This Is How I Lost My Virginity. And My Dad Might Also Be Gay.

Shutterstock
Shutterstock

I lost my virginity in a simultaneously horrifying and hilarious manner. Also, I think my dad might be gay, and I felt the need to give a few reasons why as I tell my big gay sexual saga.

The first time I had sex was on the Halloween weekend of my freshman year of college. My dad once suggested we go to a gay club together because gay guys love hitting on him.

I chugged some lukewarm vodka on that fateful night and then proceeded to be frisked by a cheerful and forward gay man dressed as a green fairy. His name was Jose. Also, my dad has both his nipples pierced.
Jose and I ended up stumbling into a back room of the party and were beginning to get hot and heavy when I mentioned that I thought it would be in both of our best interests to practice safe sex, so Jose suggested we head back to the dorms, where he had condoms for just that very reason! Blearily, I followed him into a cab. My dad’s belly button is pierced.

I need to pause the story for a brief moment to clear up any assumptions readers may be currently forming about me. My name is Hilton Dresden and I am not a drunk slut. Prior to this fairy encounter (and honestly, for the most part, after this fairy encounter as well) I had not ever had any sex at all. The most sexual act I had performed up until this October night was kissing my high-school girlfriend’s nipple once in my mom’s car. Some background info: I dated a blonde bombshell my junior year of high school and after being forced to leave her because I wasn’t interested in her private parts we have since become inseparable best friends. Her name is Molly McIntyre, just like the American Girl doll that lived during World War I I think. Also, my dad once told me implicitly that his penis is pierced.

But more reasons I am not a drunk slut: one time a boy asked to hang out late at night and I said no because I was watching the Hannah Montana movie. I played the Sims so much in high school that one time I accidentally pooped my pants a little because I couldn’t tear myself away from my Sim family (I had just purchased the Sims 2: Open for Business, which allows your Sims to open a store or restaurant and start their own business!). I have also been compared in appearance to Golem from Lord of the Rings on several occasions, as well as to Sid, the bully from Toy Story who straps toys to explosives. Still don’t believe I’m not one of those sexy sparkly gay boys who has threesomes every night and uses crack powder instead of sugar in his coffee? Then believe this: I have an armpit rash because my skin reacted badly to my deodorant and I tweeted about it twice.

Also my dad has once wrote a poem to a football player named Brett Favre and got it published to mildly successful reviews.

Back to the virginity story. So I was in the cab with Jose the green fairy and had begun to puke out of the window of the moving cab, my vomit streaming behind us like a lovely tan ribbon. Honestly that should have probably been the first sign that this night wasn’t going so smoothly but I was determined to be a real gay man and so I kept chugging along. We arrived back on campus and were soon in his room preparing for the deed – he put a condom on both of us, which confused me because the one on me never ended up being necessary. Oh, and my dad only wears clothing purchased from the store True Religion. For those of you who don’t know, True Religion is famous for bedazzled jeans with horseshoes stitched onto the buttock region of the denim.

The sex with Jose the green fairy did not go off without a hitch. Suffice it to say that having part of someone else’s body up your butthole is just as painful and full of uncomfortable friction as you might think it would be. The worst part of it all was that I kept having to leave mid-hump to run to the bathroom and puke a little. Now, I know what you’re thinking: if this doesn’t make me a drunk slut, I don’t know what does. But I promise I’m not! Remember all the unsexy things I’ve disclosed about myself? Here’s a few more just to reassure any naysayers out there. I was on a basketball team in fifth grade and the one game that my team won took place while I was on vacation. Binge eating large ground beef burritos is a common part of my nightly routine. I once tried to get rid of a zit on my chin by not putting sunscreen on it while vacationing in Mexico and instead developed a bulbous, oozing yellow sunburn on my chin that remained with me for the next two months of my high school career.

I’m not going to defend myself anymore. I know that I could never be one of those sexually liberated gay men with fun, tasteful facial hair and bulging arms because there are too many disgusting facets to me. Also, I can’t grow facial hair and violently hate exercising. Which brings me back to my father, who loves exercising so much he does intense workout videos twice a day and competes in Ironmans, which are triathlons that make you run a marathon, swim like five miles or something and then bike 300 miles all in a row without even stopping for a Taco Bell break once. Now this may not seem as “gay” a characteristic as some of the others I have mentioned, but I need to make it inescapably clear that my father is OBSESSED with his body in a way that only a gay man could be. He loves looking like an Abercrombie model so much that he only eats things that are somehow altered to be a healthier version of something else. For example, instead of eggs he only eats egg whites that come in a carton, and instead of Taco Bell he eats like a blueberry or two sunflower seeds. And think about it – exercising happens at the GYM. Which is where GAY people go to EXERCISE. I guess technically straight people exercise there as well. This might not be my strongest argument for my dad’s homosexuality.

Anyway, let’s wrap things up with Jose. As I said, we were engaging in anal penetration punctuated by bathroom breaks where I could run desperately for the toilet to engage in a quick round of puking. On my third little potty break, things started off as the first two had. There I was, galloping down the hallway of Jose the green fairy’s suite, my limp, condom-encased penis flopping every which way, when I noticed several tall, rather ugly gay men standing near the bathroom door, petrified. Unable to be bothered, I pushed past this gaggle of gays and lunged for the toilet, while the gaggle stood silently in the threshold, eyes wide, like they had just seen a cow get hit by a car or something equally horrifying and bloody. I wretched a few times at the toilet bowl as Jose joined the ranks of the gaggle and looked on, a sad look of defeat spread across his vaguely Hispanic face. And just when I thought I could sink no lower, I farted. Loudly. Loud enough that the whole gaggle, led by Jose the Green Fairy, definitely heard and definitely concealed horrified snickers as I paused in shock, then stood tall and walked nobly past them back into Jose’s bedroom, not speaking a word. My dad once told me he got groped by “The King of the Gays” at a three story bar in New Jersey called The Iron Monkey.

Jose asked me if I would like to spend the night as I silently but still nobly pulled my gold spandex back on (now might be a good time to mention that I was dressed as a slutty cop that night. My interpretation of slutty cop involves a cop hat, a button-down shirt tied in a knot above my belly button, and a simple pair of gold spandex. I still stand by the fact that I am for the most part neither drunk nor slutty.) My response to Jose was a resounding, “That’s ok. I’m going home.” I didn’t even grab the cop hat as I (still nobly) stormed out of his suite, my dignity still very much intact. And, yes, my father once won a swimsuit competition on a cruise ship by wearing nothing but my ex-stepmom’s hot pink thong, to the apparent delight of the cruise ship swimsuit competition judges (probably gay, just based on their profession.)

Yes, that’s right, I have an ex-stepmom. That’s because my father has been married twice (both times to women) and both marriages have ended in divorce. Which is odd, because both my mother and my ex-stepmother are devastatingly beautiful women who are smart and nice and funny and had no trouble finding hot new men after things didn’t work out with my papa, who also happens to be a very good-looking, intelligent and for the most part kind man. The only solution I can conclude to be plausible is that my dad is at the very least part homo. He is currently dating an Asian woman named Susan who lives in New York. I’ve never met her but I hear she is very nice and easy to talk to. My ex-stepmom is named Alana and she is dating a very attractive and friendly Indian man named Ali Khan, who incidentally just friended me on Facebook! You could say I am killing it. My mother, who is honestly the best, kindest, smartest, and most gorgeous woman I have ever met is happily remarried to a kind engineer named Kevin and they are currently raising an incredibly well-rounded child named Hayden who has equal love for his hockey team, his chess-club, and his gay older brother – me! I guess the reason I need to share all of this follow up information about my parents’/stepparent’s/ex-stepparent’s love lives is because I want to quickly whine about how active and easy these adult’s love lives seem to be in comparison to my love life, which is currently sad, dusty, and full of me whining a lot to the Lady Gaga poster on my wall.

You may be wondering what ever happened with me and the Green Fairy and the Green Fairy’s roommates. After I left his suite I went to bed in my own room a few floors up and did not emerge from my bed for the next day and a half except to pee and buy peanut butter. I felt embarrassed, slutty, and relieved to no longer be a virgin. Now I was really, decidedly gay. I had allowed another man inside of me. No one, no where could accuse me of heterosexuality ever again. I have not spoken to or made eye contact with Jose ever since, but I do see his roommates occasionally at parties, and they are quick to approach me and hail me as a “legend,” which is how it came about that I often refer to myself these days as “legendary.”

I will conclude this story by defending the argument that I am NOT, under most circumstances, a wild sparkly slut like some gay men out there whom I have met. I have never been able to grow a moustache and still somehow be attractive – the most hair I can grow on my face is a wispy harelip that I like to sometimes call a “trash ‘stache.” I recently spent thirty dollars at a burrito store all in one night. I once ate my sister’s tooth by accident because it was embedded in her leftover corndog from Chili’s. I know every word of The Incredibles because it is one of three DVDs I have with me at college and most weeks I end up watching it instead of doing homework. Above all, I fart a lot, as demonstrated in this story.

My dad told me he had sex with a man.

Just kidding about that last dad fact. But it could be true. TC mark

More From Thought Catalog

blog comments powered by Disqus