It's 1984 and my office chums and I are eating lunch in our conference room. Eric is reading The New York Times, no doubt looking for something to argue about. He's twice my age and a brilliant policy analyst whose expertise is fostering technological innovation. I am a mere typist, since six months ago when my career as a sex worker foundered on my inability to put out for Republican closet cases.
Eric is also a former Marine. I am very much a current homo. We are star-crossed adversaries who occasionally drive our coworkers to grab their sandwiches and flee due to our willingness to lock horns over everything from nuclear proliferation to cheese.
Eric rattles the paper. “This is interesting.”
I say, “Oh?”
Sarah, our administrative assistant, groans. She understands that “interesting” is code for ”something I can use to bait Bryan.” Others at the table look anxious.
“The Times has had some sort of computer fit and moved the decimal points in the numbers throughout an entire article,“ Eric notes innocently.
Sarah reads over his shoulder as Eric points. “‘Current research indicates that it is not unusual for a gay man to have as many as 1,000 sex partners in a single year, and lifetime totals of 10,000, while unusual, are not unheard of.‘”
Several coworkers began picking up their lunches.
I snort. “They find the cocksucker equivalent of 100 crazy cat ladies, extrapolate to an entire population, and call that statistics.”
Eric can snort too. “I think they need to hire an editor who can count zeroes. Someone's going to be stupid enough to believe those numbers.”
“There's nothing wrong with the numbers and everything wrong with the generalization.” I'm delighted that Eric is so naive, and prepare to savage him.
Eric looks delighted - he thinks I'm clueless. “So you're trying to tell me some guy is having sex a thousand times with a thousand different guys in one year.”
I'm smug. “Who am I to argue with the newspaper of record? But it's 1,000 partners, not 1,000 times. One presumes some of these pigs went back for seconds at least a few times.”
Sarah groans again. “If I wanted to smell this much testosterone I'd work handing out towels in a locker room. If you're going to keep this up, I'm going to finish my salad in my office.” We ignore her as she packs up her things and prepares to follow the other evacuees.
“That's nearly three times a day, forever. I don't think that's possible.” Eric is being very much the jarhead.
This catches even Sarah's attention. “It does seem a little excessive. Not to mention tiring.”
I'm unruffled. “You don't get it. It's not three times a day. It's none all week, then go to the baths on Friday night and do 20 guys, then go back on Saturday and do 40.”
“I can't image that.” Sarah frowns. “Actually, I can.” She looks startled.
Eric is not amused. “It is not possible for any man to have sex 40 times in one night.”
I'm confused by this statement, “It isn't?” I'm trying to remember if I personally have ever been so extroverted. Sarah has assumed cat/canary expression I can't interpret.
I honestly don't get it. “It may be tacky, but it's definitely not impossible. Just dedicated.”
“It's impossible! It is impossible for a man to have sex 60 times in one night.” Eric's getting a bit loud. Sarah turns to me with a “your serve” expression.
Light dawns. “Uh, Eric… What do you mean by ‘sex?’”
I'm thrilled to see Eric blushing. He has more degrees than I can count, but stammers beautifully.
Sarah has had enough of this. “You've upset his delicate USMC sensibilities. He means he can't come 60 times in one night and neither can anyone else. Though you know I wouldn't mind trying.”
I'm baffled. “Who said anything about coming?”
Eric isn't done being flustered, so Sarah interprets. “It isn't sex unless Eric comes.”
Eric takes umbrage at this and blurts, “Well not just me!”
I'm horrified. “You mean if you don't get it up, stick it in, and get it off, it's not sex?“
Eric is puzzled. “Well that's what it is!”
Sarah heads out the door. “I think I'm going to become an anthropologist.”
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Comments
oh and btw, if it matters, i'd say that sarah likes YOU best
BBE... According to DC law at the time, Bill hadn't had sex. Of course, according to DC law, I never did either. (I gather my twenties were just a long succession of misdemeanors and felonies, sort of like bingo without a permit).
I would remind both the NYT and your friend Eric that Wilt Chamberlain claimed to have had sex with 20,000 women. But hey, if you gotta keep score, aren't you missing out on the fun?
I would blow more sunshine up your posterior, but that would be anticlimatic because it's redundant, and I am orgasmic centric.