17 January 2011

Bubble Boy

Being a gay man in the San Francisco Bay Area is about as difficult as learning to pick your nose. In a city that not just embraces gay freedoms of expression, but encourages it, you can find no shortage of sexual deviances to satisfy the most outlandish cravings. That, along with living in an age where porn is so easily accessible, and free, that plain old gay sex or porn just doesn’t seem to be enough for anyone these days. Being a gay, single man, meant realizing that no matter how many men I had ever slept with, I would always find something new and different in the form of someone else’s fetish.

The old go-to of the leather daddies, bondage lovers and S&M indulgences are still easy to find, but there are so many other flavors out there, that the most hardcore and weathered veteran of the gay scene would still drop a jaw when presented with some of the sexual extravagances that are out there. Having recently put myself out on the market again was my first step into the wild and erotic world of everything I had never heard of. Being a guy who is rather vanilla, while I loved to see people indulge whatever made them smile, I usually shied away from the more unusual. That is, until after a lengthy dry spell in which I finally found myself intrigued by some of the interesting responses I had received, and the rather flavorful aspects of their fascinations.

A case in point was a young man who responded to my ad; a gorgeous young blonde with the body of a swimmer. He, as I would find out soon enough, had a fetish I had never heard of. He was turned on, I mean really turned on, by bubblegum. Yes, watching guys blow up those big pink bubbles was enough to turn him into a ravenous libido-driven sex monkey, and my only challenge was not any aversion to blowing bubbles for a young stud, but my complete and utter lack of ability to blow bubbles at all. I was the that kid who could never figure out how to blow bubble gum, and considering my general indifference towards bubblegum in the first place made it a low priority in my life.

When Mark came over, after having confessed to me his sweet smelling, albeit sticky, fetish, I was willing to do just about anything to get to know this Adonis-esque beauty. And to be honest, I was fascinated by the concept. I was honest and explained that I could not blow bubblegum very well, and to my surprise, he was even more excited at the prospect of teaching someone how to do this rather than just watching.
That first night, we had the usual nervous few moments, us both wondering if the other was really a serial killer, a violent psychopath or just plain off his meds. A drink and some small talk later, he found the small candy dish that I had filled with every brand of bubblegum I could find. I figured that, if I was going to do this, go full throttle and leave nothing to chance or regret.

He un-wrapped a piece and with the slinky movement of someone half cat, and half Casanova, he moved towards me, slipped a piece between my lips and told me to start chewing. After a short while, chewing that gum brought me back to childhood memories of baseball cards and gum that was usually harder than the cards they came with.

“OK, now mush the gum against your teeth and stick your tongue through them.” He explained. “No, not all the way through, because now there’s a hole in it; start over.”

I tried again and, to my utter embarrassment, heard the wet “Flup” sound as the gum shot out of my mouth, and crossed the 3 feet of distance that separated us, and landed squarely on his forehead, where it stayed. My eyes wide with shock and embarrassment, we both fell over laughing. So, we tried and tried, but to my utter lack of surprise, not a single bubble did I make. After almost an hour of trying several more pieces, he came up to me, kissed me deeply and, before I knew it, the gum was gone. That alone was impressive.

“It’s OK, that was awesome!” Mark smiled like a wild hyena. “Till now, no one was even willing to try.”
We spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms, and in various other positions, laughing and, to this day, while I still can’t blow a bubble to save my life, the sickeningly sweet smell of bubblegum still gives me fond memories of the night I spent with my very own bubble boy.

Point of the conversation: I guess life can have all sorts of adventures if only you’re willing to live outside your comfort bubble, even if someone else is blowing it.

- Shaun Taylor

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