Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Out of Scope

Max and I had long passed the point of inevitability: shirts were unbuttoned, erogenous zones were pawed, pants were unzipped and slid down to ankles. We waddled over to his bed and collapsed on it and, just for custom's sake, I removed all the clothes that still clung to us and slid towards the center on the bed.

Max leapt up and ran for the bathroom but returned mere seconds later. He hadn't flushed the toilet so, being of a curious nature, I started to wonder exactly what he could have done. Fluffed his hair? Pumped up his pecs? I looked for clues as he got back into bed but didn't notice anything difference. That is, until foreplay resumed.

We kissed passionately and sloppily -- almost wrestling, locking our legs in tight. After our mouths were wet and panting, I started that inevitable slide from his face down to somewhere more interesting. I made a token stop at his neck, a casual visit at his shoulder blades, and then a brief call at his right nipple. A gentle flick, a small tug, and then a bite, just to show that I meant business.

And all of a sudden I noticed my mouth was minty fresh.

I lapped hesitatingly at the little brown circle, just to double-check. There was something unmistakeably green and sticky there. Without betraying my suspicions I casually wandered over to the other nipple and noticed it too had a questionable sheen.

I licked. Mint. He'd coated his nipples with Scope.

Just to gather more details, I skipped about ten minutes ahead in the program and tongued his belly button. I tasted sweat. Licked his hip and tasted sweat. Went back to his nipple and found eight-hour minty freshness.

What the hell was going on? Was he hinting? I wondered. Was it my breath? Would I find a roll of dental floss tucked beneath his scrotum? A box of Crest WhiteStrips stuffed up his ass?

Now, obviously this was a petty matter, but it was enough to throw me off. I'm barely functional as is, so even something as small as a penny can derail my entire train. I can hardly manage to eat in public, so if I go to a restaurant with slightly elongated forks I can do serious damage to myself. Heck, I just about pass out whenever I start wondering about how I remember to breathe. My mind had moved somewhere else now, and it was obvious from other body parts that the rest of me was going along.

It was all too much. "Sorry," I said, leaping out of bed and throwing on my clothes. "I just remembered there's somewhere else I have to be."

The next day my friend Gary had a rational explanation. "There's something wrong with you," he said solemnly, like I'd actually listen to a guy eating a chocolate croissant. "You're so egotistical, thinking everything everybody does is in direct response to you. If he put Vaseline on his ass, you'd run home screaming that he thought your dick was dry."

"That is never going to happen," I assured him. "I moisturize."

He shook his head and swallowed another bite. "Let's think about mouthwash for a second. It's alcohol and it's mint, so what does it feel like in your mouth? Tingly? Refreshing? Verging on painful? Now imagine how it'd feel on an erogenous zone."

I'd never been one to venture into sexual eccentricities, being consumed with pure vanilla coitus for 99% of my life. But this discussion intrigued me, and spurred me toward further exploration. I spent the next few days locked in my bedroom with a liter-sized bottle of Scope, dribbling it onto my palm and then slapping it on every inch of skin within reach. It was the most spectacular aphrodisiac, turning even my own clumsy touch into something magical. The birds sang, the sun came out, every cell in my body tingled with delight. I called Max back and profuse with apologies worked my way back into his bed. We both made dashes for the bathroom before we got into bed and an hour later simultaneously exploded with mint-scented ecstacy.

Needless to say, we quickly became inseparable. We barely left the bedroom, going through Scope like water, and for several weeks I had the freshest breath in fifty states. I thought he could be the one, until the inevitable occurred. One day I got off work early and dropped by his place unexpectedly. He met me at the door with a guilty look on his face and Listerine on his breath.

I spun on my heels. "I went to the dentist!" he yelled after me, but by then I was back in my car and too furious to care about exactly whose nipples he'd licked.

1 comment:

danny/ink2metal said...

listerine!?! good lord, that could easily lead to irreparable skin and nerve damage down there!

it was a good idea to turn around and run.