Kallan bought one of those ridiculous wheels of gum . . . Hubba Bubba. Big pink plastic container that opens to allow you to unspool lengths of pink sugary chewiness. She had friends over yesterday, and she didn’t want to share the gum with them. And so she left the container of gum here on my desk.
For safekeeping.
And now?
I owe Kallan an entire wheel of gum.
In possibly related news?
My jaw is tired.
Plus also?
I blow awesome bubbles.
I am all kinds of impressed with myself.
Did you know that if you are chewing gum in the bathtub and you lie back in the water so that it covers your face? And then you try to blow a bubble from beneath the water?
That shit doesn’t work.
Something to do with pressure.
And stupidity.
Anyway.
Speaking of pressure and stupidity?
One time?
I almost drowned.
Actually, I have more than one story about almost drowning, but in the interests of being relatable? I am going to pretend that this event happened only one time. Because, seriously? Who almost drowns three times?
Stupid people, that’s who.
OK, so I used to work as a counselor in a group home for troubled kids. I have mentioned this before, within the context of giving blow jobs to the way-hot nighttime supervisor. Plus also? There was bondage.
OK, focus . . .
That supervisor and I? We were having a lot of sex at the time I almost drowned.
Well, not at the actual moment of drowning . . . because that would suggest that the blow jobs were way more spectacular than I have previously mentioned.
I just mean that we were still in the early stages of our not-really relationship. That part where every gesture is fraught with sexual meaning. Oooooh . . . love that part.
The two of us had recently been switched to day-time responsibilities, and on this particular day? It was our job to take ten small incredibly dysfunctional and sexually inappropriate children to the beach. So not even kidding.
So the two of us were all sincere and responsible and caring and incredibly sexually charged up as we hit the beach with the kids.
YAY!
And within about ten minutes of arriving at the beach?
One of our incredibly stupid and disobedient children had floated out into the bay on an inflatable ring he had stolen. Jesus fucking christ. We’re here less than ten minutes and we have lost a child.
He wasn’t so very far out in the water, so we yelled at him to paddle back to the shore.
He did not do this. Instead? He began to scream at the top of his lungs about how he was going to die.
Fuck.
Clearly, one of us had to go out and get him. My supervisor and I looked at one another. And because I was all sexually charged up and in the midst of demonstrating to this man that I was completely worth fucking his life over for? I ran out into the water.
I am a decent swimmer, but I am not a great swimmer.
But off I went.
My mind was filled with images of the awesome sex that would soon be coming my way. The sex, truth be told, had not been that great thus far, but hero sex? I figured that shit was going to be amazing.
Ahem.
The kid? Was not so very far away, but as I swam? He drifted farther out.
I tried to scream at him to paddle toward me, but guess what?
He gave me the finger.
Yes, he so fucking did. Little asshole nine year old child gave me the finger.
And that’s when I knew I was in trouble.
He did not need rescuing. He was not going to help me. And I? Was fading fast.
You know what drowning feels like?
It feels stupid.
My memory of that next few minutes of struggling to catch and grab hold of the inflatable ring?
Goes like this . . .
I am the stupidest person in the entire fucking world and I am going to die. I am the stupidest person in the entire fucking world and I am going to die. I am the stupidest person in the entire fucking world and I am going to die.
In an endless thoughtful loop.
Somehow? I managed to grab that ring. Managed to catch hold and then, after a short gasping break, kick us both back to shore. The asshole child who did not need rescuing? Entertained me with tales of how he was pretty sure that if he wanted to? He could reach out and touch my boobs and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
He was a charmer, that kid.
I could hardly breathe, much less reprimand him.
We made it back to the shore, where no one seemed to have even the slightest inkling of the drama that had just played out in the water.
I walked past everyone with shaking legs to the restroom, where I threw up copious amounts of bay water. Stood trembling for a minute.
And then rejoined the group.
Sat on the grass all wet and miserable.
One of our little Lolitas came over to sit with me. To snuggle up into my side. Offer me a piece of gum.
I blew awesome bubbles for her amusement.
I was all kinds of impressed with myself.
And this morning?
My jaw is tired.
In my experience. (I did NOT say copious experience. You did. I am chaste and virginal. Shut up.)
Stop interrupting.
In my experience (which is reasonable but not EXCESSIVE for god’s sake).
I told you to quit that.
In my estimable (ooh, how’s that for a word that doesn’t get enough airtime?) the best sex was never with the hottest guys.
The hottest guys figured sex with them was already a gift, so why wrap it up in foreplay and mutual orgasms?
I wanted someone who thought sex with ME was a gift that needed dutiful and attentive unwrapping and exploration.
And sex underwater is way overrated.
And there can be drowning.
I couldn’t have said it any better myself.
And I probably do have copious experience.
But so far?
Have been unwilling to throw too many of the men I have copiused with under the blogging bus.
But as time passes?
Who knows.
And sex in water? Way dry and uncomfy.
A paradox.
For turning “copiused” into a verb that apparently means wontonly shagging, I love you the mostest of all the bloggers.
Hee hee!
Wontonly shagging.
Hee hee!
I must admit that I did have a “whore” stage and went through more boyfriends than I really truly care to admit and I would agree with this mostly except for one guy. The hottest guy I ever slept with. He was way hotter than the one armed guy.
Hmmm. They were both named Joey. Strange.
Anyway this guy was a fucking JUDO INSTRUCTOR. Oh my gosh he was freaking gorgeous and AHHHHMAZING! I think everyone shouldhave sex with him because, well, you’d have to have the sex to know.
Best parking lot sex ever.
Damn I’ve got some sex stories.
You?
Must continue to visit.
Because I will need more details of these Joey people.
And I?
Have had some amazing parking lot sex.
Also excellent?
Elevators.
Yummy.
Oh never had elevator sex. Have had sex in an alley though. Lots of alcohol was involved with that one. And a ridiculously hot guitar player after a concert. I have lots of stories with that guitar player.
Sex on a firetruck is pretty awesome too expecially if there is a fireman’s hat involved.
.:sigh:. I do love my husband!
Alley? Check.
Alcohol? Check.
Sadly? No firetrucks or guitar players.
Although one time? I walked in on Mark soulfully playing the guitar.
It was horrific.
And I laughed and mocked him mercilessly.
So that doesn’t really count.
And my husband?
Is all I want.
But in my memories and in my fantasies?
There is more.
Hee hee!
A hammock can be pretty fun because you get that swinging motion going but you have to put down a blanket or something in it otherwise he’ll get all kinds of nasty hammock marks on his ass. True story.
The guitar player? He was in this awesome band that toured around the south mostly but they were awesome and he was hot. Lots of summer fun with that one.
My husband is my very best friend and he knows me inside and out. He is all I want for the rest of my life. I’ve got a whole lot more annoyance to give him :)
But also my memories are pretty freakin juicy!
Giggle!
Our hammock?
Is all cloth and comfy. Just so you know.
And juicy memories?
Who doesn’t want those?
Yes, please.
i’ve got nothing. no good sex stories. and Cort? got all of his adventurous sex out in his youth and is leaving me with safe bed sex. sigh. and no porn.
You two?
Need to talk.
Tell him I said so before I get all trouble-making on Twitter.
HA!
I can’t even get any action in the car. it’s all serious business around here. which probably explains the cricket sounds in this house lately.
You realize you are putting out the Bat Signal and requesting my interference, correct?
I’m totally with Kris here. There is nothing more fun or sexy or a bigger turn on than hot passionate dirty sex in some place other than in bed. Makes your relationship way more fun!
Are you listening, Katie?
Andrea and I are all expertting it up around here.
Experting?
Expertting.
Whatever.
We know what the fuck we’re talking about.
i was a lifeguard as a teen and totally never got the chance to be a big, damn hero. and the thing i *really* wanted to do? get a chance to rescue a drowning asshole who i could punch in the face for ‘safety’s sake.’
i wish my inner violent desires would come out more. clearly, i’m far too nice.
Why on earth would you get to punch the drowning victim in the face?
Oh wait! You mean because they are all struggling and might try to take you down into the water with them?
Really?
Oh my god . . . I want to be a lifeguard so badly now.
To have had the permission to punch that asshole kid in the face?
I am all delighted at that lovely image.
EXACTLY. so many unfulfilled lifeguardy desires. maybe that should be my next career move.
OK, people?
Mark just read today’s post and he is concerned that I might not realize that I am saying that I actually gave another man a blow job.
Apparently?
In Mark’s mind?
I only implied it in that earlier post, but did not come out and actually say it.
And now?
I cannot breathe.
I am laughing so hard.
Oh . . . my . . .god.
Dear Kris,
I once saw an episode of Oprah that dealt with dry drowing.
It’s like you are drowning, but then you get saved from drowning only to die from drowning hours or even days later.
It blew my fucking mind out of the water.
So my question is.
If I choked on a little spooge, just a little. And now I feel all flu-like, Do you think it’s possible I could be dry drowning?
Please help.
Signed,
scared suckless
OK, I have consulted with the medical authorities to whom I have ready access here in my basement.
And here is their advice.
Sometimes? Spooge (and how much do I love that word?) gets stuck in the pipes.
And so you will need something akin to a plumber’s tool called a snake.
To force that blockage down and into a larger space.
So there is no danger of dry drowning.
As long as you have someone handy to snake you.
And don’t scared.
This won’t suck.
OMG. How fucking hilarious is this??
Hee hee!
Ahh, adventurous sex. It’s been a looooong time. Damn kids. And for whatever reason, adventurous sex usually leads to super hilarious sex and laughing so hard that sex is compromised. Hilarious sex = not so good sex, but awesome memories.
Seriously? Mark asked if you realized you posted about performing blow jobs??? Ahh, I am laughing so hard.
You are correct about the hilarity.
But then later?
When you remember the giggling and the possibly not so awesome sex from the safety of your comfy bed?
Then?
There is awesome sex.
True story.
Plus also?
Apparently?
Mark is not always certain that I am aware of what I am saying.
SNORT!
Is this an advice column now?
Because I could use some insight about why it is that all my life I have had recurring nightmares about having a giant, monstrous wad of gum in my mouth that keeps me from talking and breathing. And causes me to drool.
Also recurring, related nightmares about my teeth crumbling into bits in my mouth. Having to spit the bits out. Which also causes me to drool.
Why, Dr. Kris? What advice do you have?
Alright, here’s the deal.
Those dreams? Way bad news. Those dreams are the dreams of a woman who fears losing control.
But we have already begun the cure!
You just need to exert some control in your life.
Dominate.
Remember our top secret plans over at Nigel’s?
(You know . . . the ones about lotion and naked dancing and bondage in the guest room? Shhhhhhhh.)
This?
Is going to be perfect.
that plan is about ME being in control?
Ahem.
It wasn’t at first.
But it could be.
If you asked nicely.
Snort!
i am nothing if not NICE.
So then we?
Are good to go.
Now we just need to get Nigel on board.
I do not think that will be a problem.
I’ll send him a meeting request.
Okay, did that rotten little kid actually touch your boob or just threaten to on the way back to shore?? Either way, you should’ve let him slip through that tube just enough to go under water for a second then yang him up.
Alleged blow-job… Hee-hee!! It was practice wasn’t it?!? :)
In my tags, I made clear that no feeling up was done.
He was an evil little shit.
And alleged . . . giggle.
Read the tags, read the tags…. I am so not paying attention!! I will do better, I promise.
Hee hee!
You are all forgiven.
Although sometimes my tags?
Way fucking funny.
At least, I think so.
After reading this post only one, no, two, things come to mind:
First, cue David Gilmour “Young Lust..”
Ooooooooh, I need a dirty woman…
Oooooooooh, I need a dirty girl..
2nd, my husband says: totally worth fucking your life up over.
Good choice.
Still spellbound.
And your husband’s words?
Have made my heart lurch with silly happiness.
And I love when that happens.
Love that.
I have never attempted to save someone from drowning. I KNOW that my swimming skills are just so crappy that I would probably kill us both in the process. The drowning man has a much better chance of survival if I just shout out words of encouragement from the shore.
I HAVE tried to impress a man in the water though, but as it turns out? Skinny dipping in the ocean is not sexy, it is fucking cold. And the goosebumps make your legs all prickly- also not sexy.
Speaking of sexy, where IS the infamous Nigel today? If a penis in a hole couldn’t lure his attention, I thought FOR SURE your infamous blow job talent would.
Sigh.
This is a little less like a comment and a little more like a letter.
A love letter, just in case you were wondering. Because I SO love your mad gum stealing, bubble blowing skills.
Bravo.
You have not been to Nigel’s blog today!
He’s off on a trip of some sort. I think he will be back tomorrow.
And I am quite sure he will be by to visit the “Penis in a Hole” post. Quite sure.
I adore your love letter.
As I adore you.
I do have mad skills.
Snort!
Of course I haven’t been to his blog yet Kris. You are, of course, my first stop.
Have you not been listening to any of my proclamations of love?
Hmph.
Nigel has been pulling in the ladies lately.
He thinks I don’t notice, but I notice.
I did not know I took priority over Nigel in your affections.
That?
Is as it should be.
Carry on.
I am puzzled as to why you would even try making bubble gum bubbles underwater.
You also mentioned about 3 near drownings. That reminds me of something else that puzzles me:
The guy who has been hit by lightening 7 times and still alive.
First: wtf?
The majority of people I know have not been hit ever by lightening. I am concluding that overall it is a rare thing to happen, as opposed to say seeing a cat on a wall.
I also have never been hit by lightening. Not even once or a bit.
I’m fairly confident that I never will.
Also if I ever do get struck by lightening, you can be sure it will only ever happen ONCE as I’ll make sure I am never in a similar situation again.
So back to they guy who got struck 7 times. Some people say he must be the luckiest man alive. Me, I say he must be the dumbest guy alive.
7 times??? Really
So after 6 times did it not occur to him “hmmm I get hit by lightening a lot more than anyone else, maybe I should stop wearing the aluminium hat and flying kites during thunder storms”.
First . . . bubble gum bubbles under water. There is no real explanation except that I am a weird person. Seriously.
Second . . . I have never ever been hit by lightning. And I agree with all of your thoughts on lightning 100%.
Third . . . I did indeed almost drown two other times. But it’s not like lightning, Ben. You can’t just decide, “OK, well I am never going in deep water again.” That’s stupid.
The first time?
I fell out of a rubber raft while out boating with a friend of my father’s. I can still remember how surprised I was at suddenly being under water and able to see the sky through wavy ripples. And then a huge splashing disruption of my vision as my father’s friend dove in after me. And the feel of his hands around my body. And air, which I had seemed to have forgotten that I needed until it was yet again available. I was perhaps four years old.
The second time?
The first day of swimming lessons. I did not know how to swim at all. I accidentally walked past the point in the pool where the depth changed suddenly and then walked all sensibly into the deepest part of the water. And the just stood there, confused and panicked as I waited for someone to notice me. One of the swimming instructors dove in and rescued me, but I threw up chlorinated water that time. I was nine.
And then the third time?
I was just an idiot.
And now?
With my weird allergy to cold?
Swimming rarely comes up.
So I’m probably safe from the water.
I’ll let you know if lightning strikes.
And again?
I like when you talk.
Your unicorns are too quiet.
I’ve never had hero sex, but I’d like to imagine that shit’s amazing. oh yeah. super hot. like Keanu after he saves the bus from being blown up hot.
Yes!
Like that!
It did not seem too much to ask.
Snort!
I picked the wrong day for a road trip, it seems.
I hate missing out on a good blowjob…
… story.
As I hate missing out on giving you . . .
. . . the story.
It’s good to be home.