When Your Life Threatens to Turn Into a Porn, By All Means, Go With It!

When Your Life Threatens to Turn Into a Porn, By All Means, Go With It!

I don't know about you guys, but in general my life bears no resemblance whatsoever to any type of movie; with the possible exception of the "woman-is-so-klutzy-she's-cute" montage in your 90s style rom-com. Like, I once did a week long Snapchat story featuring clothes I had spilled beverages on.

But then there was this one time, through some sort of crack in the fabric of reality, I found myself in circumstances straight out of a Vivid video.

(which is a porn company, for all you 90s babies).

So, this all starts one evening years ago, as I walk onto a boat.

This boat is owned by a dude I don't really like. Because he's kindof a dick. But he's friends with my friends so I see him semi regularly and we have a perfectly cordial relationship.

I am on this boat holding a bottle of wine because Boat Eggplant has offered to introduce me to his friend who owns the boat next door. Next Door Boat Guy works at a Government Place I have always wanted to work, and the idea is maybe he could help me get in there.

So our stage is set as Boat Eggplant and I sit drinking a glass of wine, on a boat, waiting for Next Door Boat Guy to arrive, at which point we'll all have dinner.

(This is pretty porny as a set up, cause like, I'm pretty certain there's at least 75 porns that begin with people drinking on a boat, but mostly this is totally all normal.

For now.)

So I am forcing conversation with Boat Eggplant, out of regular human politeness and also because I really want to work at this place and I don't want any perceived bitchiness to burn this bridge, which, lets be honest, is basically made of matchsticks. Next Door Boat Guy is taking his sweet time showing up. He has been held up at work, but is "on his way".  I continue to nervously drink wine and chat with Boat Eggplant.

Next Door Boat Guy is 2 hours late.

By the time Next Door Boat Guy turns up, we are at the bottom of the bottle of wine, over the course of which I have slightly revised my opinion of Boat Eggplant from "dickish asshole" to "sarcastic bastard", which is maybe a 2 notch improvement on the hatred scale, and at minimum I am understanding/enjoying his humor at this point.

Finally we eat! Because Next Door Boat Guy just got here from work and has had zero wine, we open another bottle, for dinner. Next Door Boat Guy is really quite nice, and we have an excellent conversation in which I brag about and show off my language skills, a totally appropriate and not gross amount, and so feel pretty pleased with my (first ever!) successful networking interaction.

Literally right after we finish eating, Next Door Boat Guy peaces out to go home, which feels semi abrupt to me, but whatever. Now, because I don't want to leave right after him and have to walk awkwardly up the dock making additional awkward small talk to him; because I am feeling so pleased with myself; because we are almost at the bottom of bottle 2 and he says "It'd be a shame to let this go to waste", I stay on the boat with Boat Eggplant. Half glass of wine in each our glasses.

I know what you’re thinking - this isn’t a porn, its just three people getting drunk on a boat, that happens literally every Saturday. Well, buckle up.

Once Next Door Boat Guy is gone, the professional element of this evening disappears, and the conversation turns, as so often it will, to sex.

I had always imagined that marine sleeping situations were more like the cots you see in all those navy movies. But Boat Eggplant had a full on king size bed in there. I remark that king size beds are bullshit, because I'm a cuddler and they encourage sleeping without touching. He replies that they have their advantages. I serve back some "Nope, that is bullshit" face.

He continues, "The king size provides a better canvas for tying someone to". My interest piqued, I peek back down into the...cabin? whatever the name of the sleeping part is, idk...to review his sleeping situation, and I detect no headboard. "What are you talking about? You don't have anything to attach the handcuffs to" And he leans in very close to me and, I swear to god, he says

“The thing about sailors is they know a lot about knots”

He then leans all the way over me, not to kiss me, but to reach for a length of rope that he produces from God knows where, I certainly did not notice any rope coils when choosing my seat; and, again, I swear to god, he says "would you like me to show you?"

I am feeling several types of disbelief at this moment, but mostly I'm like YUP, yes, this is very interesting to me.

So he says give me your hands, and I hold them out to him, and he proceeds to tie them together in this elaborate series of knots and coils. And THEN he kisses me, and, after some period of time, leads me down four stairs with my writs tied together to his headboardless king sized bed; the tying up system for which he eventually also demonstrates to me (quite effective) along with several other knot varietals all of which were increasingly incredible.

Afterwards, and to top this whole thing off, its like a Tuesday and it is laaaaaaaate so he drives me home in a slick, expensive (I think, I'm not a car person) silver convertible of the BMV (or something!) variety. As soon as I see the thing I just start laughing, and I say OF COURSE this is your car.

So he drops me off, I walk into my house and see my roommate on the couch, and instead of hello, I say to her, probably with the damn doorknob still in my hand,

Dude, I think I just lived a porn.

And I told her this whole story and she was like, YUP.  That just happened.

May you all be so lucky.

The Sound and the Fucking

The Sound and the Fucking

Beginner's Guide to Ethical Fucking

Beginner's Guide to Ethical Fucking