With the drudgery of winter in full manifestation, I arrived home to my warm apartment the other day from one of my visits with my dear pal Raul.
Visits with Raul are filled with laughter and merriment and help in keeping me sane; among other things Raul digs a little ganja the way I do – and has access to a supply. We’re also both hopelessly addicted to The Young And The Restless (he’s Drucilla, I’m Jill) and so our rendezvous are timed around the continuing story.
We see each other at least once a week, almost always on Fridays at 4:30pm for the final gut-wrenching cliffhanger of Y&R. We have jointly agreed the very best time of any week is precisely 5:15pm Fridays. It is by this exact moment that Raul and I are well smoked up, legs stretched out on ottomans, mouths crunching Rice Krispie squares, with the whole weekend and all its possibilities ahead of us. If it’s a particularly good episode-ender, we’ll clutch each other and scream shrilly, giggling like Paris Hilton spotting a new publicity opportunity.
Not that we just smoke pot and watch television. We also chat a mile a minute, usually about sex.
Most recently it was the fascinating fact that Raul is one of those guys who rarely comes. As in jisms, shoots, splats or dumps. He just doesn’t. Although, as I enjoy reminding him, he managed quite handily back when we shagged upon our first meeting.
He’s never been much for orgasms – nor is he big on spanking the monkey – which I find so interesting given that I, in perma-heat, can’t go a day without one or five. In fact, when we discussed the coming issue, I told him I’d already jerked off twice that day.
“Twice!” Raul exclaimed. “Twice? Oh no, girl, not me,” he said, just like Drucilla would.
“That I don’t get,” I said. “I couldn’t fuck someone and not come. Even if he comes first, I still have to at least jerk off. Don’t you?”
Nope, and at one point he even saw a shrink about it. Lots of theories: self-worth issues, the old sex is dirty and bad crap, and control issues, too. It might be that he doesn’t want to be seen letting go in front of anyone. Still, the no-coming thing makes Raul, as many have often told him, the perfect top. As someone who has actually borne witness to one of his Haley’s comets, I assure you Raul’s letting go was no different than any other guy having an attack up my butt.
Then there was the recent chin-wag we also had about the monster cock that’s right here in Toronto. I’ve seen my fair share of XXXL and don’t use the word monster lightly. But this dick is honestly the most formidable tool I’ve ever laid eyes on. I saw it in a photo, but Raul, who experienced it first hand, verified its authenticity.
Raul had this penis (and the man it’s attached to) over one Friday night along with a regular bottom fuck buddy. This is how big the monster dick was: the bottom, who used to bottom in porn, couldn’t take it. The porn bottom, eyes rolling into the back of his head, had to stop every three centimeters for more poppers. The bottom eventually gave up trying. Tears. Big.
These sexy topics, bantered during commercial breaks or a dull Y&R teen story-line, are what Raul and I are all about and I hope that never changes.
These days Raul is in love, a new phenomenon for him which has helped our friendship transcend the usual cock talk. Now we’re talking about feelings, the male species, mothers and do these sneakers make my ankles look fat? Like the four fags on Sex And The City, true love and happily-ever-after have been added to the repertoire of dildos and orgasms.
*Shaun Proulx can be reached at shaunproulx@hotmail.com.
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