It has been a wild ride over the past few months, and I have done a lot of things I thought I would never do. Many of which I am completely ashamed to say I did. So recently, I decided to do something I haven’t done since I was a young child. I went to church.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of change from me. I’ve gone from being the druggy-slut to dating the drug dealer, and now I’m a married man. It’s been great, but I guess I should have expected that all good things must come to end. Thankfully, I have this as an outlet to express my feelings and share both my good and bad times.
Last week, I got married following an unexpected proposal from Anthony. Not only is he the drug dealer, but he is also physically perfect and could charm the robe off the pope—and probably has.
Following our wedding in the park, we went back to the apartment where he once again carried me across the threshold. The same as he did the first day I brought him home. As he lifted me up, things started to move in slow motion as the past month flashed before my eyes. And little did I know that I would have the whole afternoon and evening to sit around thinking. That’s because Anthony plopped me down on the couch then informed me that he had drug runs to make. However, he surprised me by saying we would be leaving for our honeymoon later that night.
With gay marriage now legalized in New York, every homo I know seems to be walking down the aisle. A wedding is something I never thought about doing, but that’s because as a gay man- I couldn’t.
Anthony and I recently met our cute little lesbian neighbors who asked us to come to City Hall with them and serve as witnesses to their marriage. We thought it would be something different, and it would get us out of the house. So naturally, we agreed to participate in their ceremony.
On the planned morning of the lesbo wedding, Anthony and I threw on shirts and ties that he bought us somewhere the night before. Of course, his fit him perfectly and mine was as big as a dress. It was clear that he was the “best man”, and I was the “bridesmaid”. At least that’s how we were dressed. I couldn’t handle that, so I ended up wearing a blue plaid Abercrombie shirt and making him switch ties with me so I (at least) matched. If I do say so myself, my ensemble looked much better than his did in the end.
After spending all that time playing Project Runway and another hour or so of waiting in line, the girls found out that there was a waiting period after getting the license meaning; they had to wait for a few days before they officially got hitched by the justice of the peace. They were really upset, but Anthony cheered them up by suggesting they take the time to plan something special and offered our help.
Then, that’s when it all happened.
Most of us are already aware of some of the dangers of casual sex with complete strangers. You could be abducted. The sex could be horrible. He or she could be a psychopathic serial killer. You could contract gonorrhea. Etc, etc.
But what do you do when you show up at a stranger’s place expecting just to get off and go home, and the person who greets you isn’t at all what your internet exchange led you to expect?
This is a difficult ethical predicament, unless you are a completely cold-hearted asshole. Do you accuse the person of misleading you? Do you take a straightforward approach and just say “I’m not into it, bye”? Do you make up an excuse to leave before any physical interaction transpires? All of this probably depends on the circumstance. If you’re like me, radical body-and-sex-positive brainwashing has made you feel guilty if you don’t keep an open mind and give people a chance. This can be disastrous; or, as I’ve learned from experience, you can hit the (unexpected) jackpot.
Professional Sexin’ is an expression that applies to a great many sorts of jobs. I use it to describe my “sexy time” companionship services, but it is also equally applicable to just about anybody in the ‘sex industry.’ Porn movies alone employ thousands of people just in San Fernando Valley that could consider themselves part of Professional Sexin’. Include strip club employees and all those kids who turn the occasional trick to pay the bills, and we’re into the millions of bodies, just in this country. Worldwide, Professional Sexin’ is a serious collection of businesses and dedicated employees who reap millions of dollars every year using their skills and their bodies to make people feel good (or bad, depending on what your scene is – who am I to judge?).