3 min

For that little gland

The hunger down below

Credit: Xtra West files

Dear Diary; Mmm. Chocolate and Love: together at last. Am still in post-Valentine’s tingle. Everything is pink and warm. I love everyone. Mmm.

But in other news:

Lucy Cadaver and Ryan agreed that it was high time they met lovely boyfriend, Jamie. Lucy burst in like Spanish Inquisition tonight. Informed me that we are all going to the movies and Jamie was on his way.

So, we made the tiny trek across campus and huddled down into the Norm Theatre. The four of us went; the whole goof troop. Was a grand outing: Lucy in her furs, Ryan in his spandex. Jamie and I were stubbornly Bloomsbury.

Lucy and Ryan were oddly silent as the four of us walked over campus; they paired up in front of Jamie and me, obviously listening. Was totally agreeable conversation.

Jamie would make apt remarks. And then I would make an apt reply. And back and forth, with no interruption from either of the others. After a while, the whole world started to look pretty fucking apt.

Inside the theatre, Jamie even bought my ticket for me. Over his shoulder, I saw Lucy squint her eyes up at that like some kind of annoyed cat.

Jamie squeezed my arm and said he’d be back in a minute. Went off to the bathroom; the three of us smiled after him like Leave It To Beaver family.

Then, was crazy, the friends went traitor. Ryan and Lucy, paired like Bonnie and Clyde, wheeled on me all bug-eyed and bursting to destroy.

“You need to dump him post- haste.” Lucy was chewing furiously on a gummie worm and shovelling more into her mouth.

“He’s bad news,” hollered Ryan. “He’s not the one. Get rid of him.”

Ryan took a sip of coke and eyed the bathroom door. “Don’t get us wrong. He’s a sweetheart. I love sweethearts. They taste better. But Baby, where’s the problem? There needs to be some drama.”

Ryan clearly mad. And Lucy merely jealous of glorious Valentine relationship. Is ridiculous argument. Why would relationships need problems in order to work?

Ryan could see that I was not about to dump Jamie based on his being perfect. He took another approach: “What about the sex? I bet he’s a listless top.”

Told them both that we hadn’t actually had top-and-bottom sex yet. Just blowjobs and frottage.

“Why that’s just baby sex!” Lucy shook my shoulder like I was a babbling fool. “You mean to tell us that you two aren’t even having big-boy sex?”

Ryan’s eyes rolled so far back in his head that the pupils disappeared. He said a Hail Mary and adjusted his g-string. “That’s a bunch of third-base nonsense. Fuck that. Either hit a home run or you might as well run home.”

Ryan raved about ass-banging with Lucy nodding fervently behind him. Lucy piped in: “I make a point of taking it up the ass whenever the opportunity arises.” Expected her to cock her head to one side à la Martha Stewart and demurely insist “Buggery: It’s a Good Thing.”

Told Ryan he was horny moron and that blowjobs were sex too. Ryan and Lucy looked at me in pity like I was trying to champion the rights of some disadvantaged minority.

Maybe I’m wrong. It’s been three months, after all. Where is the big-boy sex?

Eyed the two of them suspiciously. Taking sex advice from people like Ryan and Lucy is much like eating raw cookie dough: technically, you shouldn’t.

Now we were all glancing nervously at the bathroom. I showed them the Valentine Jamie had given me. Showed them how lovely it was, how well-made, how thoughtful, how. . . . They hollered, in unison, one word: “Exactly.”

On cue, a disarmingly sweet- looking Jamie came out of the bathroom and moseyed up to the rest of us. “Hey babe” he murmured, pulling me toward him for a peck on the cheek.

Eyed him suspiciously and went into the theatre.

Even while Jamie gave me a handjob during the film, found self wondering about perfection of our relationship.

I wanted the handjob, yes. Everyone wants handjobs. Everyone waits in the dark theatre and wonders if the hand might just creep over. But is that really it? Eyes on the screen, I thought about intercourse. Worried about the possible pain.

Then, something moved in my belly: a restless animal. Maybe my prostate. I think it was trying to talk. Just like a classroom full of militant kids, it started to chant: Find Me! Find Me! Find Me!

And that I couldn’t ignore.

So here’s the deal: Am giving self one month to make the leap. I’m biting the bullet for that little gland.

As God as my witness, I am going to get fucked!