Number 9: The Gay Guy

If there was ever a story to put you off day smoking, this one is most definitely it. I have absolutely no idea how I met Number 9, The Gay Guy, but I’m fairly certain it was through an ex-boyfriend and his group of friends. Gay Guy (who I’ll call GG from this point onwards) just appeared in my life one day, then we were flirting, then we were getting stoned together one summer afternoon.

“Fancy coming back to mine?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Sure,” I replied, not sure if he meant in a friend way… or, you know, a let’s-fuck way. I was down for either.

We made our way back to his, and I watched in fascination as he fashioned a bong out of an empty bottle and some foil. He tried to explain how to do it, teach me his ways, but I wasn’t listening. I didn’t really care. Why would I? There was always a nice boy around somewhere to help me roll up/load up a bong/whatever; I didn’t need to worry about that sort of stuff.

An hour later, once we’d successfully coughed up a lung each, we were well and truly stoned. Snoop Dogg would’ve been proud.

“I need a snack,” I said, chuckling away to myself like the stoned tit I was.

“I need a wank,” GG said back, staring at the wall.

Did he just say that? Surely not. Maybe I imagined it…

“A wank?” I frowned.

“I always get so horny when I get high, don’t you?” His eyes never left the wall, which made me chuckle again.

My mind was still trying to magic up a reasonable response when GG sprung up out of the chair, then left the room. I could hear the stairs creak loudly as he descended, and I chuckled again as each creak sounded like a little fart.

Ten minutes or so later, GG returned holding a banana and a half-empty pack of Ryvita. “Here ya go.”

I hate bananas. I’ve always hated bananas. They look weird, smell weird, and don’t even get me started on the weird, squidgy texture. I heaved as the smell hit me, then heaved again as he shoved it closer.

“Will you fuck off with that,” I said, pushing it away.

“You don’t like bananas?”

“No, I don’t like bananas.”

GG held the banana up like it was an Oscar. “Ever been fucked by a banana?”

I sat, open-mouthed, his words bouncing around in my mind, but in the wrong order. Yeah, I was higher than the moon, but I also couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said. What was happening? Not fucking, that much was becoming evident. I guess we were just friends. But… the banana?

I shook my head. “Nope, no bananas have been fucked. I don’t like them.”

“Do you want to fuck me?” he said next.

My eyes darted around the room looking for a hidden camera… or something. I was completely convinced that I was getting pranked for You’ve Been Framed.

“Umm, do you want to fuck me?” I mumbled, still looking around for that camera.

“Yeah, kinda,” he answered.

Kinda? KINDA? Well, we love that enthusiasm, don’t we?

I should’ve said no, politely made my excuses, then left.

But I didn’t do that.

Of course I didn’t do that.

I kissed him instead.

It was awkward and clumsy, and it didn’t get any better as I lifted off his t-shirt, then helped him to remove mine. Our noses painfully bashed together at one point, and I elbowed him in the ribs as we tussled with our respective trousers.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” I muttered back… then kneed him right in the balls as I attempted to straddle him. “Sorry.”

There were lots of sorrys. Too many. Each thrown out after another cringe-inducing moment. I almost fell off the couch. He pinged one of the buttons off the front of his boxer shorts, then got cramp. Someone kicked a can of Red Bull over. It could’ve been either one of us, but I still think it was him.

We eventually had sex in the sense that his penis went inside my vagina, but that’s about as far as I’d go. I didn’t come. He didn’t come, either. It was just one awkward incident after another, until we eventually gave up.

No, correction: he gave up.

I was straddling him, bending down to kiss him in one last ditch attempt to rescue the situation, when he pulled out the greatest ego-killing line I’ve ever heard:

“I think I might be gay.”

His dick was still inside me. Hard… ish. I was basically still gyrating a bit, leaned in for the kiss, then BOOM. Gay.

I froze after that… still with his dick inside me. I genuinely didn’t know what to do or say. It would’ve been a great time for the fight-or-flight to kick in, but nope, I chose the freeze option instead.

“Maybe you should… um… get off,” he offered, his eyes dropped down to his fast-shrinking manhood.

“Fuck.” I scrambled off him, trying to ignore the wet flop sound of his dick against his stomach.

I made him roll me a little joint before I left. It was well-needed… and earned.

We never spoke to each other again. Not in a cunty way, or anything like that. We’d just both served the purpose that we needed to serve.

I made him realise that he was gay.

He destroyed my ego and almost scared me off sex for life.

Almost.

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Six.