“Even annoyance was part of the pleasure we took in each other”
– Garth Greenwell, Cleanness –
Dear the person responsible for giving out official names to all sex positions,
First of all, how did you come up with all these weird-ass names? For example, doggy style. What made you think it’s a good idea to draw inspiration from the way dogs reproduce? I did quick research before writing this chapter, and I learned there are way too many obscure sex positions out there. Like… The Wanton Wheelbarrow. What in the bloody hell is that?! And how does any sane human being find any enjoyment in this torturous position? I always seek for pleasure in sex, not trying to break a couple of bones.
Call me a boring bitch or whatever, but I’m perfectly content with the good ole’ missionary position. What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic after all.
I didn’t have any plans for Christmas break and decided that being alone and depressed in LA was the most cost-efficient way to celebrate the jolly holiday. On Christmas, most respectable LA gays either went back to Idaho to be with their family or had pre-existing Santa-themed orgy plans that, obviously, did not include me. To add insult to injury, two of my friends decided to take advantage of my loneliness and asked me to dog-sit their puppy for two weeks because apparently, the fancy ski resort they stayed in was Maltipoo-phobic. I didn’t know what I was thinking — I couldn’t even say I was successful enough to take care of myself, let alone taking care of a six-month-old puppy. Yet somehow, I allowed that four-legged creature to stay with me in my small Koreatown studio apartment.
The thing I didn’t know about a small puppy, apart from everything a person needs to know to make one stay alive, was how noisy and clingy it could get. There was this one time where the puppy was barking unnecessarily loud for ten straight minutes because I left it alone to do my laundry. I couldn’t even take a dump alone in peace because the white fluff ball found a strange enjoyment in watching me doing a number two. Worst of all, the pupper was an early riser, meaning I had to wake up at 7 AM every day to match its breakfast schedule.
Let’s flash forward to three days before Christmas. I was aggressively trying to invite this hot muscular guy on Grindr to come to my apartment and let him go down my chimney. At first, the hottie was hesitant in letting himself indulge in the hookup scene since, according to him, he had not engaged in that lifestyle for over a year. He just moved back to LA after spending a year in Asia, and he said he didn’t have time for a random hookup while he was abroad (I call bullshit on this, btw). But my parents didn’t raise a quitter. After spending thirty minutes laying out the many reasons why my ass was rated #1 on Tripadvisor’s list of “Things to do in LA,” my Grindr hottie was finally convinced to take off his purity ring and came over to my apartment.
Still feeling euphoric after successfully scoring a blonde hottie, I giddily made my way to the bathroom to perform my sacred ritual with my trusty douche. I filled it with lukewarm water, sat my flat ass on the toilet, and positioned myself for comfortable insertion. As I was vigorously squeezing the douche, I looked to my left to find a familiar face, and that’s when I was hit with an unpleasant realization. There it was — the endearing pupperoni was sitting on the floor wagging its tail, watching me getting weirdly excited over clean water coming out of my ass.
Fucking hell.
I totally forgot about this white furball.
Generally, I’m not a person who could masterfully handle the unknown element in life. Like… what if my hot date was allergic to dogs? What if the pupper managed to break free from its cage and bite my Grindr date’s dick off? With a dog as unpredictable and energetic as my puppy around, I really didn’t know what to expect.
But I had worked so hard to get this coveted time with this blonde hunk, and I could not let this four-legged evil get in my way of getting dicked down.
My hot Grindr date showed up at my door and was immediately startled by my dog’s hostile barks. “Great,” I thought, “we’re off to a fantastic start!” Judging from his body language, I could tell that my hunky playmate was slightly bothered by the presence of an additional mammalian creature in my apartment. I mean… I couldn’t blame him—the doggo could not stop running in a circular motion chasing its own tail while barking nonstop. The bark was so gratingly loud that it made having a shallow conversation with the ravishing gentleman in my bed a struggle.
Suddenly, my Grindr boy snapped. He sat bolt upright in bed, looked me dead in the eye, and said:
“Can you tell your dog to shut the fuck up? Geez, this is why I hate small dogs.”
Although you might think my Grindr guy was rude and borderline doggo-phobic, he did have a point: maintaining an erection to the sound of dog barks was not easy. And the dog just would not stop whimpering and barking. The puppy and I had lived together long enough that we developed this telepathic bond that allowed us to understand each other, and below are, what I imagined, some thoughts that the puppy was trying to communicate:
- “Who the fuck is this rando? And how dare he talked shit about me in *MY* house?!”
- “Humans, I need food!”
- “Can you guys tone it down a bit? I need my beauty sleep— I have a busy day annoying my self-disrespecting dog sitter tomorrow.”
- “At least let me watch you guys; I might be able to learn a thing or two…”
I decided to take the doggo out of its playpen and comforted it on my lap, ultimately turning the intimate time with my Grindr guy into an awkward throuple moment. Thankfully, my date was a kind gentleman and didn’t mind the puppy interrupting our date a quick one-on-one therapy session. After five minutes of gentle head-petting, the pupper finally started to warm up to the stranger in my bed. It’s either that or the puppy got too exhausted from the excessive amount of barking.
In a move that I never saw coming, my Grindr boy let out a long sigh and said:
“You don’t have to put the puppy back in the playpen. He can watch.”
Just when I thought the night could not get any more ludicrous, and now I had to perform in front of a canine audience? Wonderful!
The sex itself, albeit fun, was pretty average. When my Grindr boy took his shirt off, it didn’t come as a surprise that he’d got an insanely fit body. But the penis… was a completely different story. Let me start off by saying that I’m not a size queen. To me, it’s not about the size of the wave, but it’s about the motion of the ocean. In my Grindr date’s case, however, he got neither of them down. His equipment was not of a laughable size but also not directly proportional to his body size.
On top of it, my hunky boy’s performance was slightly monotonous. Yes, we executed three basic sex positions, and I would give him points for creativity because he suggested doing it in front of my mirrored wardrobe doors. But there’s something off-putting about his speedy thrust tempo— it was like listening to a mainstream pop song where it’s all just rap and no catchy verses. I didn’t know if that’s just his preferred style, or hate-fucking me was his way of channeling his frustration over my puppy drama. But the whole thing was lacking passion, as evidenced by his choice of sex positions that optimized anonymity (doggy style, reverse cowboy, etc.). Even five minutes into taking the tedious road to Pound Town, the puppy got so bored it decided to go back to its playpen and went back to sleep.
After he finished viciously treating my bum like a cheap fleshlight, my Grindr date thanked me for my service with a quick peck on my forehead, regained his composure, and left my apartment without saying goodbye to the doggo (rude, I know). All in all, the whole night had been a minor disappointment for all parties involved. But it was particularly traumatizing for the six-month-old puppy, having to witness such barbaric occurrence with its own two eyes. Its faith in humanity had been badly tarnished, and I was the immoral human being responsible for doing so.
Flash forward to two years after I returned the puppy to its rightful owners, I was sleeping on the couch of my friends’ apartment, the same gullible friends who trusted their sluttiest sexually active friend to take care of their dog. Feeling quite intoxicated from a cocktail of alcoholic beverages I consumed all night, I was ready to pass out on the couch until I saw the grown-up puppy approaching my right hand that’s dangling off the couch. Then something bizarre happened: the dog decided to place its genital on my right palm and started to aggressively rub its private part on it. I was too drunk to defend myself from such mental atrocity, so I let the doggy abused my hand for its sexual pleasure for one whole minute before I eventually got too grossed out by the entire situation.
I guess I deserved having my hand molested by the horny, grown-up puppy, especially after exposing it to such indecent view early on. Karma is, indeed, a bitch.
SquirtTale 