|Written by AnDroid|
|Thursday, 27 August 2009 13:54|
Did I ever tell you about the time I got thrush? I was living in Boise, on hiatus from life, working part-time at the public library and spending the rest of my time drinking with my brother, Marko, and having scandalous affairs with any woman who would follow me home from the bar. Boise is a very different scene than Portland, as you can imagine. It's a college town filled with some of the most beautiful women you'll ever see, many of them Mormon or otherwise devoted to some god, all of them completely untouchable to anyone who isn't a backwards-hat-wearing star athlete with blond highlights and violently homophobic tendencies. Needless to say, it was the other women who chose to spend their time with the likes of me - the kind of women who feel the need to take care of angry drunks and secretly think they can fuck someone into loving them.
One of these women was particularly nuts. Let's call her Marina. The first time I met her I was blackout drunk. I stumbled into the bar for a round while walking from one house party to another. The next day I didn't remember going to the bar at all, and I had mysterious writing all over both my arms. There were odd phrases that didn't make any sense, like “CALL ME NOPE,” and an unfamiliar name, “Marina,” but no phone number. I tried to piece together what had happened that evening based on other people's recollections. One friend had followed me into the bar and had seen me talking to a woman he described as “very ugly.” That was the only lead I had.
Several weeks later I was at a different bar downtown making out with a large and beautiful Latina named Julie. I left her at a table to get us drinks at the bar, and while I was standing in line I heard someone shouting my name from across the club. I turned around, and Julie was gone. Some white chick was yelling at me. I walked up to her and said, “Are you talking to me? Do I know you?” She didn't look familiar at all. She stood a couple inches taller than me and had broad, manly shoulders. Her face was pasty white, framed with stringy blond hair, and she looked at me through sunken eyes. She had small breasts and huge thighs. She didn't seem the least bit surprised that I didn't recognize her.
“I'm Marina,” she said. “We met at Cricket's the other night.”
“Holy shit!” I said. “You're Marina? Did you write on my arm? I have so many questions about that night!”
“I know,” she said. “You were incredibly drunk. You were quoting Bukowski to me. I was impressed. It was very cute.”
“I'm kind of busy right now,” I said, “but could I get your phone number? I'd like to get some details from you on what exactly happened.”
An evil grin spread across Marina's weathered face. “I'll give you my phone number if you kiss me,” she said.
I was shocked. “I'm kind of here with someone else, actually,” I said, glancing around. I still didn't see Julie anywhere.
“I don't give a shit,” Marina said. “If you want my phone number you'll kiss me.”
So I did. Marina kissed like a starving animal, grabbing the back of my head and ferociously tearing into my mouth with her tongue. I put my hand on her enormous ass and enjoyed the ride. It was long and intense and more than a little arousing. Afterwards, she wrote her phone number on my hand, much to my dismay. That was going to be hard to explain to Julie.
Dazed, I stumbled out of the bar onto the sidewalk where Marko and a few of our friends were standing around. “Does anyone know where Julie is? I lost her,” I said.
“She came out here and puked on this tree like five minutes ago, so we put her in a cab,” Marko said. Phew! Lucky break.
The first time Marina and I had sex I put my tongue in her ass. I was extremely drunk. Actually I was extremely drunk every time we had sex. She was an interesting individual, very intelligent, and about five years older than me. I found out she hadn't had sex with a man in ten years. She'd lived as a lesbian for five of those years. I found it very odd that she had chosen me, some drunk loser she met in a bar, to break the seal. She was very easy to please in bed, and every time she had an orgasm her face would contort into what can only be described as the image of an ogre in agony, and she would let out a deep guttural moan.
My throat had been sore for quite a while during this time. By the time I finally went to the doc-in-the-box to have it looked at they said it was strep throat, and it had progressed far enough to develop a painful cyst on my tonsil. They had to shoot their strongest antibiotics into my butt and put me on a daily regiment, which made me feel like shit. I probably shouldn't have been drinking so much while on the antibiotics, but of course I got blackout drunk and ended up wallowing my face around between Marina's thighs.
Shortly after this Marina started banging one of my not-so-close friends (yeah go fuck yourself, Sam). I got depressed and really just felt altogether shitty. Even after the massive doses of antibiotics, my throat seemed to be getting worse. It felt painfully itchy, and in the mirror I could see little white spots all over the back of my throat. I went back to the doctor. An attractive nurse took a swab of my throat, and a doctor looked at it with a flashlight. “Yep,” he said. “Looks like you've got a bad case of thrush.”
“What the hell is thrush?” I said.
“Well, it's a condition most common in newborn babies. Essentially, it's a yeast infection of the mouth.”
“Jesus fucking god!” I said, and images of Marina's vagina and ample bush rushed into my mind. How drunk had I been the last time we'd fucked? Blackout drunk. Anything could have happened. I could have been eating cheese curds out of her vagina with a spoon for all I knew.
“The antibiotics we gave you would have increased your risk of contracting thrush,” the doctor continued, “although it is extremely rare in adult males.”
The worst part is I'm probably the one who gave Marina the yeast infection in the first place with my sloppy drunken anal play. The doctor wrote me a prescription for anti-fungal tablets that I was to dissolve in my mouth three times a day for two weeks. The tablets tasted like poison, made me nauseous, and each one would take about 45 minutes to dissolve.
Leaving the doctor's office, humiliated, depressed, and in pain, I fired off an angry text message to Marina: Tell Sam I hope he enjoys the thrush. Of course, Sam didn't end up getting thrush. It is, after all, very rare in adult males, particularly since most men don't give head.
Later on Marina and I ended up having sex again for some reason. Fucking Boise.