I found my place in no where. (Day 95)

Warning: The following story contains lots of male nudity, boyish charm, tummy sticks, ass slapping, drinking, possible sexual harassment, naked hugs, Floppy Moose (explained below for those who don't know) mistreatment of a sock, general guy love, and stupid pining for a beautiful girl.

Last night/early this morning was the closest I've ever been to actually seeing a scenario of prison rape happen. I wasn't the recipient, but not unlike what my idea of prison might be, the weakest link of the group was singled out.

I should back up and explain:

I had a friend come in from California, and in tow she brought back home another friend of mine who was out visiting her. Seeing as how she was completely booked up minus a few hours last night, we got together for a fun little night.

But fun little nights that start off innocently enough, soon turn into borderline anarchy, something I'm sure we've all seen about 100 times before. It's kind of like that song, "We Didn't Start the Fire" by Billy Joel. We didn't start the fire, but we didn't exactly rush to put her out, either.

Sometimes you just become entranced by fire, and in the back of your head you're thinking, "Someone should really put some sand on that...but unfortunately I have a beer in my hands, and I'd have to set down the bottle. And I really hate flat beer." And at the same time, you're quite content just to watch it burn.

Burn motherfucker, burn.

What started out as four people just sitting in an empty room drinking a few beers and shooting the breeze, soon evolved into six people; one of which had little to no reservation or shame in their naked body. God bless them for that.

Every single time I've been around this person, virtually, they wind up naked in some facet or another. Whether it be just a friendly game of naked grab ass with a few other men (theres nothing gay about men pinching each others asses) or in the name of art, he truly had no reservation in nuding up.

Last night was no exception.

It started out innocently enough, with the lovely Velvet questioning how/why a man would masturbate into a sock instead of a condom. Valid question. Seeing as how this persons room we were drinking is nothing short of a mad genius, and a great host, he decided to go ahead and show everyone.

Now you might be asking, "Aaron, why wouldn't you explain it?"

Well, friends, I don't actually masturbate all that much, for one, and for two, sometimes it's best to let someone else who has all the answers explain. Especially when they have such a deep, and burning passion to educate and enlighten.

So our host goes into the bathroom, while another person who was with him prior was indisposed in the crapper, and comes out Red Hot Chili Peppers style. He proceeds to explain how the sock method works, and when asked about possible chaffing and why not to use a condom instead, he replied brilliantly: "Condoms are expensive. Socks you can just reuse."

In this current economic strife, I believe that thats the most appropriate response. The last time I bought condoms, it put a dent of twelve dollars in my pocket, and to be honest I'd rather just roll the dice with coitus interruptus, than constantly have to schill out 12 bones every single time.

Condoms are a rip! If they were any other product, if you paid 12 dollars for something you can only use once on something that you'd like to do quite often, you'd burn the person standing in your way. I've had sex 7 times in one day, mathematically speaking, I'd have to be goddamned Mr. Burns to afford my appetite.

But masturbation...thats been God's gift to the poor and uncoordinated with the ladies (me on both accounts). It's a time killer, it's something to do under stress (especially in the stalls at work when you're really stressed out...don't act like that doesn't happen in there). And it's free. It's free, free, free. The best things in life are free, and this is a prime example.

But for it cost money...to pay to do that...thats slapping God directly in the mouth in reply to a great gift. And when you have magic fingers like I do, it's doubly insulting.

But back to the task at hand. No pun intended.

So our charming house guest shows us, and the whips off the sock and tosses it at his brother (mentioned above: The Good Time are Killing Me") who then whips it off into his friends face, and I'm not shitting you, his name is Eddie Murphy. (This guy is white though, and not funny, at least not in the way Eddie Murphy used to be funny. However, when I discovered his name, I'd been drinking, and made sure to inform him how bummed I was that the PJ's wasn't on the air anymore ((minus Adult Swim)) and how awesome "Raw" was.)

Soon after, our house guest informed us of his other skills. Being a talented songwriter and musician, he paid tribute to none other than yours truly. Finally, I'm starting to get my just dues in this goddamned world.

He shared a dream he'd had about me, where I was nothing but a kind, giving and talented lover, with such lines as "He made me feel safe as he laid above me". Truly, he captured what it's like to make love with the Show Stopper.

However, ol' Bowfinger seemed to be truly terrified of the situation. Curling up, hiding next to Velvet, as he was the closest to him, I realized quite a few things: One, in prison they route out this kind of weakness, and two it's really damning to be this repressed.

Our host once again got naked, and stayed that way for the better part of the night. This time when he got naked, I got a nice view of his ass, and wound up stating (you would have, too) "Do you work out? You could bounce a quarter off that ass." And it's true.

For the rest of the night, our lovely host proceeded to attempt to lick/nibble Dr. Doolittles ear (Velvets suggestion), bounced his member off the guys head (while he was under a hat, and blanket, and cowardly hiding next to Velvet) attempted to play tummy sticks (that was my suggestion), and all other sorts of fun things. At one point he even locked Axl Foley in the bathroom, and when he escaped, his face was filled with tears.

I've never seen the expressions of pure and unbridled terror that this mans face exhibited. Ever.

It was also Mr. Murphy's birthday.

Some people are just ungrateful for birthday gifts, and it sickens me. I was nothing but ecstatic for my love ballad/tribute song.

One of the more entertaining moment of the night was when our house guest performed an act called, "The Floppy Moose." For those of you who don't know what a floppy moose is, it's when a guy, usually in boxers, is standing and spreads his feet out wide, and thrusts his hips back and forth, making a smacking sound with his junk.

However, our house guest decided to be an innovator and ask if anyone knew what this was called, did the floppy moose, and me being such an educated and learned man in the way of genital sports, said, "Oh, thats the floppy moose." This resulted in a high five.

I high fived naked guy.

Far be it for me to ever turn down a high five, honestly.

What kind of night wouldn't be complete without a three-way hug, with one of the members naked? Well friend, I'm not sure I ever want to find out. Our house guest decided he needed a hug, and I love to hug.

Velvet joined in, stating, "If you ever thought you were bi-polar before..."

I hugged naked guy, and beautiful girl. I could probably die happy.

Side note, while thrusting my own genitals at both members of this hug, because thats how hugs work, I don't do "ass out" hugs, I'm about unity damn it, I think there may've been some accidental touchage of crotches. Whatever, I was wearing Dickies, at least they've earned their name now.

At the behest of our host, he asked someone to smack his ass and call him a bitch.

Now, I mean I've already hugged and high fived naked guy. Maybe someone else should've stepped up to the plate, but then again...I have magic fingers.

I licked my hand (who doesn't when about to smack an ass?) got a running start, and slapped his ass, calling him a bitch. Definitely got that satisfying smack, too. Those kind where the smack really hits everyones ear drums perfectly. You know what I'm talking about. I was quite proud of it, actually, and I think others were impressed as well.

I should mention most of this debauchery, while loud, took place with the guy who I previously mentioned in the crapper, asleep on the floor while all of this was going on. This guy was unflappable. Even when he was awake, he sat there smoking not even seeming to notice that his friend was mounting a clothed man huddled into the fetal position with fear in his eyes, weeping.

As most nights end, this one ended with our guest back in his pants and us deciding we needed food. While I neglected to eat, the ride back was awkward, with Eddie Murphy in the back attempting to assure us he was in on the joke the whole time. I understand people being uncomfortable, but there are times when you have to go with the flow, even if you don't want too, if only just to save yourself. This night is an account of that. Many times he was informed if he'd just call naked host "Papa Smurf" or hug him, the torture would be over.

I suspect the fear was a front, or a part of morbid fascination in wanting our naked host to continue to serve us the entertainment.

But while dropping off Eddie Murphy, I also realized something:

It a few minutes, she'd be gone. Velvet, I mean.

I've had few people impact my life the way she has, and every time she's visiting it's like a whirlwind. Every one of us, at least in my opinion, are enablers of the worst kind. Kind of like a, "I dare you to try and top that" kind of thing, if that makes any sense. But I love that. It's a break from such monotony, and you need that, or at least I know I do, in order to survive in a world that gets so stuck on auto tune, that theres no variation, you almost beg for that chance at a cracking voice or unscripted solo.

She's that unscripted solo, and I know I won't be seeing her for a long time.

Things happen, and things suck. Things beyond my control that make me wish I still had hair so I could fucking rip it out, but it's in holding still and keeping refrain that make the moments of clarity more deserved and loved. It's a hard road to walk, and a thin line to confine yourself too, but you just have to hope that theres a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. And God help me, I know I do, but it gets harder to believe in that gold when the line gets thinner, and you try to learn your place in peoples lives. I know I have a lot of thinking to do, and I knew it last night, too.

But staring down the barrel of the end of the world, if it were your last night on Earth, would you sit in revelry about how much you wish it wouldn't happen, or would you say 'fuck it' and choose life one last time, in the most absurd way possible?

Always leave them wanting more. Always leave wanting more, just in case. Just in case you come back someday, you're still able to find that amount of passion you left on stage. Hopefully it's enough where you can run with it.

Otherwise this worlds going to end, and you're going to spend your last ten seconds wondering where the last 24 hours went, and how you wish you would have spent them differently.

-Until tomorrow.