What the fuck. Yep, that sounds about right, that’s the perfect opening to start this blog post. I wasn’t going to post another Straight Boy Diary so soon but when something so unexpectedly happens, and is so raw (and traumatising) in my mind, how could I not? If you have read the first segment of The Straight Boy diaries | Mr. Debt Collector (part 1) thank you, and I promise to post part 2 soon, but for now that’s going to have to wait because little was I aware that Mr. Laxative was going to pop up in my blog so unexpectedly and so soon.
Let me start off my saying that not every guy who I have an “encounter” with gets the privilege to be featured on my blog. If you’re dating/relationship material you probably won’t even be mentioned at all. Not even random one night hookups don’t get blogged about because I’m always quite abrasive about these kind of blog posts because I don’t even know the outcome of them. When I decided to do this blog I made a commitment to myself that if this is something I’m going to do then I’m doing it 100%. But if you’re someone who I have an “encounter” with and something isn’t quite right, or something weird happens then you betcha I’m going to post about it. I mean come on, I’m a blogger. What do you expect?
Mr. Laxative is a strange one because I have already had an encounter with him before, but I was so out of it I couldn’t really remember what he was like. So when I got an unexpected phone call from him (and we’ll talk about how he got my number in minute) it caught me a little off guard. Now, let me take you back a couple of months ago when I was working at a hotel in Aberdeen…
I got phone call asking me for a booking, the guy on the other end of the phone asked if I had/take coca-cola, meaning cocaine. I am very open about my drug abuse habits and I’m not ashamed to say that cocaine is a demon in my life that I’m currently fighting (wouldn’t call it an addiction by any means but it’s something that’s brought into my life quite often). That being said, no matter how much I drink, and do whatever else in my spare time I take my job very serious and pride myself being professional. I don’t like clients being under the influence and I would certainly not be under the influence when dealing with a client.
He wasn’t rude so I didn’t want to blacklist him (I’ll go into more detail about blacklisting in other post) but I definitely didn’t want to deal with him that night. So I told him I would call him back, saved him number under a weird emoji so I would know to ignore his calls if he tried calling me back that night.
So yes, back to the present. When that emoji popped up on my phone and I answered and it was Mr. Laxative on the phone I was so shocked. The guy I met was actually that guy who was trying to book me that night. I just want to quickly say once someone meets me outside of work and not in a business kind of way I don’t see them as a client. I never mix my business life and personal life. He asked me what I was up to that evening, and work was very slow, and asked if I wasn’t doing much he would come over with some drink and a gram of cocaine. Like I said before, work was very slow that day and my last client of the evening had cancelled so I was basically free for the rest of the night. So sure I thought, what’s the harm. It’s been so long since I’ve just sat and had some straight male banter but I made sure to say before he came round to not come over if he thinks sex is on the menu.
You all probably all think I’m a slut, but it may surprise you that I’m actually not. Sluts give sex away for free, whores get paid. Being an escort definitely had its effects on me, especially when it comes to my personal sex life. I do want to make a post about the after effects that can happen to you when you’re in the sex industry in more detail so stay tuned for that.
When Mr. Laxative arrived everything seemed just normal. He sat on the sofa whilst I on the floor and we just sat and spoke for hours, he told me he had done his research and found my blog – which makes me feel very uneasy writing out this post, and when he first heard about me, meaning from my job. We sat and spoke for about 12 hours, obviously with the help of the cocaine, vodka and whiskey. Speaking of cocaine his gram was running out and I have a little problem once I’ve started, I find it very hard to stop. So I got on my phone to one my dealers and told him to bring me 1 and 1/2 grams of flake and for him to bring me another bottle of vodka because ours was running low. Thinking back, buying more drugs wasn’t probably the best idea, because if we just stuck with his 1 gram of cocaine and drink maybe he wouldn’t have stayed over and wouldn’t be featured on this blog today.
So like I said, 12 hours of talking nonsense and to be honest he was a really cool guy to talk to. He seemed so chill and even some moments throughout the night I did kind of fancy him. But with his background and my lifestyle I knew that would definitely not be in our near future. When however you start seeing the rays of sunshine through the blinds that’s when things start to change. I tend to start feeling that good old dreaded fear and I knew I had to go to sleep soon because by this time I was so buzzed and out of it I couldn’t form a sentence properly. So I told Mr. Laxative that I was going to bed soon and he had 2 options, he could stay the night (or should I say by this point stay the morning) or he can go home. He decided to stay with me and I wasn’t bothered at all, I mean all I needed was a couple of hours sleep and I think (or should I say thought) he was on the same level. Oh boy, how could I have been so wrong?!
I jumped into bed and so did he, I set my alarm for 12:30pm and attempted to sleep. I say attempted because Mr. Laxative wouldn’t stop talking, even when I wasn’t replying to his random outburst of questions and blubbering nonsense he still didn’t take the hint and continued for about another good hour. Then suddenly he decides to start doing yoga (honestly you really couldn’t make this shit up) and by this time I’m feeling so agitated. Have you ever been that kind of situation before? The kind when you wish you asked your dealer to bring duct tape and rope instead of drugs and alcohol? I just wanted to duct tape his mouth shut, tie him up and stick him in my shoe closet. Like, what the actual fuck? Just go to fucking sleep already. I even tried put on YouTube some sleep mediation on my laptop in hopes he would crash out – that was how desperate I was to get this guy to shut up. That didn’t work ether. Fuck it, I thought. I ended up giving my 2 10mg of my benzos because that is usually enough to make me sleep for hours but instead I should have gave him a shot of horse tranquillisers because the benzos didn’t even work.
One minute he was in the bed, next he was walking around my room and I’m literally so drained I can’t even lift my head off my pillow. The guy could literally have robbed my house and I wouldn’t have had the energy to do anything about it. But when I did finally doze off I was woken up suddenly to him deep-throating my dick, and I’m not gonna lie, I was hard so he obviously was doing something right. We then attempted to have sex but like I said I was so tired I stopped him half way through and said, “look sorry I really need some sleep”. He told me he would leave me to sleep and that he was going into the living-room with my laptop to listen to music. Oh wait, I forgot to mention during our 5 minute sex session he had told me he took 2 of my Viagra too.
Finally I was able to get some sleep, I think I got roughly about a good 1 and 1/2 hours of it. Then all of a sudden I get woken up to Mr. Laxative screaming in my face (I mean LITERALLY screaming) my heart almost jump out my throat I got that much of a scare. Does he fucking realise he could have gave me a heart attack with the amount of cocaine and flake I had sniffed? Like what the fuck. He was screaming “who is your dealer, he laced that flake with laxatives”. I didn’t know if I was have a weird sleep paralysis moment or a full-blown nightmare.
When I came to reality I looked up at Mr. Laxative and there he was, with his blue Calvin Klein boxers in his hand covered in shit. All I was thinking was this shit can not be happening to me. Literally. I didn’t know what to do, spew or kick him out house half-naked on the street. Keep in mind my heart is still beating so hard out my chest from the rude awakening that I got. I told him that I’ll sort out whatever he’s talking about later but all I was wanting to do was fall back to sleep for a couple more hours (and hopefully wake up again to realise that this shit was all just a dream) But who am I trying to kid, I am never that lucky.
I heard him running back and forth to the toilet swearing under his breath then going into the living-room. He must have paced all over the place or climbing my walls because of the noise he was making was thumbing through my head. I tried to ignore it but before I knew it he was back into my bedroom screaming at me again. “Those were limited addition Calvin Klein’s and they’re ruined”. “Sorry mate, but it’s not my fault you’ve shat all over yourself (keep in mind the smell of shit was hitting at the back of my throat) and if you honestly think that my dealer laced the drugs with laxatives I would be the same?” It was probably the Viagra he took on an empty stomach that’s gave him the reaction. At this point in time I got up out of bed, put on the kettle and took half a benzo. I needed it because I was on the verge of a complete panic attack because my heart was still racing.
I told him I was phoning a taxi for him because I had a client on his way, obviously lying but all I wanted was this guy out my house. By this point its 1:30pm in the afternoon and my comedown was at its peak, so I walked into my bedroom to pretended I was getting my shit together (no pun intended) for work. It wasn’t until I walked back into my living-room and saw him sniffing another line of the “laced” drugs that finally made me snap. Keep in mind at this point he’s starting to accuse me of lacing him with laxatives, and his excuse was ‘I know what gays do and about their lifestyle’. I’m sorry but I don’t know what the gays do where you’re from but here in Scotland I can assure you they don’t spike men with laxatives.
“So you’re fucking screaming in my face like a banshee saying that the drugs are laced and you have the nerve to keep taking it, look, just get the fuck out my house” I screamed. I grabbed him to the front door whilst he’s still half-naked, dick swinging in the air and told him to get out. He told me he would leave in 10 minutes. And thankfully he did.
When he left I immediately locked my door and had a big sigh of relief. Seriously, is this the kind of shit that’s going to happen to me every time I meet a guy? I am a complete hopeless romantic at heart and it looks like the universe is going to make my love life as hopeless as possible. Ugh! Why me?
I really wasn’t too sure if I was going to post this blog because usually the men I have “encounters” with don’t know that I run a blog, but according to the Facebook poll that I posted you guys wanted me to post it, so here it is, you’re welcome. Moral of the story kids don’t do drugs.
Until next time, double kisses.