The Bus Stop to Damascus
The bus had parked at Tim Willice’s stop, outside of the weird little cave he called a house. There was a cone on the walkway, warning people away from the pile of weird shit Tim’s parents had put out for some poor garbage man.
Tim himself was a nice enough kid, for someone who said maybe twelve words total in the four years I rode that bus (eighth grade though junior year of high school). Scrawny kid, bags under his eyes, decent enough attempt at a clean uniform. He clambered off of the bus, and the girl in front of me turned around. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her name.
“So you’re a guy,” she said.
“So they tell me,” I said. Smartass.
“What’s the appeal of blowjobs to guys?”
Just like that, yeah.
The girl who’d asked me this question was a year or two behind me in school. She was not asking me because I was a mature, older student. Nor was this some sort of subtle come on.
I was being asked this, out of the blue, because I was well known for owning a vast and filthy intelligence, and being able to describe (or make up) incredibly dirty sex acts with a detail beyond my years (and, to be blunt, experience).
I pulled something like ninety percent of it out of my ass, of course. I can’t account for the bits that were accurate; I was still looking at Victoria’s Secret catalogues and WWFDivas.com instead of real porn, back then. And being a quirky, fat, foul-mouthed, and fat kid in high school did not make me romantically popular.
A hoot to have around, and someone you could safely ask about BJs, sure. But not Casanova. Anyway:
“Tongue,” I said. Guessed. Said with authority, but secretly guessed, I guess.
“Oh.” A pause.
And then the penny dropped, almost audibly. We went to a Catholic school, so I guess you could’ve called it a revelation.
“Ohhhhhh,” she said, with the Apocrypha of Blowjobs as Revealed by Me filling her mind.
“Yeah,” I said, full of…I dunno, job satisfaction? Validated know-it-all-ness?
“I hadn’t thought of that. That…that makes a lot of sense. Hmm.”
And that’s as far as the conversation went. She turned around, sat down, and stared thoughtfully into space. I went back to my book.
I’ve kinda suspected that every boyfriend that girl’s had since owes me a thank you note.
I still get very nice Christmas cards from Tim Willice.