Fack. 2008-06-08 02:09:00
If the sum total of the Human Experience is a metaphorical Body, my life must surely be the anus.
You guys know that I'm an exploratory kind of guy when it comes to sexuality. In fact, I'm still laboring to free myself from the repercussions of my various ill-conceived exploits, chronicled here and here.
But most importantly, I broke a sacred law last Friday night that was of my own making. Rule #1 of the New Way Forward which I set out for myself as a path to self-betterment.
"Take Responsibility for your Body." These are simple words; words you'd think even I, a proven brainless, backward-thinking ass would be able to knock through my skull, even if only in the interest of self-preservation. But, rather, unfortunate events have transpired last night that I am loathe to admit were blatant violations of my own moral sanctity, in the wake of my inability to have children.
I seemed perfectly adapted to my new lifestyle minus sexual fertility, up until yesterday. But I suppose I have nobody to blame but myself for the mental breakdown I suffered that night, which must've been rooted in deeper demons that I hadn't excised by the mere creation of my moral code.
Around 7:00 that night, I was going out with my friends to a party. Crashing, more than attending, I must admit. But this fact itself was not in violation of the Rules of Conduct. We talked, and generally engaged in merriment with our fellow attendees, who were largely unaware of our fugitive status at the party, until around 9:00 pm. My friends' objective had been to "borrow" as much alcohol as possible from the soirée, without the guests noticing.
This was not my objective, as I knew that such activities as drinking are unacceptable violations of Rule #1. Nonetheless, we sped from the party, grinning at the heist we had just pulled off. But this is where things turned a bit sour. Ultimately, this is the point that brought my New Way Forward to a crashing standstill. One of my friends tossed me a bottle of Grey Goose, its cap ajar, having just been opened; and I took what I deemed to be a celebratory swig.
But I didn't stop there. It'd been a long time since I'd had the pleasure of drinking liquor, and by the time we arrived at the Club District, our ultimate destination, th bottle of Grey Goose was an empty glass paperweight. My friends, not knowing my set of guidelines, had not the knowledge to stop me in my reckless abandon.
Interpreting my drinking as enthusiasm rather than a warning sign, they allowed me to pick up another bottle of Vodka from our cache, uncontested, and I stumbled out of the car towards the nearest club I could see, leaving my friends walking unknowingly the opposite direction (there was a large throng of revelers), and largely unaware of my actions.
The club into which I stumbled, I later discovered, was a Homosexual hotspot, a seedy hotbed that fairly reeked of AIDS. The drunken state I was in, however, impaired my judgment - I am ashamed to say - to an unacceptable extent, and the Grey Goose in my hand wasn't exactly helping matters.
In retrospect, it was lucky that the guy I plopped down on the bar next to wasn't riddled with STDs. The only lucky event of the night. I remember little of what transpired at the bar, except that there was a vague conversation about sexual stimulation, and our experiences with it. I suppose I must have told the guy about my lack of a prostate, but I honestly have no recollection.
The next thing I remember is being inside of a sort of bedroom in an unknown house, and sitting on a twin bed across from the guy at the bar. He's got his shirt off, and glistening with sweat, because it's really quite hot - there's no air conditioner in there. He comes over, and he starts to unbutton my pants, and I still hardly even realize what's going on. Lazily, I accept his solicitation, and then we're both naked.
I'm not aroused, though. For some reason, I think we're still at the party from hours earlier, and we're going to go skinny dipping in the backyard pool. After this point, I remember little else. There is a glimpse of our two naked masculine bodies in the bathroom mirror, a few inches from each other, and there's lotion all over our hands, and that's it.
The next thing I remember is waking up in an angry haze, alone in a hotel room. As I put on my pants, neatly folded at the end of the bed, still little realizing the gravity of the night's events, they feel cold, and wet to me, and I immediately recognize the wetness as semen. This can't, of course, be my semen, because I can't produce semen. That sent a shiver down my groggy and incoherent spine, as fragments of remembrance began to set in.
As I lifted my leg to remove the disgustingly soggy pants, a strange pain shot up through my anal region and into the rectum, and it was a pain that I recognized not as an injury but - having had a fair share of experience with such phenomena - a foreign body. I tried to reach in and remove the object, but it was too deeply-seated, if you'll excuse the pun, for me to remove.
In embarrassing form, fully warranted by the stupidity of my cavalier lifestyle, I called a taxi to take me into the Baptist Hospital, to quickly remove the object. It was an expensive cab ride, to say the least, from out in a hotel room off the interstate, all the way to the Baptist Hospital downtown. With each bump in the highway accentuating the dire nature of my circumstance, it was certainly no stretch to say that the lesson was duly noted and fully learned.
Finally upon arriving, and waiting what would normally be considered an excruciating amount of time, the doctor addressed me, and gave me a knowing knowing look. According to him, they have poeple come in with foreign bodies lodged inside usually once a week, although it certainly felt like he snigered as he delivered that prognosis.
I was X-rayed, and the doctor handed me the results with a comically bemused expression on his face. He explained that live animals are generally not a common object to find inside of one's body, especially on the egressing end.
I am forcibly reminded of that infamous Eminem Song, entitled "Fack" - the story of a sexually frustrated man, who doesn't realize his own limitations until it's far too late stop.