Whiskey Dick

The best thing about being the only gay kid in a class full of straight men is over hearing the stories of their first sexual experience over hamburgers from Wendy’s. Straight men, upon further investigation, are very open creatures. They describe who they had sex with, what “it” looked like, and who did what to who. It’ll make more sense soon.

“When I was in high school I could care less about my grades or friends,” Smoke said, as he lit another cigarette. “I spent most of my senior year inside girls and not textbooks.”

“I meet this honey at a party and we hit it off. Seconds later were in the back of my car, making out. She’s touching me. I’m touching her. It’s pretty fucking hot.”

“But you did it in the back of a car. Isn’t that like the most stereotypical place to have sex?” Tennessee asked.

“I’m not finished yet. So were in the back of my car and her sister, another hottie, walks outside, starts to fucking bang on the windows,” Smoke, finishing his cigarette, pounds his fits into the air. A story and free show.

“The girl I’m banging waves the other one away. I mean, I couldn’t stop I was actually like…you know. The sister, no shit, stands there, hands over her boobs, fucking waiting.”

"Talk about a free show,"I chime in. 

"No shit. She liked it cause three or so weeks later I banged her." 

“Hold on, I need a refill,” mystery gets up. The table gets quiet.

“God, I was so sexual back then, like ten girls a week. It got worse after I joined the marines.”

Mystery comes back but Smokes story suddenly stopped. He got that longing look in his eyes, remembering something.

“That’s when shit really hit the fan. I started doing pills, quit school so I could pay for more pills.”

This was a side we have never seen before. Shocked we wanted to know more.

“Started fooling around with strippers, no condoms-"

“No condoms? Aren’t you afraid one of them is pregnant?”

“Or was?” I ask. I couldn't help but wonder how the world would look with little Smokes running around. 

Smoke shakes his head. “I would leave my phone number in case something like that ever happens.”

“A number that’s been discounted for seven years,” he goes on to tell us, laughing. As we walked back to class, hearing mystery’s first time, I found out that straight men are just like bottom gays. Their first time was filled with pain, shame or with a person they hardly knew but admired from afar.

But gays are classy and never have to experience what the straight men call “whiskey dick.”

At least, I hope they don’t.