, and there'd be one girl that I'm pretty sure they tried to get something out of. And of course she gave it to them. But Rodgerick, he was surrounded by girls and was the one boy. Now when I saw that, I didn't think "Those girls must be trying to fuck this guy." I thought Rodgerick was gay. I'm still not sure he isn't gay. He was pretty fay, if nothing else. But he was also a bully of mine. He was the "snicker about you behind your back to his girlfriends" kind of bully. And I remember thinking "He can't be a bully! He's not even tough! He's supposed to be one of the ones who leaves me alone!" But of all the bullies I've ever had, he seemed to have it out for me specifically. He didn't really gossip or smack talk anyone else. His The View panelist friends did, and he was happy to reciprocate them by laughing with them, but I remember him targeting me a lot more than anyone else. Me and my "best friend." Because what Rodgerick would do was call my persona into question. He didn't buy it, and he would regularly tell me that he knew I was a fraud. Not "thought." He KNEW that I was a fraud. I don't know how he knew this, other than that my persona was cartoonish beyond how a normal human would act. And when we were alone, he would take visibly apparent joy in calling me out about it. He had this grin, and these wild eyes. Just getting off on the fact that he knew my secret. He was trying to scare me. I think, THINK that I was able to maintain my persona for most of the school despite his knowing, but for all I know he might've told everyone about who I really was and everyone knew the truth, but didn't care to call me out about it. Not like Rodgerick cared to call me out about it. But if anyone could be called my nemesis, it was Rodgerick.
One night when I was 16, I was on my way home from either the library or the grocery store or something. I don't rememebr the night very well. And I guess I peed on a tree? I'd peed on trees all my life, I didn't think anything of it. But just a few minutes later a squad car pulls up and two cops detain me. They want me for indecent exposure or something. Trying to think back on it, I'm wondering "Did I not actually pee on a tree? Did I maybe pee right on the sidewalk or in front of somebody's house or something?" Because like I said, so many people I know just pee on trees or pee in alleys and it's nothing. Surely, SURELY they wouldn't be up in my face for peeing on a tree? And THEN backup arrives. I wasn't a violent offender, they called this backup in to teach me a lesson/humiliate me, I guess. It was these two lady cops. And the four of them start putting the screws to me. I"m pretty sure they were trying to intimidate me on principle? It wasn't just that I peed on a tree, or whatever I did. I think they wanted to make an example of me because they saw me as the stereotypical slack jawed hood that was ruining their city. And they had to make a point that street hoods better clean up their act. I would guess that a lot of the people on Incels.me aren't as much mama's boys as I was, but their intimidation worked on me. My good kid persona was mostly an act, but as a result of it I rarely got in trouble. So to be in trouble with the actual law for the first time was scary. But I did get a perverse kind of enjoyment from the way the lady cops were talking to me. Snarking at me saying things like "Pfft. You think that's okay? Just havin' your dick hangin' out?" And my thought process is "I'm just a kid! You can't talk to me like that! Talkin' to me about my dick!" Which then leads to "Hey, a grown up lady is talking to me, a kid, about my dick. In such a frank and inappropriate manner. This should be off limits. It's like she doesn't see the limits of what's appropriate for kids or something." I dunno, I saw it from a perverse perspective. And while Incels.me might disagree, I felt like a kid at 16. I was short enough that the cops should've known not to pick on me. As far as they knew I was a small child. Then the backup left, and I was put in the back of the car. And the cops were talking about how what I did was illegal and I could go to jail. They were really trying to put the fear of the law in me.
Three months later I went to court, and the judge was all "What if I went to your house and peed on your lawn?!! What if we ALL went to your house and peed on your lawn?!!" even though I'm pretty sure I didn't do the equivalent of that. I didn't pee on anyone's lawn, that much I know. But I plead "no contest" and was very amiable, per the recommendation of my court appointed defense. And instead of going to jail, I was sentenced to community service. I was put to work in a church run homeless shelter/mission. The bathroom there. See, a dirty bathroom is fine. But a small, cramped bathroom? That is also damp and/or dusty and/or filmy and/or grimy? I wouldn't say I was "humiliated" by this job because the people there were nice, and I felt like it was something that I needed to do. Because this bathroom... I couldn't put anyone through the suffering of tending to that bathroom. I had to save the other volunteers from that bathroom. There was also cooking/feeding of the homeless and downtrodden, cleaning of leaves and trash, that kind of thing. Also, one day I think one of the cooks came into some kind of misfortune. I think she cut herself, or someone got hurt, or something. I forget what. But what I remember was, I was on my break, and my supervisor walks out awkwardly asking "Do you believe in Jesus?" And I'm like "I..." and he goes on to ask if I would like to pray with the group for the cook. And I'm thinking "Yeah, yeah I'll pray with her, it's totally fine, I'm not sayin' I'm a practicing Christian or anything like that, I'll put it this way: I'm Christian enough to celebrate Christmas. I'll pray with you guys. It's no big deal. Please, tiptoe not around my feelings." Also, towards the end of my service I had to contribute to this anti-drug art project type thing for the church.
After my service was over, I made a point to go check my record. I found what I was charged with formally was "disorderly conduct." The mean-nothing catch-all charge they use when you didn't actually do anyting but they wanna charge you anyway. Bullshit.
While I was doing my service, I still had to go to school. And my fear was that someone from my school might've seen me or something. Doing community service. And maybe found out that I was arrested. And then the jig would definitely be up. As my high school tenure waned on, I started to wonder about the creases in my persona starting to show. It got to the point that even the faculty was starting to get on me about it. Like uh, Rodgerick, if you're out there, or if anyone from my school is out there, they'll remember that I used to call pencils and pens "writing implements." Which is... only technically correct? "Writing instrument" might've worked, but "writing implement," how often do people use "implement" as a noun? And the "vice principal," I guess she was, I think she was just the principal's sister, I say "writing implement" in conversation to her at the end of the school day on the way out. No one else is around. And she's all "Well, you could just say 'pencil.'" That was my wake-up call. Faculty's not supposed to talk to me like that. I was the good student. The "joy to have in class." And so I had two thoughts come from that. First, "Hmmmm. If the faculty is coming after me now, maybe my persona is failing. Between this and Rodgerick? Maybe it's time to soft retire." Second, "How dare she talk to me like that??? Rejecting this GIFT I've given her inner city shithole school??? She doesn't want this??? Fine. I'll give her 'pencil.' I'll be like every other deadbeat student in this school and then we'll see how this school gets on without me. I AM THE LONE PILLAR HOLDING UP THIS SCHOOL!!! YOU LOSE ME??? YOU'RE GONNA HAVE A WALKOUT ON YOUR HANDS!!! YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TEACHERS BREAKING DOWN BECAUSE THEY LOST ME, THE LAST EVIDENCE THAT THEIR JOBS MEANT ANYTHING!!!" So I did try to dial it back. Tried to loosen up a little. And the school didn't collapse. But then, it was tough to feasibly pull off retiring my persona without people being like "Hey
FrothySolutions, did I hear you correctly? Did you use a contraction?" I couldn't just back off cold turkey, they'd know my persona was a fabrication. So maybe I was stuck in this persona. Then again, I had an easier time of dialing it back when we went away over the summer and I came back for senior year. If I was to take on some changes, it was easier to believe that I went through them over the summer. If I start smiling more and laughing at dirty jokes, people can just assume that I grew over the summer.
Senior prom. I didn't go. But I didn't spend it with my friends either. The unfortunate shame was, we weren't as close as I liked to imagine we were. Or maybe I wasn't as close to them as they were with each other. Maybe I was just the odd asshole out. But I imagined a future between us all. I would get to know their families, even. But I guess we just didn't have the cohesion. The only family I'd ever met of my friends' was the family of the two brothers. And it was only their mom and stepdad. I think the mark of a true friend is, you talk to them like family. You know them like family. And so THEIR family should be within your network of associates too. Help out around the house and stuff like that, I would imagine.
I took a year off before I went to college. Mostly because I had to figure out how I was gonna go to college. But also because I wanted to make sure I picked the right college and have a plan for how I was gonna get there. See, after getting out of high school I came to the realization that I probably didn't have it in me to do anything sexual in high school. Because I was a minor. And there was a part of me that honestly felt like being a sexually active minor was wrong. My dick wanted it, but my heart was never in it. I mean, I still lived with my parents. How was I supposed to pull that off? No, I heard my destiny calling me in college. My sexual destiny. Once I was 18 and in college? I was gonna tear it up. So I had to pick a college that was gonna be conducive to that. A party college. There was a lot of stuff in the... the zeitgeist, about safe sex practices. And a focal point was the debauchery that goes on at college. And these news stories painted a picture for me of this community of the young and reckless. There wasn't really reality TV at this point, but what I envisioned college to be like was basically what you might see on reality TV. Young strangers meeting for the first time, kept together in an environment, drama, sexual tension, hooking up, things like that. Hooking up with the girls in the dorm across the way. Or that one sorority house with the chipper and affectionate sisters who'll pull you off the street to contribute to their charity. Halloween house parties with fun and exciting co-eds. Night club drunkenness. That's what I envisioned for myself. But where to go to find it? I didn't have many resources to go by, but I had seen spring break coverage on MTV, and that was usually on Daytona Beach or somewhere nearby. So I thought I could go to college in Florida. But I don't live in Florida. And in the end, I didn't end up going to college in Florida anyway. But where ever I went, I would look for the house parties and nightclubs. Thinking back on it today, I'm pretty sure all of the fun is down south where the weather is warm and people, as a culture, wear less clothing. Not up north, where I live. Where it snows, and people wear layers. And gorge on cheeses and build up protective fat for the coming winter.
But even in my northern school for fatties, I saw plenty of partying. Saw. I wasn't invited. But the culture was here. I just had to find an in. An in into this community. Maybe I should've joined a club, but I feel like that wouldn't have worked? We only would've had the club in common. And what I was here for primarily was attention from women. There was this plan I was ruminating on when I first started pondering my college future. I was gonna put on lots of muscle, right? And then, once I was big, I would go to the hall that holds the classes that teach for a Chiropractic Medicine degree. And I would look for a group of students somewhere in that hall, on the assumption that one of them knew about chiropractic medicine. Some kind of common area or something. And I would approach one of them and ask them if they knew anything about chiropractic medicine. And if they answered yes, I would ask if they could check my spine for curvature. And if they said yes, I would take off my shirt and let myself be inspected. Specifically, for all of the people in the room to see. Narcissistic? Oh yeah. But I think I would've left an impression on those people. People in the community would've remembered me. As that strapping young man with the muscles. Maybe women would've remembered me. And would've noticed me on campus and been like "Hey, how's your back?" or "Hey, I'm that guy you asked about your spine?" Even if I started out gaining the attention of people who weren't interested in me sexually, my reputation in the community would spread in ways that wouldn't if I stuck to the limited social circle of a club. That's what I imagined. But see, not only does building lots of muscle take lots of time, but at the time I didn't have the resources that the modern day gymcel has. So I would've had to have gotten started on this well in advance. Which I didn't think of. And besides, I didn't have money for weights. And if my parents saw me lifting, they would probably be all like "
FrothySolutions! You can't lift, you'll hurt yourself! Why do you wanna lift weights? You're at a healthy weight already!" So, like an idiot, I kinda just watched from a distance, and spent my days dreaming instead of doing. I couldn't be tall. Being wide was my only other option. And I squandered it.
You probably already know this, but once you hit college, the "smart guy" persona stops working, Which was just as well, because I had had my fill of keeping it up. In high school they realize "Hey, this smart guy isn't cool." But in college they realize "Hey, this smart guy isn't even smart. Writing implement? You sound like an idiot." You're not special for doing your homework. Where high school students are slackers, college students are, if nothing else, more afraid of failing. And where high school teachers will suck your very dick for showing up on time, college professors aren't concerned with what you think of them at all. They run the gamut of being cool enough to not care about your big words, to sadistic enough to making an example of you for being a big-word-using fraud. But they all, from my experience, are alike in that they see through flash and demand substance. So not only was I not going to parties, but for maybe the first time in my schooling I was too busy to party. I had to actually work to be a good student. And not to impress my teachers. It was all I could do to not fail. So in the absence of parties, I convinced myself "Okay, okay. Once I get a job, and some independence, I'm gonna REALLY tear it up. I'm gonna get a nice apartment, I'm gonna invite ladies back to my place, they're gonna make themselves comfortable, and sexual tension will grow between us and maybe she'll wanna do sex with me." I didn't have friends in college like I had in high school. None of my high school friends went to the college I went to. Nor did my enemies. In high school I was worried about seeing my classmates around town. But college? It was back to not seeing anybody when I went home for the day. But I wasn't lonely. I had TV to keep me company.
It took me 6 years to graduate with a Bachelor's. The job hunt was tough, but what was tougher was realizing that, once I left college, there was no more community for me to interact with. I was just a man isolated. Adrift in the world. It wasn't like college where I had a bunch of peers united in the same area. So that pep talk I gave myself about it being good when I left college? I found that it wasn't true. And even then, I found that the kind of fun that mature adults have, I didn't want to have. Adults, after a certain age at least, stop having real fun. I wanted to have college kid fun. And adults, after a certain age, they just can't pull it off. I don't know what it is about old people that makes it so they can't pull it off, but they just can't. If I saw a bunch of fortysomethings getting drunk on the lawn, it would be a different animal entirely from a bunch of twentysomethings doing the same. And so I thought to myself... "What if I could go back, or something? I'm not old yet! I could maybe still pass for college age, right?" Cameron Crowe was 22 and able to pass for a high school student. I just wanted to pass for a college student. I just wanted to blend in with a spring break crowd. I could still do that, right? I was forgetting entirely that I was a manlet, and thus at a historic disadvantage when it came to courting the fancy of wamminz. But I was more afraid of being old than I was afraid of being short. Hell, I was leaning on my shortness to be a boon towards me trying to pass for young. If I could have a mulligan, I would do it right this time. I would get big. I would take my shirt off. Fast forward a few months and I'd be emptying my balls in Daytona.
This is, I think the "ticking" that other oldcels talk about. The feeling that your time is running out. I think in order to feel the ticking, you need to be old, but still young enough to think "Okay you've still got time but you better hurry." That's how I was. If I was super old, I wouldn't feel the ticking. Because hope would've been lost long ago. You can only feel the ticking if you feel like there's a race you still have to win. And I felt that. I was trying to beat the clock back to college to scrounge together some kind of college life. Once I had lived that, then I could accept being old. I would've made friends and associates and fostered memories and all that. It's not that I'm not attracted to older women, it's just at this point I needed to first have some kind of college life. I couldn't settle for an older woman yet. I needed to live in college first. After I had had that experience, then I could move on. Without that, I would be forever consumed by the life I could've lived, SHOULD have lived, but never did.
I'm on Incels.me, so of course that plan fell through. Life has a way of taking priority over your dreams. And you think "Okay, lemme get this business out of the way, I got a long stretch of free time coming up, I'm gonna hit this hard then." And next thing you know, you're 40. And you stop hearing the ticking. There's no "You're getting old! I dunno man you might not pass for a college kid!!!" Now there's no doubt that I'm no college kid. My face is old. And my head is bald. I look at pictures from when I was 16 and lament how much hair I used to have. Being bald of head and weather beaten of face, my shortness is no longer any help in making me look young. Now it's entirely a detriment. And now I'm truly adrift. Not just as a man in the world, but in life itself. If you asked me what my aim in life was, I couldn't tell you. I'm just "existing." Catching the glimmers of good fortune that come my way in life. Not really "wins." Just getting by, trying to keep my head above water.
Here's one that happened a while ago. Rewind back to when I was still chasing what youth I could get my hands on. Gianna Michaels. She was or maybe still is queen of the imageboards. Does everyone know her? And does everyone know what the Bang Bus is? In case you don't, there's two distinct families of Bang Bus. There's the regular Bang Bus, where they drive around looking for random women to have sex with their cocksman. Then there's what's colloquially referred to as the "Reverse Bang Bus." Where they bring on a porn starlet and drive around looking for lucky dudes to have their utmost fantasies realized. Now, I was not picked up by any Bang Bus, no. But I did watch the video that Gianna Michaels was in. And another thing you should know about Gianna Michaels if you don't already, she's known for having a big sexual appetite. There's GIFs and snippets of her being too much ass for her cocksman to handle. Sturdy bulls brought to buckle under the bounce and grind of her excitement. And so it was for this episode of Bang Bus starring Gianna Michaels. They drove around. I think throughout the episode she had sex with a grand total of 3 dudes. I guess it's not that easy looking for willing dick in... Miami. I think it was set in Miami. There was a prospective fourth cocksman though, this construction worker. He almost got invited into the van and Gianna seemed really excited to meet him, but he had to go back to work. Remember the construction worker, he's gonna come up later.
In summary, each of the 3 men failed to slake her. She was polite and everything, but the dudes driving the Bus knew that it was a piss poor showing from all of them. And when the dudes were gone? Gianna had no shame in admitting that they could not get her where she needed to be. And so, that got me thinking. What exactly does Gianna Michaels need, physically? These guys, they didn't last long, for instance. So how long would she have needed them to last? How much dick length did she need? How much thrust? Because it didn't come down to a lack of attention paid to her. It's not like, for instance, they didn't go down on her. Because one guy did. He was the only guy who did. But what it was, was, they failed at the basics. The inny-outy part. If the inny-outy part was done well, she would've been satisfied. Her complaint, in this episode, was that the cocksmen were failing at the inny-outy part. And so I'm like "But what exactly does Gianna Michaels need from the inny-outy part?" I wasn't trying to work up to that standard in the hopes that she would someday give me a throw, I just wanted to approximate the figures. Because Gianna Michaels is no mere porn star. Like I said before, she's known for her unnatural stamina. And so like some people wonder "How strong would you have to be to punch someone's head to the moon" just for sheer curiosity about the physics, I too was curious about the physics of how much dick does it take to satisfy Gianna Michaels. If I could somehow achieve the physical standard needed to please Gianna Michaels, not just any porn star but Gianna Michaels, that could be my bargaining chip if and when I find myself back in that college community. I'm sure some of that standard had to do with dick size. She said as much in the video. There was nothing I could do about dick size. But if I could improve everything else, maybe I could land close enough to the standard.
Now you're probably thinking "Well that was probably faked, to play up her kayfabe persona of some kinda insatiable sex ogre. This porn stuff, it's all staged. Right? I mean, some of this stuff... it's gotta be some kinda illegal, right??? You can't just do that stuff!" And that's what I thought too. But some of this porn stuff is nigh impossible to fake. And they do get arrested. In fact, there was this one studio, Voodoo House. And they ran an outfit called "Vice City Porn." I think they went out of business due to legal trouble because they deal in this same kind of reality porn, but they took it to new extremes. And now we don't see them anymore. And Bang Bus themselves, they were investigated, and I'm pretty sure one of the women on it try to sue them or something, and the suit basically affirmed it was real, and they were liable for some wrongdoing? Basically, you don't actually have to be on the up and up to make porn. But if this WAS faked, I figure Gianna Michaels will be willing to say so. Because when it IS fake, porn stars will shoot on it being fake. They'll "break kayfabe." If you can get an audience with them. They've broken it before. So as I was chasing youth, the carrot at the end of the stick was achieving the physicality to please a Gianna Michaels-grade girl. It was just a dream I let roll around in my head. It distracted me from how short I was. But eventually I gave up. Maybe it finally sunk in that I would never actually get to ask Gianna what her ideal man is made of. When am I ever gonna meet Gianna Michaels? She's a big celebrity, or something. That's the way I saw it. But I think it probably had more to do with how I got too old for it to matter. What I wanted was my college youth back. Even if by some miracle Gianna did give me a shot, I would be too stubborn to enjoy it. I need this crucial college experience to be truly happy.
Fast forward to the autumn of 2015. Octoberish-Novemberish. I'm inbetween job opportunities. And I learn that Gianna Michaels and Sophie Dee are currently doing some kind of tour? A strip club tour? Selling DVDs and signing things and also doing dances? They're big celebrities, I think! Why would they lower themselves to the strip club circuit? But if I was willing to hop on a Greyhound and travel 500-something miles, I could catch her for one night. Two if I was willing to rent a room and stay another day. I was... in-between opportunities, so I had the time to head out of state on a mad dash. It was too late to actually achieve the ends I was looking for... maybe. I have this way of latching onto hope. But I was thinking about that old question of "How many licks does it take," and I thought, I have nothing worth mentioning in my life. I am a virgin. But if I can say Gianna Michaels outlined the perfect man to me, that's something like a respectable life, right? I didn't achieve it. But for curiosity's sake I'd like to know what I was shooting for. I came ready to take notes. I shit you not, I brought measuring tape. Just in case she wanted to spell out for me exact length and girth estimates.
You might also be thinking "She's not gonna answer that question." If you've heard porn stars off camera, they usually make a concerted effort to be taken seriously. And she would probably be offended by the question. Probably, right? That's what I thought. But then I thought, yeah but this is her job. It's probably understood, right? It's probably not offensive to ask because it's her job? Just like you'd ask a construction worker how many sidewalks they jackhammered last week. It's not a big secret private deal, it's just a job. And plus she's there on that kind of business. She's selling porn DVDs. It's not like I caught her off the job and asked her about porn, I'm asking her about porn in a setting where she's already raised the topic. Surely, SURELY she's open to discussing it!
I made it out to the club. It's still "Happy Hour." That means I'm early. Good, I'm here before the "competition." I take my seat at the bar. The bartender greets me. I look at the food selection, and I says to her, I says "Uhhhhh... do you have a kids menu?" She didn't appreciate the joke. She gives me, like, this scowl. "At a titty bar?" she says. On the one hand, I don't wanna get kicked out of here for being difficult. On the other hand, I've never broken a bit for anybody. No matter how bad they flop. So I keep on, like "Well, Hooters has a kids menu..." In my defense, this was one of those sleek, classy titty bars. Not your "edge of town, fly by night, anything for the right price" titty bars. This was one of those "bottles of expensive liquor in an ice bucket" titty bars. One of those sanitized and Disneyfied titty bars. The "Take your wife or girlfriend because your relationship is oh-so open and spontaneous" titty bars. Might as well have been a Hooters. Eventually I'm able to get a pizza out of her. A pizza is all I can afford anyway, because like I said, I'm inbetween job opportunities. My budget is strict, I cannot afford any dances. But as you can imagine, the temptation was strong. Virgins with no money should not go to strip clubs. Because it's one thing to wanna be with beautiful women, but you're surrounded by beautiful women who want to take your money. And they're allowed to basically do anything to you to try and get it. What you are is a mark. Nothing personal, it's just business. If they see you're just sitting there, and they think you've got money? They can walk over, they can touch you, yeah, try and play the "inappropriate contact" card and what yourself get bum rushed outta the building. They lean in close, press against your neck, and whisper such sweet, sweet promises to you. "Pay for 30 minutes with me. I
really wanna show you something." And oh, you might think "Aha, know what I'm gonna do? I'm not gonna buy any dances. I'll pay them to leave me alone. And then they'll go away!" I've never tried this, because I've never been hassled by a dancer. But I did see it happen that night. The dancer wasn't having it. She thanked him for the money, but after he paid she was practically hopping up and down to let her dance for him. Why? Because the dance is like drugs. And they are the dealers. The dancers aren't there for your piss-ant $20 tip. Because if they take the $20 and leave, all they get out of you is $20. But if they can dance for you? You're hooked. And now you're like "Wait! Lemme have another dance!" And then they can say "Well y'know I could do 15 minutes, or 30 minutes..." and next thing you know you're at the ATM like "I don't need to eat food... I get paid again in a week! I can go hungry for a week! When am I gonna get another chance at a 30 minute dance with her???" The place is engineered right down to the bar area to make you feel like you're doing these women a favor by spending money on them. You can buy them drinks. As if you're wining and charming them. Even though realistically you probably know these girls can pay for their own drinks. But for this fantasy, and it IS fantasy, they'll let you throw your money away. If it makes you feel good.
If I was approached, I promise you I would've broken. No, I was here on business. The trick is to not be seen spending that much money. Which I didn't have anyway. Don't buy drink after drink because then people will see you repeatedly buying things and be like "Oh, that guy's got money..." Which is why I bought a pizza. As far as they know, that's all I can afford. And it'll take me time to eat it. So I can sit there, nursing this pizza, not spending money. And that's what I did. For hours. I stayed away from the floor entirely. Eventually the club filled up, and there were plenty of fellow johns to take the heat off of me. I wondered how many were there to see the feature presentation. There was a jealous part of me that was afraid that I wouldn't get to have my question answered because all these other dudes were gonna be keeping them both busy. Dance after dance rolled on until finally... Gianna and Sophie showed up. They were escorted to a table by the club management. They walked around and there wasn't much of a to-do about them showing up. I was like "But aren't they big Innernette celebrities? Why no clapping or anything like that? Why not flocking fans?" It wasn't "time" for her to be there, so I kept my seat. I stayed away from the floor until it was time for them to perform. They were there to sell DVDs and sign things, but they were also there to perform. And they were doing dances. For more money than I bought. I could've lost my lapdance virginity that night, but I didn't bring that kinda cash. I wasn't there for dances. I was there on business. So I waited until the perform time. Time rolled on as my pizza and I waited for our opportunity. Gianna and Sophie were officially open to the public at this point. A line had formed for people wanting to buy DVDs and take pictures and yadda yadda yadda. Do I go over? Nnnnnn... no. Because there's a line. And what I wanna ask might take some time and I'm probably not allowed to hold up the line for stupid things like I'm trying to ask. No, what I'll have to do is catch them when they're unencumbered. Gianna and Sophie were real handsy during the pictures. There was this one guy they were taking a picture with, right? And Sophie just grabs his junk. And not a quick squeeze. It was a slow, deliberate cupping. She kept her hand there. If you're thinking "Oh but that's inappropriate contact she didn't have his permission to do that" well, that's not how it is in strip club land.
They do their stage dances. I dunno how sturdy their pole is, but Gianna was on it so hard she was bending it from its foundations. From my seat at the bar I saw this, and I knew then that it wasn't hype. There's nothing faked or staged about Gianna. She is superhuman. And then they take a break. After the break people are gonna line up for the expensive lapdances. Now I make my move. I cross onto the floor. I utter silent prayers. O Father, even as I find myself beset on all sides by shadow and snije machines, let me walk in the light. Vouch safe my debit card, and get thee back iniquities that bid me bring harm to my checking account. I cannot stay longer than I must. I'll give myself all kinds of excuses. "Yeah but the bus isn't coming for another, like, hour. Just hang out, see what happens-" No. Even if I have to walk back to the Greyhound station and stand outside until they open, I will not stay and bankrupt myself. Even though... the... it's just... to see all of the porn I've seen of her flash before my eyes, the prospect of that fury being something I could experience? Brings a tear to the eye. I could be like those Bang Bus sacrifices. It's not sex, but even her dances would probably destroy me. And I wanted it... but I dinna have the money! Because I dinna have a job!
Gianna is on the floor just chillin'. Sophie is nowhere to be found, but that's okay. I'm here to talk to Gianna specifically. Sophie would've been a nice bonus but I didn't need it. I call upon positive thinking eternal, and showers all powerful. I approach. And she was just all smiles. I remember thinking "Wow, her voice is a little higher than I remember, is something wrong with my ears?" Maybe I'm just a sad sack, but by my potentially skewed metric, she was bouncing off the walls with vibrance and pleasant... ness. Just an all-around nice person. And so I'm like "Uhhhhh, I- I- I- well, uh,
-AHURHEM- Do you, do you, do yoooooooooou~ see I have a question, and it's a question, and it's, uh... fffffffffrank..." and I'm thinking "This is it. My best bet is that she's gonna say she'd rather not talk about it, and I'll say 'Ah, thank you for your time' and I'll just, like, run the 500 miles back home on foot." But nope, she was absolutely chipper to answer my question. I pat my pocket to make sure I've got my measuring tape. I asked her if she remembered the Bang Bus episode she was in. I figured this would've been a long shot, because Gianna Michaels filmography is bigger than life. There's a reason she's queen. And plus this was filmed YEARS ago. It'd be like asking if she remembered what she had for lunch in 7th grade. For the second time, my expectations are blown out. She DID remember. She even says "Oh! The construction worker! -" And in the back of my mind I'm like "Holy shit she remembered the construction worker??? But they met for all of a few seconds holy shit her memory holy shit he wasn't even part of the shoot!!!" But I press on. I point out that the three dudes that WERE... part of the shoot... weren't... up to her standard, let's say. SO, what was wrong with them? What did she need? And with that, the question is asked, and I'm like "I can't believe this is happening. Imagine where I could go from here with this information. I could take these figures and be like the modern Prometheus. I'll have the secret recipe to satisfying even the heartiest of sexual appetites!"
UNFORTUNATELY... I don't think she understood what I was going for with the question. Because then she starts going on about how what she needs from sex is an emotional connection? And I'm thinkin'... that's sweet, but... I meant physically, y'know, like a "Get me to where I need to be" kind of way. In the way that those dudes failed. But I don't actually get to correct her, because she's talking up a storm. She really had a lot of stuff to say. She starts talking about me personally, about how I'm gonna find somebody that I connect with emotionally. And I'm thinking "Oooooh, does she think I was trying to have sex with her? Oh, this is awkward. I mean, I wouldn't say no, but I wouldn't just proposition Gianna Michaels. I mean, I've seen what she's done to other dudes. And their dicks." And she's very empassioned about... enpassioned? Impassioned? She's very impassioned about the stuff she's talking about. She's slapping my leg and everything. She keeps talking at me. This isn't a "conversation," there's no back and forth. She's talking "at" me. Not unlike Gianna Michaels sex, she took complete control of the whole interaction. She starts talking about stuff she cares about, like charity for sick puppies or something. And she starts talking about charities that Sophie is interested in too. And she asks me if I have passions. I say I don't. And it's true, I don't think I had any passions to share with her. But she DEMANDED it. She was like
"EVERYBODY HAS PASSIONS~" and then she told me more about the puppies and then... to my surprise... she asked if I would take down her e-mail address and get in contact with her.
I was shocked. She saw that I had my phone with me, I guess. It was one of them Windows Phones. And she wanted me to add her to my address book. I did, and she told me to reach out to her.
I didn't need a dance that night. I didn't get an answer to my question, but Gianna Michaels asked ME to get in contact with HER!!! That was enough to satisfy me physically. I don't think I slept until I got home. I hopped right on my computer and cranked out an e-mail to her. I would've hit her up from my phone, but it didn't actually have service. I just had it to keep the time. Like I said, I was between opportunities. I sent the letter on November 21st, 2015.
Aaaaaaaaaaand... on January 21st, 2016, she FINALLY got back to me.
And after that followed some plugs for her many business fronts. And what with it being exactly 2 months to the date that I sent it, I'm pretty sure this is a form response. She didn't send this out in person because she's probably got many thousands of e-mails just like mine. Like I said, from top to bottom, the strip club is fantasy. All she gave me was the e-mail address to her main website. She's done AMAs with Redditors, an e-mail address is nothing special, at least in those AMAs people got questions answered. And so I joined the many who let themselves believe, but are then smacked back down to reality. I'm reminded of these R9K robots who catch feelings when they hire escorts, only for the escorts to go from "Fuck me" to "Fuck you" once the deed is done. It's important to draw a distinction. Gianna told me herself. It's all fantasy. It's never real. I don't even think Bang Bus was real. But most heartbreaking of all, I still don't have my figures for the amount of dick it takes to satisfy Gianna Michaels. I don't have my approximation for Supercocksman. And maybe he doesn't even exist. Maybe that Bang Bus episode WAS fake. But then, who was construction worker??? I was brought a few clouds back down to Earth after that. The whole ordeal was like learning Santa Claus isn't real. On Christmas Eve's Night. But just meeting Gianna Michaels, I consider enough of a glimmer of good fortune.
That's basically what my life is now. Making do with what little I have. Life is a lot like watching porn. I see Gianna. And I know I'll never have sex with her. But it's enough fun to watch. And so it follows for most things I thought I'd be able to do. I'll probably never have that college experience. But it's enough fun to look at State Snaps and College Rules and see other people have the fun I might've had, maybe. Suppose you might call it a cope. But where, brothers, is the line between "You're just rationalizing the inconvenient truth that you haven't experienced this thing" and "You don't need to have this thing, but there's nothing wrong with entertaining the fantasy?"
Maybe it's a cope when you aren't actually content with not having it. Because I'm pretty sure, while I love my pictures and videos, pictures and videos are only enough until you get a whiff of hope again, and you try and take things a little further. When you relapse back into hoping. Recently I tried going back to my old campus as a 40+ old dude. I asked around if there was a party going on. Probably stupid. Because security was called on me and they told me to leave because I didn't have a student or faculty ID. And APPARENTLY if you don't have one of those, you're not allowed on campus. Which is bullshit because I've seen unaccompanied old people on that campus. Parents and so forth just running in to use the bathroom at the student activity center. Nobody cares. Until you're a creepy old man asking strangers where the party is. I guess I crossed a line. In a related story, a local bar has decided that on certain days, or certain hours, or certain hours on certain days, I forget which, they're only opening their doors to people carrying student IDs. Specifically to cut down on old "creeps" coming in. The young clientele don't like them. There's been plenty of outcry about this, calling it ageist. And that's technically true, and I appreciate the concern. But changing this policy won't change the prejudices at the heart of it. Even if you don't implement ageist policies, the truths that encourage ageism are still there. I am old, and I don't belong with the young people. Even on the best of days I can only ever stand out as an old guy that they are, for some reason, cool with. And that's not good enough for me anymore. I don't think I'll ever truly be whole if I don't get my college experience. The college experience of actually being one of the college community. Not some old guy who decided to come back. But I have my glimmers of hope. It's not like I spend my every waking moment wishing I was young again. Life puts other things on your plate to distract you from that. So I wouldn't say I'm crushed. But I'm probably pretty empty.
So in conclusion, I think it's true that oldcels and youngcels are alike. Because our minds are stuck in a past we're trying to get back to. Our minds are still in that youngcel state. But I also think we're different, because we feel the clock of urgency ticking. Or, your clock of urgency has died. So if you're a youngcel, well, I can't tell you what to do and I can't make assumptions for your situation. But I feel like if I had your youth, at the very least I would be maxing every stat I could. I wouldn't give up. I'm old, short, and bald now. ANd logic tells me any one of these counts me out of the game. But if I could be 20-something again? My foolish heart says "Don't listen to your brain, yeah you're a manlet but let's just see, maaaaaaaaaan~!!! See what you can accomplish!"
