Starfucker Logic

Usually when there is a dick in my mouth and the dick belongs to a guy with a porn problem or a coke problem or some other problem that makes it take a really long time for the dick to shoot a load, I can’t help but think about committing suicide. Has anyone ever killed themselves with a dick in their mouth before? I just think it would be a really interesting and experimental thing to do. It would probably have to be done with a gun, a bullet to the brain, because logistically most other methods would be too difficult to carry out while performing fellatio. It could also probably be done with a sharp knife, a quick slice across the jugular vein, but I am too queasy for that. I am too queasy for suicide period, probably because I am a girl and statistically girls have a hard time going through with that kind of thing, no matter how much we like to fantasize about it. Anyway, I am not really suicidal. I just have this habit of thinking about what it would be like to kill myself with a dick in my mouth, mostly as a sort of life-altering punishment for the guy who is putting me through the specific hell that is sucking off a dick that takes too long to ejaculate.

I am pretty sure it all started with that time I was blowing that guy in the handicap bathroom at a seedy club Downtown that doesn’t exist anymore— that guy who told me he was an actor with a big important part in the upcoming season of American Horror Story— and I guess I believed him, mostly because I was borderline blackout but also because he had beautiful skin and a set of really straight, really white, really expensive looking teeth that all of the other actors I know also have, so I figured he must be telling the truth.

Plus, I love American Horror Story. It is one of the stupidest and most self indulgent shows I have ever seen, which is what makes it so great. At the time I was really looking forward to watching the upcoming season, and I thought watching the episodes would be even more enjoyable if I had been sexually intimate with one of the actors. That’s called starfucker logic. So I was on my knees in that filthy little handicap bathroom blowing him, succumbing to starfucker logic.

Two minutes of head turned into five and then five minutes of head turned into ten. My enthusiasm was waning. My jaw started to lock up and my mouth started to dry out and I really just wanted to be done with it but every time I took him out of my throat he’d shove his way back in. Not really in a rape-y way, I mean I could have quit or bitten down or something if I had to, but I really did want to finish the job, mostly so that when his alleged season of American Horror Story premiered I could watch it and associate it with a successful blowjob instead of an unsuccessful blowjob. It was already too late to associate it with no blowjob at all, which by minute ten I was majorly regretting.

Above the toilet there was this terrible, warped looking canvas print of a Casino Royale era Daniel Craig dressed up in character as James Bond. Tuxedo on, gun in hand. Extremely odd choice of bathroom art. Daniel Craig was looking right at me, peering over the toilet at me and the miserable, probably anti-depressant ridden dick in my mouth. He was watching everything, and his expression was quite judgmental. Pursed lips and squinted eyes. I kept making eye contact with him and then making eye contact with the gun in his hand. I started imagining him jumping off of the wall, coming to life and shooting a bullet into one of the AHS actor’s bare clenched ass cheeks so that I could get out of the handicap bathroom without having to stand up for myself or set a boundary or anything undignified like that. The only dignified way to get out of a blowjob is death. By minute fifteen I stopped wishing that Daniel Craig would shoot the actor’s ass cheek and started wishing that he would just shoot me instead, and by minute twenty I was fantasizing about ripping the gun right out of Daniel’s stupid hands so that I could blow my brains out myself. And that’s when it really clicked and I was like, wow, what an interesting idea, what would it be like to shoot myself in the face right now, forever changing the trajectory of this guy’s life? He would probably never enjoy head ever again, or at least not club bathroom head.

And it’s so disgusting, you know, to think about death when I am about to taste ejaculate, but ever since that night with the Daniel Craig poster I just can’t help it. If I am giving a blowjob that lasts anything longer than about five minutes, I am thinking about suicide, guaranteed. It’s not even that I hate sucking dick, it’s more of an involuntary Pavlovian response. I try to tell myself to stop thinking about it, but that obviously only makes me think of it more, you know, because I am trying so hard not to. Even when I am really into the dick I am sucking, even when I am putting on a fantastic theatrical performance and having fun doing it, I am most likely internally picturing my head exploding or silently calculating the mechanics of what kind of position I would need to be in to keep the dick in my mouth and hang myself with a noose at the same time. I am also, on some level, always thinking about Daniel Craig in those moments, which is pretty unfortunate considering he is one of the only old men in Hollywood that I can think of who is totally sexless to me.

Last year my evil boyfriend and I were on Olvera Street eating huevos rancheros at La Golondrina Cafe and he got all excited because they had tacked up this grainy picture of Sean Connery in the 60s sipping a cappuccino, sitting at the same table we were sitting at. Like most evil boyfriends, mine loves James Bond. Pretty gay if you ask me, but whatever. The Sean Connery pic reminded me of the Daniel Craig pic, and so I started telling him about the handicap bathroom and about how I can’t stop thinking about killing myself during fellatio, mostly just to make some conversation. I thought he would laugh or maybe even offer some kind of therapeutic analysis, but he just got kind of offended and depressed and then stopped eating his huevos rancheros.

Oh, and by the way, when that new season of American Horror Story started streaming I watched every single idiotic, gory episode waiting for the white-teethed guy from the club to show up, and guess what, he never fucking did. Or maybe he did, but if so he most certainly was not playing a “big important part” like he said he was. He was either completely covered in prosthetics or simply a lowly background extra whose face never got shown, but probably he was just a pathological liar and blowjob grifter with nice teeth who was not cast in the show at all. Fuck my life. It is what I deserve. Starfucker logic is for the birds.