I once dated a girl who would put make-up ON ME before we went out. Thinking back I probably should’ve taken that as a sign that she was a lesbian and not waited until I was forced to……. watch Bjork concert dvds, wear only pyjamas around her house (which led to futile arguments with the parents – who accused me of being a cocaine addict at one point – that the bulge peeking out was me in my non-aroused state) and eventually even draw her sleeping with assorted female celebrities.

Of course things have never really been “normal” according to my ghost of relationships past. The first creature that could have the misfortune of being called my girlfriend would disappear for 6 month periods at a time and then accuse me of being a figment of her imagination. The second only went out with me because she was desperately trying to convince herself I was Kurt Kobain reborn and not the guy who storms out furiously when the bartender refuses his order of a strawberry milkshake.

Revelations (aka “oh so subtle bitching”) about my past aside, I recently had an encounter that couldn’t be considered more off topic if I’d left it out of the fridge for several months (yes yes that joke was horrendous but I’d only be truly concerned if anyone actually caught it).

Sir Penistuck, warrior of waste-line wax, recently found his way down from his aquatic lair to pay me yet another visit….which is particularly troubling when your mother asks which friend is over and you tell her “It’s that one who hides his willy like a girl all the time” and she says “Oh Penistuck! I’ll make sure to knock before coming in then” while giving a very VERY haunting wink.

After a brief stint around the house of him trying to seduce my grandmother I did make the poor decision to actually travel outside of my incontinence-cave (which is the new word hardcore kids are using for bedroom) and visit a “pub” with him, his sister and her best friend.

What might appear obvious to any seasoned readers is that obstacles found it delightful to present themselves as the evening ran its merry little course…….though quite honestly the most traumatic of the lot was probably when the waiter began claiming they only served milkshakes to “kiddies”…..following with me assuring him that if he looked inside my pants he wouldn’t argue my youth (at which point I died a little inside) and might even consider giving me a pity discount.

Needless to say as shocking as that was it only narrowly beat out the period in which PT began rubbing his nipples and licking the air in my direction. My response was a very polite bout of sobbing while deciding to sit backwards for the next hour or so.

Finally as if to serve somewhat like arsenic icing on my carcinogen cake, his sister initiated some sort of modern neighbourhood-wide mating call by means of rapping along with the radio the entire journey back.

P.S.

On a positive note it appears my actual personage is in mildly higher desire in the lands PT and Mobp hail from…..on the not quite so positive side though……that desire seems to take THIS rather alarming shape.

Being that I have this strange habit of trying to survive within human society there are times where even I feel a smidgen of shame regarding my Otaku (and hermity) nature.  Little did I know however of my far more….”afflicted brethren”……those being the “Live Action Role Players” who I recently had the pleasure of attending an entire convention full of.

Now the very concept of Live Action Role Playing seems about as alien to me as an enema to a brusselsprout (we are of course excluding brusselsprouts with known “hobbies”). I understand anime, I understand manga and heck I could even appreciate the people in wizard outfits playing D&D but when I’m across from a blob of human mass exclaiming that they shoot each other for 11 damage, then taking their dexterity into account for damage reduction and crafting sound effects that would even make that black guy from police academy proud……..I get a little confused.

The epic scale of the event was only matched by my equally epic exaggeration abilities.

I’m getting ahead of myself though as the tale I must weave is far greater in length. It begins once again with Sir Penis Tuck inviting me to give him and a friend a lift to the aforementioned convention. Being in a bit of a delirious state at that time of questioning it appears I didn’t give my usual “No no and my genitals are doing just fine with you over THERE” speech and actually agreed.

We’ll skip the bit about how my gps system (which hates me in the most creative ways) took 30 minutes to navigate me to his house located just down the street and even the bit about how we required not only a prayer circle but also a few manly wails to actually make it to the venue. The bit we’ll get to is the actual convention.

I use the word convention about as loosely as the average club inhabitant uses their vagina as it was located in what not only appeared to be a school but quite possibly an elementary school for children with special needs that entail them fitting into a building roughly the size of a foot locker.

Time was spent examining things ranging from dice to more dice (to be fair the taste in dice varied from violet to purple on occasion) and after a while we sat outside to eat lunch near the earlier introduced LARPites, one of which was a close friend of the pair as was proven when I was told legends about his bare foot prowess and then witnessed the hollow shell of a foot for myself.

How better to let everyone you lure into your room know that you intend to stay a virgin forever?

Now we get to Penis Tuck’s (PT) friend who was surprisingly a FEMALE but unsurprisingly bat shit mad with acid-laced sprinkles on top. In fact so mad that I spent the majority of my time being prodded with a spoon, hiding behind random objects to avoid photography (which I am deathly afraid of) and even found myself completely tied up at one point with PT using the moment to prod my buttocks with objects that thankfully went unseen.

I cannot say it was the most pleasant experience I’ve had but more details on that later.

Before I move any further I should also apologise to all those from the convention that are reading this and feel insulted by my lack of eloquent handling when it comes to their….a-artform. However I’d rather apologise that they’ve found this site in the first place as the only reason they would have is because PT kept on introducing me to people as “Basjohn from Roughtoiletpaper.com!!!” which would have me hiding my head in shame while crying that no one knows what that is.

Everyone fails their saving throws and suffers 1D10 Sunlight Damage!

The absolute highlight of the event was without any doubt my trip to the bathroom. After taking quite some time to work up the courage to admit my lower regions were roaring (and detailing plans they’d need to initiate if I found myself lost along the journey) I set off in search of that vaguely urine like smell that was wafting about. I soon realised that was the majority of the populace in attendance and had much better luck when following the preset signage.

As horror upon horrors would have it when I finally found my way into the sanctuary, I was a little dismayed to discover the urinals were just a smidgen closer than I might like. How close you theoretically ask?

This picture is awesome enough without a caption.

THAT CLOSE. And while I did play “Eye of the tiger” (with a few odd unexplainable lines from YMCA sneaking in I’ll admit) in the back of my mind to allow me to urinate next to my fellow geek…the experience still shook my more than ADEQUATELY SIZED “friend” to his very core.

What was really fun is while taking this photo another guy walked in and I had to explain why I was…..taking a picture….of the urinals…..

Long story short someone out there thinks I’m a world famous men’s pee trough designer in search of inspiration.

As if this entry wasn’t already long enough to have made most of you quit before getting to this joke about most of you quitting, we still have to get to the naughty after bits. These bits occurred after finding our way back to PT’s home, introducing myself to his family (and having them all think my name was John…..which I cannot say ever gets to be a comfortable misunderstanding) and then having his sister and old co-worker pop up out of no-where to not only compliment my short hair but also tell me what a “nice boy” I’ve grown into.

After PT “rescued” me by telling them of my internet usage and anime enjoyinglyness (thus leading them to retract the previous compliment – nice save!) I wound up on his couch. Several awkward jokes later PT shoves his friendling (who we’ll call the Mistress of Bits and Pieces – Mobp) onto my lap and after assuring her that she should ignore that lump forming underneath her she began her torturous ways.

Initially there was poking which I didn’t mind as it came deceptively close to the naughty regions and distracted me from trivial things like breathing, but then….then  the came (the earlier mentioned) spoon pokage and when the kicks and giggles from that weren’t up to snuff she managed to use my wallet chain against me, quite literally tying me up with it and then twisting my nipples and chesty bits to such a point that I now possess delightful green spots of undeath. If that wasn’t enough PT snuck in a few pokes at what could only be considered my bum and then started playing guitar (mood music?) while she told me how her bisexual (and oh so forward) boyfriend would “love” me.

I managed to escape a little while after that when she recalled that her day had largely been about dice and was momentarily distracted by her earlier purchases…..but even with my freedom…..I have a lingering sort of aroused terror that……may never leave me for as long as I live……