“It’s just another graceless night”
– Lorde –
How do you cope with the lingering negative feelings that are slowly eating you from the inside after someone fucked you up real good? Sometimes I read about devastating life events happening to random people but they somehow manage to find the strength to survive. For some people, they turn to mind-altering substances like alcohol or weed to help them get through those cold and lonely nights, which are fair, but these substances are merely temporary solutions. Have you had one of those nights where you are ready for your beauty sleep but your brain decides to ambush you by constantly replaying those humiliating high school experiences in your head a million times? On top of it, you can’t prepare for those situations as it always hit you at the most random times. How do you get through that? How do you sleep at night?
How do you cope with the lingering negative feelings that are slowly eating you from the inside after someone fucked you up real good? Sometimes I read about devastating life events happening to random people but they somehow manage to find the strength to survive. For some people, they turn to mind-altering substances like alcohol or weed to help them get through those cold and lonely nights, which are fair, but these substances are merely temporary solutions. Have you had one of those nights where you are ready for your beauty sleep but your brain decides to ambush you by constantly replaying those humiliating high school experiences in your head a million times? On top of it, you can’t prepare for those situations as it always hit you at the most random times. How do you get through that? How do you sleep at night?
I woke up the morning after being stood up by NYC prince charming feeling shitty as fuck. In an attempt to make myself felt better, I told my pathetic self in the mirror: “Hey ugly stripper, at least you didn’t go to a stranger’s place at midnight and got your body parts chopped into million pieces!” Feeling slightly defeated, I decided to just spend the rest of my day at the airport, shielding myself from the despicable creatures of NYC, also known as the gays. In conclusion, I knew that I had to get my shit together and move on with my life as I already spent a shit ton of money on my summer vacation. You best ask my best friends at Fifth Harmony and they will tell you to call me “Miss Movin’ On”.
Arriving at the JFK airport twelve hours prior to my scheduled departure time, I had no fucking clue on the most entertaining way to kill some time without being swallowed into the dark hole of my own self-pity. Because I’m such a masochist, I decided to check out Grindr to see if my fantasy man was online because like I said, I have the strangest addiction to inflicting emotional pain upon myself. Lo and behold, he had been online at half past nine in the morning, leaving me on read.
What. The. Fuck.
I think I was supposed to be furious about the whole flakey situation at the time, but at the same time I was exhausted and had, to quote Ariana Grande, no tears left to cry. I told myself, “bitch, you are already here at the airport, and like what, you’re gonna exit the airport, take a cab, and come to this guy’s apartment to fuck some shit up? Good God, Get a Grip Girl!”
At that moment, I recalled the time I was on my way to a club with the sluts my friends and below is the wise words from one of my sluttiest friends:
“The best way to get over a guy is to get under another guy”
So I did what most homosexuals do at the airport: endlessly scrolling down the sea of torsos on Grindr in the hopes of finding their Mister Right, or in my case, Mister Right Now.
And that’s how I met the main character of this chapter.
I texted this guy out of my curiosity about his need to include the word “carrot” on his profile. By some miracles, he told me his flight was delayed for over 10 hours, which means we had more time to get acquainted and conduct further researches on the aforementioned carrot. So I swiftly downed my burger and milkshake, thoughtlessly put two mints in my mouth, and made my way to his boarding gate. I thought, “there’s absolutely nothing more degrading that could happen to me after I got stood up last night, right?“
To be perfectly honest, his pictures didn’t really do his facial features justice as he looked exponentially more attractive in real life. I mean, he’s no GQ model but there’s something comforting about his vibe and that really made it easy for me to be vulnerable to him. We gave each other a hug as we introduced ourselves and he gave me the warmest hug, a hug so warm that melted my freezing heart (I know, I’m cheesy as fuck). Within five minutes of meeting him, he told me to lay my head on his right shoulder. I mean, this guy was either an overly emphatic person or a desperately horny guy who’s trying to get into my pants. Either way, I ran out of fuck to give to my moral compass as I needed an escape. Cheers to self-sabotaging behavior!
In the true fashion of every single date I have ever been, we ended up chatting for hours while aimlessly wandering around the airport. As we were walking around and bonding over our love-hate relationship with California, I noticed that he had been tirelessly looking for a secluded spot. I mean, have you ever had one of those moments when you knew your date wanted to have some sexy times with you? And they came with bullshit excuses like “I think the bar is gonna be packed, do you wanna just chill at my place? I just bought a bottle of Chardonnay this morning ;)” Well, he was giving me that vibe the whole time, which left me asking two very important questions to myself: what the fuck was he planning to do with me? and really bitch, you wanna do it in the middle of one of the busiest airports in America?
Let’s be honest here: is there really a “safe” place for boning at the airport? As much as I was a horn-dog, I was also a very practical person, and I knew for a fact that performing any sexual activity with this guy in this extremely busy public place was a huge risk for my self-respect and student visa. So I did what I do best: turning off my potential lovers with some nerdy talks and awkward self-deprecating jokes. To my dismay, he didn’t respond to my “exit strategies” as he found my tomfooleries “charming” (he did say that, btw; I was just quoting what he said). I guess he had a fetish for innocent-looking twinks with low self-esteem?
As the flight attendants started to prepare for the boarding calls, I was getting ready to bid adieu to my airport beau, and I realized that both of us were not prepared to say goodbye. It felt like we both knew something was missing and we both wanted that “something”. I forgot exactly how it happened but both of us turned into dirty talkers within minutes and the next thing I knew, my right hand was already on top of his defined body through his grey sweater, feeling every inch of his rock-hard abs. We both could sense the desperation in the air as we were both thirsty for each other, which led to him an offer I couldn’t refuse:
“I can show you more of me in the bathroom”
After determining the unfortunate bathroom we planned on adulterating, we devised a plan to enter the bathroom stall separately to ensure the success of our stealth operation. I entered one of the stalls on the left side, left the stall unlocked, and texted my temporary NYC lover my whereabouts. Let’s just say that after he entered the designated stall, things got hot and heavy really fast. Now, I know what you are thinking: “But I thought he was only gonna show more of his abs!” I mean… bitch, please. What do you expect to happen when two relatively attractive gay guys enter one bathroom stall?
I am not sure how no one reported us for engaging in public indecency as we both moaned quite a lot as the guy using the neighboring stall was busy doing number two (because there’s clearly nothing sexier than making out to the sound of poo plunging into the toilet water). As I stripped down his jeans and underwear, well… let’s just say that I finally understood the meaning behind the word “carrot” on his dating profile, and I am not talking about a baby carrot. I am confident enough to say that his “carrot” still remains in my top 10 of the most beautiful penises I have ever seen. And how do you reward such a beautiful penis, you might ask? Oral!
I flushed my concerns on hygiene and moral down the toilet as I got on my knees and my mouth started going up and down his carrot. While we’re at it, I might as well give all of you pieces of advice on some preemptive measures to ensure you can safely go down on the carrot of your choice in a public bathroom stall:
- Cover the peepholes on the bathroom stall door to avoid homophobic men catching you with a penis in your mouth (or thirsty gays who would happily volunteer to join in the fun).
- Make sure that only one set of legs is visible at ALL TIME. This is very important because you don’t want to freak out your neighbor and let him think that the guy next to him has four legs. You never want to distract someone trying to pass a stool. Be respectful!
- Skip the dirty talks. What you are doing is already pretty nasty and there’s no need for you to “spice things up”, and you’ll only raise suspicions from everyone around you as nobody encourages a bowel movement with an internal monologue saying stuff like “choke me, daddy!“
I could tell that I was doing a solid job at pleasuring his carrot with my mouth as he was struggling to stay quiet. As I was busy getting the full taste of his carrot, I thought, “damn, he needs to get his shit together or otherwise we would be escorted out by the airport security!” In the end, he didn’t give me enough time to decide if I wanted to swallow his “carrot juice”, and he ended up erupting in my mouth. Below is an accurate representation of my reaction to his “eruption”:
Maybe it was because of the sudden wave of concentrated protein from his “carrot juice”, but it finally occurred to me that I had a flight to catch in less than 15 minutes. Unlike my senses that are slowly coming back to me, I quickly got dressed and plotted my exit strategy, carefully trying not to get caught leaving the bathroom stall with my toilet lover while simultaneously rushing to my boarding gate trying my hardest not to miss my flight over a blowjob. Saying that I was relieved to see the plane was still on the ground is an understatement, but I think I was more saddened by the thought of saying goodbye to each other. As we said our goodbyes, he passionately kissed my lips, the same lips that were tainted by his own body liquids a minute ago. Who says romance is dead?!
Despite the judgmental stares I received from my fellow passengers as I was walking down the aisle trying to locate my seat, I didn’t regret my twenty-one hours layover in NYC at all. My slutty friend was right after all; his “carrot juice” did heal my broken heart. But I guess there’s really no cure for this suckthedick-ngitis that I have, huh?
SquirtTale 