MANGINA (February 2012)
At approximately 2pm on a Friday afternoon, I received a puzzling text message from Davey with some sort of media attachment. Couldn’t make out exactly what it was from the thumbnail, but I knew better than to open it at school. It reminded me of this ambiguous photograph I happened upon, as a naïve undergrad, in my college’s darkroom. Lifted that photo from the drying rack and inspected it from every angle with narrowed eyes then widened ones, as if it were a magic eye, until I determined it was of stubbley balls really, really close up. Strange how I’m able to recognize a tone, e.g., “filthy,” before a distinct object takes shape.
From the thumbnail Davey’s attachment resembles a shaved vadge. You press play and it swings out at you: a penis distorted because of the awkward angle, skewed perspective. As if it is an extreme close up of someone’s schnozz. The best part, though, is the accompanying sound effects. When it is a vadge, he makes a gurgley noise; as it swings out at you, he says in a high pitch “bing!” (like Chandler Bing!); and the finale is a low-pitched “dunn” (as if to denote “tada!”)
Woohoo, just got permission to post the video, all three glorious seconds of it. The verbal description does not even approximately do it justice. Boohoo, wordpress won’t let me post videos without purchasing an insanely expensive subscription. So here are some scrambled pornesque screenshots. If you know me in real life and want to be e-mailed a copy of the video, let me know.
Unsure how to respond, the first thing that came to mind was my visceral default.
Genie: Um, ew?
Davey: That’s hilarious is what you meant
Genie: I used to have a Beavis and Butthead shirt that made almost the same sound effects.
Genie: To what do I owe the honor of being the recipient of this juvenile video?
Davey: I sent it to people that I thought would find it humorous. Apparently I was mistaken in your case
Mulled over it for hours, until I went out for pizzabeer with all of my postbac friends. Was tentative to reveal initially. Despite what you might think about my relationship with social desirability, I don’t want to be known as that weird sex girl (would far prefer for sex to be a mundane topic). Also, it was my first sext ever! But not the private, sexy kind. Still a special moment. Mostly, I was confused, because I couldn’t figure out whether the video was actually of him. Which made me preoccupied, like, omg, I thought I was a cock connoisseur and I can’t even identify a penis in a line up. Granted it was a flaccid one from a novel angle. But, I mean, I’ve hooked up with him a bunch of times over a series of years. So I should know what it looks like, right? And, also, he is half black. That’s, like, an identifying feature! Nothing could make me feel as ridiculous as he must have felt setting up that video, though.
The other thing I was preoccupied with was the time at which he sent it: approximately 2:00pm on a Friday afternoon. I was in school like a good adult-student. He works in finance, for Christssake! This stunt seemed a step below doing lines off a toilet-paper dispenser. I thought of that scene from Schizopolis: the best work masturbation scene ever! One of my friends mocked me when I referred to Schizopolis hyperbolically. He wondered in what world there is a whole category of movies rated according to their masturbation-at-work scenes. And then I saw Shamed, so ha! Readers, please comment if you can add to the list of movies in which people jerk off at the office. Wish Office Space could be included in that list. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
My friends’ reception was way more welcoming than I expected. Before viewing the vid, one of my classmates exclaimed, “This is the first sext you’ve ever received?” Okay, so they already know I’m that weird sex girl. They passed it around like a slut, and one-by-one they giggled, but no one burst into laughter like the boys. The more immature, the louder they let loose. Their assessment was it was nothing short of brilliant. Among the genre of bromance, fratire, etc. One girl shared my fixation with the time of sending, and visualized how he arranged his junk and camera in the work bathroom. I’m confused about why he was sort of shaved. How much forethought it took. He isn’t a very hairy dude, though, so maybe that’s him au naturale with framing that accentuates his hairlessness.
I had to give credit, where credit was due.
Genie: Okay, so all of my friends thought it was hilarious. Way to go.
Continued to be vaguely hung up on my inability to identify a penis, until two of my friends visited me nearly a year later, after my first surgery. Nice that colon removal can’t take my mind off cock. We compared his video to his facebook pics: it was a match, the skin tone. Weird how I think of him as half-black when, from his actual skin tone, I would never be able to tell without knowing. The one-drop rule. Sigh. And, yes, his penis is half big. Not like half of it is big; rather, it is only sort of big. Would not look at it and think: BBC! Would merely think: mmm, pretty; cum on me, please, then rub your cock in it. I’m really into color swatches, as in, paint swatches, but I think penis-matching is my new fav game. Like, can you match the penis to the person? It’s hard!
My friends always ask, incredulously, “Genie, where do you meeet these guys!?” Let’s just say we’ve known each other casually since we were adolescents. We hadn’t talked for a while until facebook was a thing. A space where drunk college kids and internet nerds convened side-by-side in relative anonymity. The former ready-to-fuck. Before everything was public to the adults. Before we became the adults. With finance jobs. And commensurate coke habits. Let’s turn the clock back to 2005-2006. Prior to facebook’s commercialization. When communication was direct, and listing something as an “interest” did not mean you received ads from it and advertised it to your “friends.” At this point in social networking history, there was a category in your facebook profile for your spring break plans: Puerto Rico, 2006, baby! And another one for “clubs and jobs.” Because I’m such a funny girl, I entered “sucking **** like it’s my job.” Which fell under the category of “just kidding, but not really!” I mean, I didn’t get paid for it, but it sure was the most productive thing I did in college. Certainly caught Davey’s attention. I present you with the relevant portions of our contact. Here is a transcript of what it takes to get into my pants. A penis, mostly, in addition to acknowledgement that girlz like ta fuck!!! And not in a performative, Cancun spring break, Girls Gone Wild kinda way. Really only the boldface portions are important [boldface added for emphasis].
September 29, 2005 8:18 pm
Davey: so do you actually enjoy giving head that much?
October 1, 2005 3:04 am
Davey: that wasnt meant to be insulting by the way. simple curiosity
October 3, 2005 8:33 pm
Genie: wanna find out for yourself? kidding. creepy fucking message from someone i haven’t seen in a long time. i guess the answer is sometimes. once i puked on a guy’s dick. he deserved it.
how is your life as a yuppie? from [high school] to a company with [Jew name] in the title– amazing. ‘wealth’ has to be one of my favorite euphemisms.
i suppose i should wish you a happy jewish new year, from one twice a year jew to another.
[his job description must have been “wealth management”]
October 3, 2005 10:33 pm
Davey: that was easily one of the creepiest things ive ever done, but in my defense the question was more an effort to see if your profile was serious rather than a question about your sexual habits. my life as a yuppie has been going pretty well, thanks. i wear lots of polo shirts, do lots of cocaine and make fun of minorities, (even though i am several minorities). anyway, hope the message seems a little less creepy. enjoy the rest of you rosh hashana
October 4, 2005 3:38 pm
Genie: my favorite creepy thing to do is facebook one-night stands whose last names i shouldn’t even know. my profile is serious, though meant to be funny. i guess the only thing in it that isn’t true is that i am interested in women. i am, in fact, not interested in women– i just fuck them. i have this compulsion to talk about my sexual habits in public, and what is a greater forum than the internet. as far as the “sucking cock like it’s my job” thing goes, i have no job, and i seem to suck a lot of cock, so i thought it would be appropiate. i’m too jappy to work a shity minimum wage job, and not jappy enough to sell my soul to a financial firm… i heard through the grapevine that you’re a big man whore. i guess that’s what coke does to you.
October 4, 2005 6:42 pm
Davey: first of all it is a fairly well known fact that i’m a whore, however i i dont subscribe to the double standard so no need for ‘man’. Also, I hooked up with a lot of girls before i ever did coke, so i wouldnt really link the two. Next, I also enjoy talking about my sexual behavior in public. i frequently talk about beating off and always make fun of myself in public when i get too drunk and couldnt fuck a girl the night before… anyway, jew dinner is starting. i must admit, this is fun, so feel free to muse all you want
October 7, 2005 9:46 pm
Genie: i couldn’t agree more about the ‘manwhore’ thing. i actually wrote a paper that included my hatred for that phrase and i’m planning on writing a thesis on sluts and the sexual double standard. when guys root for sexual equality i often fear its a ploy to get in more women’s pants. but i guess that’s no worse than the self-indulgent nature of my desire to write a thesis on sluts. ever see the episode of “it’s always sunny in philadelphia” where one of the guys joins a pro-choice rally just to get laid?… i hate the phrase “beating off.” it sounds so violent, and masturbating should be about pleasuring yourself, not squeezing every last drop out of yourself. i’ve been hooking up with this guy who is 24 and still jerks off 2-3 times a day. if i thought he was just extra horny i would be fine with it, but he strains and forces himself and it all just seems so unpleasant. it’s also unpleasant to see a guy with such a tiny penis go to town on himself. he barely has to move his hand. and here is the weird thing– he doesn’t even use his hand; this guy uses his boxers to jerk off with because he prefers the delicate touch of cotton. in any event, “beating” implies injury and the phrase “beating off” reminds me of the scene in “deepthroat” where linda lovelace unwraps a bandage from harry reem’s weeping penis. i guess i should be happy that this guy takes the extra steps to not injure his over-used dick. i also hate coke, so i guess i hate a lot of things that you like. but we could have fun talking about our sexual habits in public, so let’s hang out sometime. just don’t expect to end up with your dick in my mouth. my number is [number]. i’m free all the time, but if you call you should leave a message cause i screen my phone calls…
October 8, 2005 9:43 am
Davey: i use the the term beating off because i think it sounds hilarious. it sort of stems from a joke i had with my friends from high school. I personally do not see the pain and struggle you see in the term, but will try to use a different phrase around you. the boxers thing is kinda weird, thats all i’ll say about that… anyway, bold move giving me your number. i’m obsessed with text messaging and will almost certainly end up texting you as soon as i get drunk tonight, because thats pretty much what i do. my number is [number], i think we would have fun hanging out, but dont call expecting my dick to end up in your mouth
Guess I haven’t matured much since 2005, huh?
Not sad until you’re a used-up slut at 30, though (he’s already hit 30, but I guess the age is more like 35 for dudes). One more year to go out in glory!
Hilarious to think phone calls were still the status quo back then and texting was considered new technology. Mainly used to communicate from one bar to another, when you are unable to arrange an end-of-the-night destination over the blaring Kelly Clarkson. Also used to negotiate sex with multiple prospective partners simultaneously. Don’t wanna put all your eggs (or spermies) in one basket!
Davey came as advertised. The sexual equity thing was no ploy. On one hand, it was easier to negotiate with him because he understood I just wanted to get laid too. On the other hand, it was harder to negotiate with him because I couldn’t use sex as a bargaining chip; he knew he was as valuable to me as I was to him.
Among my favorite moments with him: After he came and I came all over his chest, I remained on top of him while I caught my breath. Seconds later when he fell asleep (true to his word, he does not fall asleep on women masturbating), I had to figure out how to peel myself off (like ripping a band-aid off) without waking him up. We were literally glued together with bodily fluids. How romantical. When I finally detached myself, I tip-toed to his living room and left him a sex goodbye note. Said something like “Thanks for the sex. You are a hideous snorer. Goodnight.” The next day I inquired as to whether he had received the note, and he replied, “Yes, thank you; it was lovely.” Have always been fascinated by the formal post-sex note (a sex epilogue of sorts). Never had the honor to receive one and had previously never found myself in a situation where it felt appropriate to leave one. Would be undeniably rude to sneak out on a stranger, you could tell a friend you aren’t staying, and if your friend falls asleep before you have a chance to discuss, it is no big deal because he knows where to find you. Was raised with the good manners to leave a thank you note for an enjoyable time. Thanks, finishing school (errr, I mean all-girls, private school) education. With such polished social poise, soon I’ll earn my “Mrs. Degree.”
Another favorite moment with Davey: I went to his place coked to the gills (don’t judge—hipsters do yuppie drugz, too, sometimes), fucked him, declared I was walking home, listened to his protest, and explained I wasn’t staying over because I was gonna be up for hours more and he is a horrible snorer anyway. He exclaimed, “I’ve been used!” Cuttte.
Found some texts from the time period during which he tried to make amends and I gave him the frigid vagina. Only have his side of the conversation; somehow it works better that way.
June 20, 2010
Well I’m bright eyed and bushy tailed
What if I promise to do my best to get you off twice?
I think they just want to get off. I get used a lot
[This was in response to my asking what other girls expected from him. Whether they agreeably showed up on demand like high-class call girls.]
Thought I might be invited over
Obviously the night I’m trying to come over you’re not responsive
Hey. I’m trying to make amends. At least give me a shot.
June 27, 2010
So you need primetime slots?
That’s pretty reasonable. How about a movie night tomorrow?
Love his focus on getting used. Wish it were on my clock.
To answer his question, I do actually enjoy giving head to him that much. If only he gave me those primetime slots and treated me like he appreciated me. Yuppie entitlement, for shame. Not that I’m not willing to come over on demand when desperate.