The road to the hot tub is fraught with danger and excitement.
This year, as I was stuffing my Thanksgiving turkey with my eyes closed and my nose pinched, I revoltingly thrust my arms inside the fowl bird’s backside up to my elbows and felt my way around in the cold, moist darkness for the gizzard.
I could not help but be reminded that this experience was not all that un-similar to many a sexual encounter I may or many not have had. Only my hairdresser knows for sure. But just between us girls, I’ve stuck my hands — and tongue for that matter — into many a place that could be considered even more socially delicate. Thus, I should have been able to take this most recent “cavity search” in stride. Perhaps the near-freezing temperature of the turkey’s hole made the difference between it being a pleasant adventure, like fisting a Muppet, and being a tragic and revolting slaughterhouse incident. It’s at times like this that I need to recite the Drag Queen Oath: “On my honor, I will do my best, to do my duty to Christian Dior and to my jeweler, to never appear in public without make up, to faithfully record Project Runway and compassionately fill any hole that needs stuffing.” Mind you, impeccable manners are a top priority whenever any hole is to be filled.
This brings to mind the time when my friend Tim and I visited Steam Works, a bathhouse in Berkley, California — a place rumored to be a fabulous destination event of its own accord. Upon arriving at the entrance, to my astonishment, we had to stand in line, in the rain for 45 minutes to be able to enter. It was just like waiting in the rope line for entrance to Studio 54, except our fellow queue members were all fellows of the hunky variety, and the rain water was transforming the line into a wet T-shirt contest. I felt assured that the guy right behind me should have won said contest, as he had a six pack you could grate cheese on. On an infinitely more tragic note, I came realized that the name “Aqua Net” is misleading. You would think that with “Aqua” in the title, it would be waterproof, but alas, my hair was beginning to resemble a wet, un-groomed Pekinese.
After providing the handsome uniformed attendant with proper identification and cash of course, I passed through the vault-like front door. And just like when Dorothy and Toto moved from drab Kansas to Technicolor Oz, I had to click my heels together and say “There’s no place like HOMO” as my eyes beheld an endless parade of tanned and toned torsos, gift wrapped in blazingly white towels, and I exclaimed with great exuberance to Tim, “I don’t think we’re in Utah anymore!” I was like Alice in Wonderland as I quickly abandoned Tim and ran off to explore all the dark mazes, glory holes, steam rooms and party-sized showers that had hitherto been only wanton images in my dreams. By God, there was even a fountain that dispensed mouthwash!
As I was being carried away with all the magic of the night, I couldn’t believe my luck as I was literally carried away by a most beautiful, tall, dark and mysterious Adonis who apparently had a penchant for “pudgy” (watch it) queens. Thank God, there is someone for everyone. To my amazement, I had discovered the ever-elusive “chubby chaser,” who is even rarer than the mythical unicorn. He tenderly led me back to his room, and I reveled in breathless ecstasy as he began to explore my entire body with his tongue. To my surprise, he was drawn to my “back door” and was proceeding to give it a first class examination as I writhed in pleasure. After several minutes of this intense delight, I was just about to begin singing, “I Could Have Danced All Night” when suddenly I experienced a sharp pain as his teeth clenched upon my “back door.”
“What the Hell?” I thought, as I looked around to investigate. He did not have obvious beaver teeth, so I let the moment pass and I returned to blissful enjoyment. But then a minute later, even more extreme pain as what felt like a walrus tusk tried to make a piercing.
THE THRILL WAS GONE! Miss Manners had not trained me how to handle this exact type of situation in a ladylike way. So acting just like an angry Miss Piggy, it was time for this queen to take charge again. I firmly reached around, while trying not to snap his spine, grabbed his hair and said, “NO!” I quickly excused myself and went to find Tim. When I did, I exclaimed, “He bit my sphincter! He bit my sphincter!!!” Tim, always a voice of reason during a crisis situation, calmed me down. Enough so, that I was able to find tender loving consolation in the arms of a cute Japanese boy in the hot tub. Isn’t rebound sex just the best? Hereto and henceforth, in the annals of recorded history, this guy shall forever be referred to as “Sphincter Biter Man.”
Like always these events leave us with many eternal questions:
1. Did the Adonis require a severe beaver toothed overbite to make that reach?
2. Is there a fetish for biting sphincters?
3. How does one, in good manners, remove teeth from your sphincter?
4. Is there such a thing as waterproof hair spray?
5. Would Miss Piggy have let him bite her?
6. Will I ever find another chubby chaser?
7. What type of jewelry does one wear in a pierced sphincter?
These and other important questions to be answered in future chapters of “The Perils of Petunia Pap-Smear.”