My Big Gay Pawn
by J Rock the Penetrator
I love having many gay friends. First of all, they never leech into your pool of women you might possibly want to sleep with, which your heterosexual friends inevitably will. This is especially true when you have decided that you want to sleep with at least half the world’s female population. Second, gay men can dress you. When it comes to “looking nice” I’m all thumbs and testicles. I always take gay men or women shopping for clothes with me. I guess that explains why I own so many banana hammocks.
Once upon a time, after a terrible laundry accident involving bleach, all my clothes for work, and a preoccupation with internet clown pornography, I had to do some clothes shopping. Unfortunately, none of my homo guides to fashion were available so I had to settle for my closest female friend. I suppose by girl standards she has a fairly decent fashion sense… I don’t know, like I said, I like vagina.
Anyway, we enter Express. Normally it makes me very comfortable with its loud techno music and clothing that almost assures at least a rape attempt, but it was rather empty, so we venture in. My friend sees "sale" and like a sorority girl to an erect penis, she’s off mouthing the rack like it’s popping out quarters. I’m just left standing there muttering to myself and wondering how I’m going to make it through this, left with only my wits to dress myself.
Luckily, this was Express for Men and there was no shortage of homosexual customer service representatives. One of them spots me thumbing through the merchandise like a retard trying to trudge his way through the tax code, and realizes an opportunity to do what he does best: flirt with men.
Like I said, I’m arrogant, but I don’t think I’m too far off in saying this guy wanted to love me in a way that would make the Pope vomit all over his copy of Mein Kampf. This was not my first experience with men wanting to toss me like a baseball, and I knew just what to do. Just like the time I had a man buy me drinks all night at a bar and then upon his insistence that we enter the bathroom admitting I had a "boyfriend", I decided to use my powers of chubby furry kid seduction.
We struck up a magical conversation about "matching". Do I have any idea what matches? No, but my years of pretending to care about what women, professors, teachers, parents, and women have had to say prepared me for this endeavor. Either way, I get this smitten little man to pick out all my clothes for me. I had a sweater, t-shirt, and pants by the end of the game and it was "fitting room" time.
If I was going to make this Kiss of the Spiderwoman-esque scheme work for me financially (because obviously being helped to dress myself wasn’t enough) I was going to have to go all Emeril and "kick it up a notch." What notch you ask? The notch between my testicles to be exact. By leaving the door open while trying on my pants, I pulled them up far enough so as to outline my testicle cleavage. Think of it as a male camel toe. Luckily, he looked down and didn’t just scoff at this Urkel-ing of myself. There my balls were, outlined like a female leprechaun’s ta-tas. . I realize how "gay" or "disgusting" this might sound, but bear with me.
He tells me that we should meet up in the city sometime after I tell him I go to the local gay bar “all the time”. I get to the check out counter, my balls no longer separated, and my entire purchase came to $15. If you know anything about Express for Men, you can’t get a nut sack de-fuzzer for $15. Either way, I used my power of seduction to my monetary advantage. That being said, I’ve yet to return to either that store or the gay bar. Thank you testicles. For once you saved my wallet. Usually you go to unbelievable lengths to ruin me financially.
