The Drooler (Part 3)

Gulls getting it on

Gulls getting it on (Photo credit: JohnFinn)

Well, true to my charitable nature, I simply braced my inner self and told my mind not to think thoughts of repulsion. I told myself that a little spit never hurt anyone and in many instances it can even come in somewhat handy when you think about it. Which is what I discovered a few minutes later…

I got him to stop kissing me for god sake, since that is what was now ruining what would have otherwise been a fairly decent encounter. And I tried to put things into perspective. No one could force me to do this more than once, so if it went any further downhill from here, then I would just call it quits with this dude. Fair and simple. And like the noble character that I’ve always known myself to be, I decided not to mention it to him at all, because hey everyone knows that a man’s ego is everything to him and almost every inch of his ego can be found in his estimation of his sexual prowess. This was a good old man, in spite of the dump-truck load of spit he’d just sent down my esophagus, and I had no reason to want to destroy him.

So, as I have been known to do all too frequently, I forgave him and castigated myself, suffering in embarrassed silence. Still, I was eager to switch from out of the missionary position, which in my estimation was probably to blame for his gravitationally-inspired transgression. I mean, he certainly didn’t drool when he was in a standing or sitting position (did he?)

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