Backseat Birthday Blowjobs

Is there anything better than birthday sex? Not having debt probably is. But anyway, there is also nothing that can go as terribly wrong as birthday sex. Especially due to the heightened expectations. So here I am, having spent a quiet Wednesday hanging with my friends, celebrating yet another orbit in the flesh sack I call a body, making it a lengthy 19 years. Most people say they’re in their prime as they approach their 20s, but I honestly felt like a Can of 19-year-old non-perishable baked beans. Meaning, just because it isn’t post-expiration, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t throw it out anyway.

So, there I am, aged like a cheap bottle of Jacob’s Creek and irrecoverably horny. There is only one solution. Grindr. I load up the app, change my username to “looking” and wait. Not long after I get a message from a handsome enough, older man saying he ‘will be free after work’ to which I agree but warn I cannot host. Turns out, despite his seniority, neither can he. I didn’t question it and we agreed that messing around in a car will do. The next while is occupied by the lovely process of douching, trying to shave my ass cheeks in the bathroom mirror and showering; all of which meant my two flatmates had no access to the bathroom for an hour and a half.

Next thing I know, I get a message he’s “15 minutes away”, then “5” and finally “outside”. I get to the ground floor and aim to walk out unnoticed but am met with a boy I’d spent all year attempting to impress; and here I was clearly unable to come up with a decent reason to be leaving the halls at 1am in nothing but flats and a cardigan (yes, I do own a dick sucking cardigan). So instead I crack a terrible joke about probably being dead in an alley if I don’t see him tomorrow (yes, I’m that smooth…) and rush outside.

Now I may be absolutely classless, but the last thing I need is a fellow neighbour to see me getting rooted in a car (love a mechanic porno moment). You may feel like Jack and Rose in that one Titanic scene but bitch, you really just look like two chimps at the zoo, going at it. So, I tell him to drive a couple streets to an essentially abandoned parking lot. Yes, I agree, I don’t know how I’m still alive either.

Here is where the phrase “life’s a party and I’m the pinata” really fits in. Amidst the awkward small talk, I mentioned my birthday and he politely wished me. We discussed his job and the reality of his approximate decade on me really sets in. Anyway, he suggests moving to the back seat and I agree, only to turn and see A God Damn Baby Seat. That’s right mother fuckers, it was a big ol’ baby seat. Now I don’t know this stranger’s life story, but I made some solid conclusions from there. Yet, immorally, I was still more concerned with getting off. But wait, it gets worse.

After an awkward shuffle into the backseat and a decent blowjob, things start progressing…but not before he starts singing “Happy Birthday”. In this moment I genuinely think I would’ve been a therapist’s wet dream (or worst nightmare) on account of the sex driven, depraved and daddy issue plastered scenario this had become.

Following this unfortunate serenade, we attempt to have sex and, well, he gets it in but I truly cannot escape the reality of the baby seat now occupying the front seat and the fact a random older man sucking my dick had just sung me happy birthday more than my own father. So, this mixture of variables made my asshole tighten up more than a white person’s lip when they smile at strangers. I did manage to orgasm when absolutely closing my eyes and thinking about anyone but the man giving me a handy in that moment. After cleaning up, I politely decline an offer for a ride back as I “enjoy walking”. The walk home was reflective, a little bit comedic and appalling as usual.

It truly is a Birthday I can never forget. And, to Mark at Massey Counselling, I’m so sorry.

Kind Regards

The Tatted Twink