My sexual awakening began in a cheap seedy motel someplace along the boulevard in Carbondale, Illinois. My first African-American girl…Lets just call her Ms. Daisy because like I’d fucking remember her name. Plus I was most likely high or plastered with me muff-diving in that shit.
Sex with a stranger in a high mileage bed. An arrangement made through a friend and one bad bet. A deal sealed with spit, semen, and sexual favor. And then there was California State University, Chico California.
Spring 1993
Oy Vey! No this wasn’t just something moaned or screamed out at the height of a ‘culinary climax’ or orgasmic blood rush to the head (your intellectual one; not the other one that just wants to have fun and get their ass spanked by total nut jobs or sorority psycho-sex fiends. And no I didn’t meet Sally there nor in any coffee shop and my name isn’t Harry (and definitely not Hairy Ballsack). If you know that scene in the restaurant or have ever been with a drama queen one night stand…then maybe your main course before dessert was that fucking appetizing as well, just like those colorful Tide Pods that look and taste just like candy. If you don’t mind a mouth full of soap. Like what in the fuck are the schools teaching these pimple-faced geeks anyways. I remember my mother telling me if I said a bad word she’d wash my mouth out with soap. That would be one long ass laundry day.
Back to the beginning. Oy Vey was the name of this popular breakfast joint in Chico, California. One morning after one of many late night Bang sessions; as if it were more than One Night In Bangkok I stand in line with a group of my friends. I’m minding my own business staring at the menu (probably still half-baked and buzzed) when this brunette waitress smacks into my chest with two mochas. She being about 5 feet or so and me being 6 foot 6. I remember this clearly because the coffees ended up all over her clean white shirt with hardly a speck on me or my leather jacket. She must have been a size 34 C and cute as hell. She was so apologetic, almost begging my forgiveness. But all I saw was my mocha angel that just needed some whip cream on top her coffee covered skin. The kind of chick who’d give you head (or at least a very smooth handjob) as her way of saying thanks for being such a jackass while returning the favor with a cream pie in her tight little star. One of many highlights. Now if we can just get Starbucks to hold their own mocha covered wet T-shirt contests or a coffeehouse where the Baristas wear nothing but an apron and whip cream to go on top their sassy frappy assys.
Oh hail the King of the Fuck Bunnies as we bow between the legs of our angel for the night (or that Sorority Slut I met in International Business)…
See I attended CSUC aka Chico State aka Pot Party Central mainly because it was rated the top kick-ass Party School at the time according to our late Pastor of the Gorgeous Sex Goddesses Hugh Hefner as featured in his most Sacred of Text and Revered Images ever known to mankind and womankind (because let’s face it you girls know you also did the same); the coveted annual College Girls edition of Playboy magazine. I can honestly say I once knew one of these angels. She attended the same college and ran in our same circles. I will protect her bare innocence and just refer to her as Double Ds (CeeCee was really her name, maybe she’s reading this, I will always love you).
Hey I still read the highly acclaimed articles written by the best of the best in the industry to increase my IQ level. The magazine sucks ass now but back then the spreads were the fucking bomb. Just like the buttercream frosting and super-sweet icing on those angel (food) cakes we couldn’t get enough of after we toked out on that magical deep purple indica indulgence; along with everyone else in the dorm as the smoke would fill the floors down to the lobby.
Now whoever said all in moderation or you can have too much of a good thing was either an asexual alien mutation jag off or belonged in a monastery chanting out to heaven…Oh my god look at all those sexy ass nuns. Come on you know some of them went Commando under those habits. Lesbonuns on their knees in front one another. An Unchained Daisy Chain Melody, an orgasmic chant throughout the convent where no monks are allowed. And don’t tell me the Pope don’t get himself off watching all that porn on Italian television or his rendezvous to Epstein’s ‘Sex Island.’
I remember my stay in Rome at this Pension just a stones throw from the Vatican with Elena. I don’t recall her last name but she always smelled of garlic and some other scent which drove my hormones crazy.
Dorothy (or whatever the fuck her name was) loses more than her ruby high heels and her hymen…
Sex, Drugs, and Indie Rock. Chico was the shit back then, maybe still is. In fact this college town was part of the magical Emerald Triangle where Dorothy found herself clicking her ruby high heels only to end up not in Kansas but in bed with a total stranger in Shasta Hall. Which by far was the best dorm scene we had going on. That’s if you didn’t mind all the fog machines and I don’t mean because it was some cold climate change either.
The Yellow Brick Road always led to the Madison Bear Garden aka the Bear and let’s not forget Duffy’s Tavern. I’d frequented both. Duffy’s was the only LGBT bar in town at the time which I frequented much with my political science honors classmate. Hell who was I to say no to free beer, pot, and live music so loud you could have a group orgy and still not hear who the fuck you were originally there with.
Then there was BJs. Yes this was an actual name for the only completely nude strip joint on the outskirts of town. My married friend at the time would supply the ones and would entice me to go with him to the club. We’d always get some young girls from the JC to dance for us on top the bench we’d sit on. And for those who don’t know JC meant Junior College and not Jesus Christ…which I’m sure was shouted out through the evening with these hard working ladies doing the Motley Crue paying their own way through school.
One night though the undercover cunt jobs busted that place, even arresting Grandma who worked the grill and served us beer. After the bar reopened the girls had to stay on the stage as they stripped completely naked. As Poison would sing, You could look but don’t touch. Talkin ‘bout ruining our buzz.
College Working Girls The Night Shift…
Well one night the bench collapses and this one girl ends up in my lap…tits in face and a big smile on mine. Now that was customer service back then. You just tipped them with your dick. Sexual Harassment my ass. More like fuck me long time my Yankee Doodle Dandy Americana. At least that’s the nickname my one Asian girlfriend would say.
Those were the college daze when the party commenced in some strangers bed or crashed out half-naked on their couch. Better yet ‘face plant’ in between the thighs of a foreign exchange student from China.
To be continued…
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