My Weekend With Caligula

“I don’t like having casual sex. I believe you should know some very well, even love them, before you use and degrade them” Steve Martin.

Warning: This contains adult content.

One Friday morning, way back in pre-AIDS America, I was working in a health food store. As I gazed out the enormous window of the place it suddenly hit me what an absolutely gorgeous summer day it was. This was partly due to the weather, but mostly due to the fact that the two Quaaludes I had taken just hit me like a glorious hammer to the head. I was going to save them for the long bus ride home, but I was so bored I took them early. This was a huge mistake. When I went out for lunch it became very clear I wasn’t going to be able do my job. So when I came back to the store I immediately threw myself to the floor, clutching my stomach screaming, “Oh my god, the pain, the pain”. Somebody in the crowd standing over me said about food poisoning. I said, “That must be it, I have to go to an emergency room”. Everyone offered to take me, but I said it was only around the corner and I can make it by myself. So I walked slowly to the corner, bent over moaning in pain. The second I turned the corner I ran to the subway. Whoever saw this must have thought that they had just witnessed a miracle.
If you don’t know what Quaaludes were, the best way I can describe them is too imagine yourself drunk and on speed at the same time. You have absolutely no inhibitions with an enormous amount of energy. They were perfect for making a complete ass of yourself dancing at parties. But above all else they perfect for sex. Of course any drug this great had to be banned. When they did stop making them I seriously considered suicide. They were replaced by bootlegs, but they all sucked. I think the only thing that stopped me was my cult like devotion to David Bowie. When I meet him, I will tell him this. He will be moved to tears and hire me to be his personal assistant. I can’t wait.
I knew my boyfriend would be home. He had the day off and never left the house unless it was on fire, which it was, twice. I was getting progressively hornier as I was riding home. By the time I got off the final bus I was pitching a tent so high that five adults could have slept under it. I couldn’t wait to surprise him with this “afternoon delight”. It was I, however, that got the surprise.
We had a roommate at the time. His name was Marc, but I knew he was at work. When I got home I stripped down completely naked and tipped toed up the stairs to surprise him .I went straight to our bedroom, he wasn’t there. Then I heard some voices in Marc’s room. When I looked in, I saw my boyfriend “surfing” on Marc’s water bed with another man.
I skipped right over rage and hurt and dived completely into total madness. So I grabbed a letter opener, plunged it into the water bed and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Drown you fuckers!” This bit of theatrics would of more effective had water actually gushed out of the bed. Instead all it caused was a slight leak. So all these two guys saw was a crazed naked man, sporting a boner, holding a letter opener over his head. The guy my boyfriend was screwing let out an ear piecing scream, grabbed his clothes and ran down the stairs and out the door. He did this so quickly I can’t imagine how he had the time to get dressed.
My boyfriend however, did get dressed first. I couldn’t hear what he was saying because I just yelling “get the fuck out” over and over again. When he did start running down the stairs I shouted “WAIT!” Then with the eyes and delivery of Norma Desmond I said, “If you want a whore, I’ll give you a whore”. With that he shot out the door.
I called everyone I knew. The first one to pick up the phone was my friend Dawson. Dawson was the most fearless and clever whore that ever walked this earth. I need only give two examples to prove this, but first I must describe how he looked. He was about 5’-11” and weighed a solid 185 pounds. He had the body of a weightlifter, and his arms were covered with tattoos. If he didn’t walk, talk, or make any gesture whatsoever, he looked exactly like a dock worker. He was also tough as nails. I personally saw him beat the crap out of three straight guys. He was also very protective of his friends. I felt very safe around him no matter where we were.
We lived in a major city that had a huge Navy yard. From where we lived one could easily walk to it. One day Dawson wondered out loud, “I wonder if they would let me on one of the ships?” I told him that I doubted it. The very next day he told me not only did he get on one of the ships, but that he had also had sex with five of the sailors. If this came out of anyone’s mouth but his I wouldn’t have believed it. This trip to the Navy yard quickly became part of his daily routine. He even somehow managed to steal a complete uniform. For all you mothers and girlfriends of sailors out there don’t be too concerned. Most of the sailors refused Dawson’s gracious offer, but now I definitely know why The Village People recorded “In The Navy”.
Dawson would also go “shopping”. By shopping I mean he would go to department stores, buy a shopping bag, and then stand it while blowing guys in bathroom stalls. When I asked him how he managed to get a man into a stall in the first place, he replied, “You can just tell by the look in their eyes”. Unless they were mutants who had the power to change the shape of their pupils from round to penis shaped, I still don’t how this was done. I mean how do you communicate the message, “meet me in the third stall, I need a blow job”, with a simple glance?
So Dawson had a plan. We were to go to Atlantic City and screw as many men possible in one weekend. After this trip of revenge Dawson would hold my boyfriend down until I told him every single detail. It made sense at the time.
I met Dawson the same way I met every gay friend or boyfriend I had at the time. Once word got out that you were out of the closet it spread like wildfire. You were then quickly introduced to every other gay person within a five mile radius. These introductions were always initiated by an incredibly funny young hippie named Zena. Zena weighed about ninety pounds, fifty of which were her breasts. Children would actually stop and stare at them. She eventually moved to Alaska where, I kid you not, she was elected mayor of a small town. When I called her to see if this were true, she said yes, and she was just as amazed as I was. When I asked her what platform she ran on, without missing a beat, she answered, “My tits”. Only in America.
It is important that you know that at this time I knew absolutely nothing about gay culture. I never even stepped in a gay bar. I was never one to sleep around. I was the “marrying” type. At the time of this adventure I had slept with a grand total of two men. So I leaped into this totally blind. But I knew Dawson would protect me, at least I would be safe.
So a pharmacy full of Quaaludes and “black beauties” (diet pills) were bought, suitcases packed, tickets purchased and before I knew it we were standing outside of at the “Chester Inn”. If Bette Davis were there she would of skipped the, “What a dump line” line and went immediately into projectile vomiting. “Don’t worry, it’s nicer inside” Dawson tried to assure me. In reality it was worse. The guy who took us to our room was stoned on something I’d never seen before. I tried every drug in the book, except any thing involving needles. And that is only because the very site of a needle would make me faint. So I immediately decided this guy must be on heroin. Every door to every room was wide open with a naked man lying clearly on the bed. When there were two men in one bed, they didn’t even bother shutting the door. This is when the “tour” began. “This is the orgy room”, (could be interesting), “this is the S&M room, (no way in hell) “and this is the scat room” (duh?). In a whisper I asked Dawson what the hell a scat room was. His answer made me literally turn around and make a run for it. He quickly grabbed me by the belt, “We don’t have to go in there. Relax, you’re embarrassing me”. Our tour guide looked me up and down and said, “So you’re not into scat huh? Well to each his own”. He said it as if I were being the strange one. As if being crapped on happens to people everyday. Despite the countess drugs now flowing thru my veins, I was beginning to get very, very nervous.
Once we got to our room Dawson became as exited as a kid on Christmas.
“OK let’s get you to your first gay bar. Now get dressed”.
“I am dressed”
“Your pants are way to loose. Where’s your dick”. Where’s you ass?”
“Hopefully in the last place I saw them”.
“I thought this might happen. Lucky for you I packed some extra clothes.”
So off we went. My pants were so tight I was walking like a cross between a mummy and a prostitute. The T-shirt he forced me to wear was cut so low you see could my nipples. I felt like a complete and total idiot. When we opened the door to the gay bar, the sheer volume of the music blew my hair back. Everything that was said between people in there had to be screamed. Dawson walked me to the bar and shouted in my ear, “I’ll be right back”. Before I could protest he was lost in the sea of wall to wall men. So I tried to order my soda as best as I could and waited for him. And no, I didn’t drink at that point; it’s a very long story.
When he finally came back he asked, “Are you having a good time?” I answered no and that everybody was laughing at me. He looked around and said, “You idiot, they’re not laughing they’re smiling “. “Then why are they staring at me? “I asked. He took a deep breathe and explained, “It’s called cruising. You look at someone till you get an answer. If you’re interested you smile back, if your not you look away or shake your head no.” “Well that’s kind of rude” I said. He answered back with, “Believe me, they’re used to it.” And with that he was gone again.
At the opposite of the bar this was this adorable young man. I started to cruise him and sure enough he smiled and then looked back down. So I took two more Quaaludes and a black beauty for nerve and waddled my self over to him. The conversation was short and sweet. “Hi”, “hi” “you want to?”, “OK”.
By the time we got to my room it became quit obvious that he was even more nervous than I was. He was also very tall, well built and very handsome. After a few minutes of awkward small talk he looked at me and said, “There’s something I should tell you”. He said this in such a tone that I half expected him to tell me he had five balls or something.
“This is my first time I’d ever come to a place like this” he confessed. With absolute relief I said, “Oh my god, me too. Can you believe how fucking loud it is in that bar?”
“No you don’t understand. This is my first time that I’m going to have sex with another man. This is my first time I’m going to have sex at all”. I looked up and down his gorgeous body and face and blurted out, “how the hell does that happen?” As he was telling me his story I was only half listening. I was busy wondering how I could make this experience as pleasurable as possible for him. But one line did get my attention.” This is your birthday!?” I gasped. Good lord talk about pressure. I gave him a Quaalude. He asked me what it was. I told him to trust me; we both need for him to take it. So he did.
After a bit of making out he started to go down on me. He must have forgotten he had teeth because it felt like a rattlesnake just bit me down there. I said, “No, no, let me show you how it’s done”. So I did and all was going well until he suddenly pulled me up and said, “I once saw a porno were a guy sat on another guys face. It looked really hot. I want to sit on your face.” This transformation from Dr. Shy Guy to Mr. Porn Star took about ten minutes. So I said sure, why not? Obviously he didn’t pay close enough attention to that porno, because instead of gently resting himself on me, he sat his entire weight of his six foot frame directly on my face. His ass began to smother me immediately.
I started to frantically kick my legs and wave my arms around. He mistook this for pleasure and started to press down even harder.” He started to say things like” You like that, huh? My mouth was screaming, “You are smothering me!!!” But apparently between two butt checks no one can here you scream. It wasn’t until I stated beating and scratching his back that he finally got up. Completely oblivious he asked, “What’s the matter?” “What’s the matter!? You almost killed me you idiot.” “I’m sorry” was all he could say. After catching my breathe he asked me if I wanted him to leave. I answered no; it was the guy’s birthday for heavens sake. Plus he didn’t mean any harm. So I carried on as best as I could. As he was leaving, he looked me in the eyes, kissed me on the check and said,”Thanks”. That kiss is the only pleasant memory I have from that entire weekend.
After a few more degrading sexual encounters not worth mentioning, I found myself in yet another gay bar. I haven’t slept or eaten in almost two days. I was nearing delirium. Suddenly Dawson ran up to me and yelled, “Oh my god, Freddie Mercury is here and he’s staring right at you!” I looked over and sure enough a dead ringer for Freddie was staring right at me. Now I didn’t find Freddie Mercury attractive at all, but Dawson really thought this was the real deal. So the thought of rubbing the fact that I slept with a celebrity in my boyfriends face was too hard to resist. And I knew Dawson could convince him that this was actually Freddie Mercury. So I went over to him and said,” I just want you to know I’m a big fan of yours”. He laughed and said he gets that all the time. As we were leaving together Dawson was actually jumping up and down with delight.
When we entered my room, he walked into the middle of the room and very dramatically said,
“I’m about to show you something you will never forget”
“Oh really”
“Really”
He then dropped his pants. Sure enough it was pretty big, but not yet hard.
“OK, I admit, it’s pretty big”
“Just wait a second”
Then with exactly three stokes it began to grow, and grow and grow. The final result was I dick so big I couldn’t possibly find the words to give it justice. It was both frightening and fascinating. I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. He then announced “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you with this big cock”. “Oh no your not”, I replied.
I should explain now that when it comes to anal sex, I am never on the receiving end. It isn’t because of any macho posturing, it’s because I have an absolute zero tolerance for pain and especially in that area. Once someone surprised me my shoving a finger up there, my sphincter clamped up so tight I almost broke his finger. But this guy was very persistent. I finally had to say, “There is no way in hell that, that, whatever it is, is going up my ass”. At this point he handed me two Quaaludes and said “we’ll see how it goes “.I cautiously forged ahead. I went down on him, or rather tried to go down on him. He was so thick I couldn’t even fit my mouth around the head. So I mostly played with it and looked at it as if I just discovered a rare fossil in ancient Egypt.
“Listen”, he said,” I know I have a big dick and I fucked a lot of guys. I know how to be gentle. I know how to do this.” “I’ve heard that before”, I replied. “Do you mind if I massage you?” “Only if you let me open the door and if you try to stick that creature in me I swear I will kill you.” He giggled and said “Go right ahead tough guy”.
So he began to massage me. At this point I was feeling very high and his massage was incredible. Suddenly I felt a very hard smack on my ass. I thought he somehow lost balance and that slap was a mistake. Then he slapped my ass again. This time I turned around and barked at him,” Is slapping people in the ass your idea of relaxing someone?” He apologized and said that some people like it and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Then he did something no one else had every done to me. He began to rim me. If you don’t know what “rimming” is there is no way I can politely describe it. Straight people call it “tossing the salad”. If you really need to know what it is, ask someone else. I can’t bring myself to tell you.
Anyway it felt incredibly good. “You like that?” he asked. “Oh yeah” So he continued to do it till I thought I thought I might explode with pleasure. He then whispered in my ear, “Now that you’re relaxed, can I try it now. I swear to god I’ll stop the second you tell me too” It was a cheap and blatant trick, but being awake and stoned for three days straight tends to alter your judgment. So I said “Ok, but only if you stop when I tell you to.” “I swear to god” he promised.
What came next was the most excruciating and sudden pain I have ever felt in my life. It felt like he shot his dick out of a cannon right up my ass. I screamed so loudly that I could feel the earth shake from the crowd running to my room. Someone must of thought somebody was be murdered because I heard somebody shout “Call 911”. The guy pulled out immediately, of course, so when the crowd reached the room all they saw was me crying and him saying “I’m so sorry” over and over again. They assumed it was a lover’s quarrel and left. I ask the guy to please just leave. He got dressed, said he was sorry once again, and then closed the door.
Finally the weekend was about to end. We had checked out and were waiting for our bus to leave in the hotel bar. The trip home was a little over hour way. It was also the last bus home that night. Dawson casually said to be “I’ll be back in a minute”. I said OK. Fifteen minutes passed, still no Dawson. Half hour, still no Dawson. I was beginning to panic. So I grabbed both our suitcases and ran up and down New York Ave. like a madman looking for him. At this point I had fifteen minutes to find, then it hit me, the orgy room! I ran back to the hotel flew down the stairs of the room only to find complete and total darkness. You could hear people, but you couldn’t see anything. I pulled out a lighter as if it would fill the room with light. No such luck. So I stage whispered, “Dawson, Dawson are you in here?” ”Yeah, I’m busy what do you want?” he whispered back. “Our bus leaves in ten minutes”. “Oh my god” he shouted, “where the fuck are my clothes?” He was dressed in an instant and then ran over the mass of bodies at lightening speed. You could hear ouches from everywhere, one guy even screamed, “My face!”
Somehow we made the bus. It wasn’t until we were halfway home before we noticed Dawson was wearing two different sneakers, neither of which belonged to him. We giggled like idiots for the rest of the ride.
I didn’t tell my boyfriend, and I didn’t leave him. How could I judge him after the weekend I just had? Dawson, however, did tell him. He took the news with a combination of shock and amusement. So I guess we forgave each other. Freddie Mercury passed away years ago, of course. Still to this day, whenever I bump into my old boyfriend the first words that come out of his mouth are, “So how’s Freddie Mercury?”