Slight Awkwardness
Went out this past weekend with the gay republicans, the couple I’ve written about a few times on here whom I call Gil and Sullivan, and in real life lovingly refer to as "the faggots". Though I think Sullivan swings both ways, as a week and a half ago, when he was over here without his better half, he kept telling me in graphic detail about a few girls he’s fucked, and how great it felt to kiss them and be inside them. He was smiling and wearing an expression of dreamy bliss while he was talking. William’s always sworn that Sullivan always has to have a girl around him whom he’s secretly crushing on, like his old friend Lisa, a sweet gentle girl that I’m even convinced Sullivan has a crush on. Something about the way he reacts to her. Somehow, the thought of him fucking women is much more disturbing to me than him telling me, the week before, about totally plowing his hairy Puerto Rican neighbor up his ass.
As we walked into the Chinese restaurant, Sullivan told William and me about Gil not letting him fuck him up his ass anymore, because his penis is too big, he told us, and Gil’s tired of getting all bloody from it. This was when Gil had run ahead of us to ask for a table. Certainly not the first time Sullivan’s told me about the largeness of his penis. I try to look away and pretend I’m somewhere else, somewhere lush and brimming with flowers and butterflies (instead of penises), and not standing there being creeped out by this big retarded looking pale lummox. Story of my life, hahaha…
During dinner, Sullivan kept yelling, "I think the age of consent should be lowered to five!!!", drawing dirty and surprised looks from two or three adults at surrounding tables who had children sitting next to them. Though my reaction to awkwardness in private is often to mentally distance myself, my reaction to it in public is often to laugh hysterically and uncontrollably. So I tend to get a lot of scolding gazes from stern tight-lipped older women when I’m loudly cracking up over something incredibly inappropriate. Sullivan always grins at me glowingly when I have this reaction, and it seems to fuel him to say whatever deranged comment over and over, sometimes getting louder each time. In turn, making me laugh even harder and so on…
Then William was talking about internet memes, and Gil asked, "Oh, is that how you pronounce it?" "Yeah, it’s pronounced like meem, not meh-meh." Somehow, this flipped the "on" switch of Sullivan’s inner black woman voice, which he loves to talk with, and he exclaimed, sounding like a big black ghetto woman, "It ain’t no meeeem!!!! It’s a MAMMIE!!!!!!!!" Then he began passionately screaming out "MAMMIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! MAMMMMIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! MAMMIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" at the top of his lungs. Every black person’s head turned disapprovingly to us, some of them looking quite shocked. I, of course, was uncontrollably laughing and looking quite offensive doing so under those circumstances. I was surprised we weren’t kicked out.
While we were eating, Sullivan, who was sitting next to me, tapped me on my shoulder and turned his cell phone screen to my gaze. On it was a very clear and crisp photo he must have gotten off the internet of an erect penis with a red rose sticking out of it, the stem of the rose stuck into the pee-hole. The thorns must have been removed, because I don’t remember seeing any. I took it in, slightly surprised, but not too surprised, since it was Sullivan showing it to me. I responded with, "That’s pretty funny. My ex-husband used to like things stuck up the head of his cock also. I always felt very disturbed and grossed out when he asked me to do that to him. It was like, traumatic, for me, but he got off on it for some reason." Shivered slightly to myself and tried to shove the memory back under piles of more pleasant sundries.
Sullivan placed the phone, the image still showing and face-up, right next to his plate. The waitress came at that moment with his Mai Tai and as she placed it down on the table, her eyes caught the image of the penis with the rose, it seemed, because she looked right at it for a split second and her eyes widened and looked shocked, and then she walked away looking very uncomfortable. Sullivan and I immediately looked at each other and burst out laughing, and then Gil and William inquired about what had transpired, and so Sullivan showed them both the picture. William said, "Always say it with flowers", and Gil admonished Sullivan for having an image like that laying around on the table in a public place. Sullivan rolled his eyes and looked annoyed.
A little while later, Sullivan kept poking my upper arm with something, and I looked and it was the little pink drink-sword from his mai tai, upon which a cherry had initially been skewered. Gil commented, "Watch out. He’s poking you with his pink sword." Internally, I thought ewwwwww, and Sullivan said, "With the back end, where I get the most pleasure." I looked and indeed it was the handle he was poking me with. I thought to myself, How old is this guy again? Then I remembered: 30. 🙂 My fortune cookie contained a totally blank slip of paper inside, and the three guys around me all started making horror movie noises, so though I knew it was just a printing error, I felt just ever so slightly paranoid. I inserted the paper back into the cookie and left the cookie in its wrapper, uneaten.
On the walk back to the car, the air was lovely, the gentlest cool breeze skimming my shoulders and legs. I looked up at the cloudless indigo night and began focusing in on the stars I could see, and felt an arm wrap tenderly around my shoulders. I leaned back into it, thinking it was William’s, and was startled a few moments later to hear Sullivan’s voice whispering in my ear, from the same standing spot the arm was extending from. I tried to play off my slight shock, to not make him feel bad, and was relieved that all he was whispering was, "Wasn’t that waitress’ reaction the best?" It was more than likely an innocent gesture, just…disturbing to me, because Sullivan grosses me out. I’ve had other gay friends in the past walk arm in arm with me whenever we were in each other’s company, bump butts with me rhythmically on dance floors, and pretty much feel me up. But none of them grossed me out, so none of that behavior freaked me out.
In the car on the way back, Sullivan managed to poke himself in the eye with the pink sword from his drink. His eye turned red, but luckily, the little pink stick wasn’t very sharp.