PHANTOM SEX TOY SYNDROME

Okay. Ever have a sex toy that you've used and then get rid of and you still think that you own it?
They say that Vietnam vets who lose an arm to some Vietcong Black-Widow Whore can still feel it itch and tingle. The air that surrounds what used to be their apendage is alive with an odd sensation that is commonly called "Phantom Limb."
Well, I used to own a sex toy and now I'm suffering from "Phantom Sex Toy syndrome." I didn't really use this sex toy. Infact, to tell the truth, I haven't successfully had an erection for the last few months. Mainly, sex is just not an interest to me these days, especially since I've been working with a bunch of gay men. I moved from the world of post-menopausal Yogurt-eating women to the retail-hell-gay-man's-haven. And let me tell you, My Mr. Binky ain't standing attention. So back to the sex toy.
I've had this thing for two years. I got it when I was working on this video project that never happened. The toy was called an "ANAL ANDY". Anyway, I was doing a video demonstration on gay sex using this toy, Hershey's syrup and fake blood to illustrate the joys of Anal sex. Well, long story short, my mom found my gay sex toy while she was doing my laundry. Some mothers find drugs, while others find complete joy and peace when doing their son's laundry. My mom, she fucking finds a gay sex toy, covered in Hershey's chocolate syrup and fake blood.

"No, Mom, it isn't mine, I'm holding it for a friend. It's Ariane's".

I actually said that. Goddammit.

Somehow, I don't think that helped my mother in the "I think my son's gay" issue. She thinks I'm gay, I know she does. My god, there is nothing I can do now. But let's let her think what she wants.
Happy fucking Mother's Day!

So, in reality, I probably would use that Anal Andy, because I can't get off with my hand. I mean, come on, a hole is a hole. If there is a device that is tighter than your fist, you'd fuck it, nes' pa?
However, ever since age fourteen, my dick has learned the contours of my hand, so it knows quite well when its being tricked. So an ANAL ANDY or a FAUX PUSSY would be the next logical step, being that I get off by humping something that simulates a tight, warm, inviting vagina. Nonetheless, I haven't had a good erection since 2001, so the point is moot.

But good Lord, man, I used to have such good erections. I used to be so complete in my sexuality. When I was fourteen, I was sexually self-actuallized. I mean, I fucking lived the stuff PRINCE sang about. Now, my life is a cold sexually confused, wierd amoebic state. If I want to get off, I get fucked up... Weed, alcohol or starvation. It's all good. I've basically turned into Judy Garland or Kate Moss. But man, them adolescent days....the stuff of dreams.

So I finally got rid of the ANAL ANDY. I dumped him in the garbage bin in front of the BRYN MAWR COFFEE SHOP. I just couldn't take the stress of having my sister or her husband find him, since they are up in my room everyday watching the latest video I've downloaded on ITUNES. Everyday, before then, I've left for work, stopped, turned around and have come back to make sure that I have hidden my ANAL ANDY well enough. Never under the bed, because that is the first place anyone would look. Usually in my beaurau drawer or in a house plant. Once, I kept him in my glove compartment, hoping against hope that I wouldn't end up in a car accident, my dead body nestled with a bunch of porn and the fucking ANAL ANDY. But so what? I mean, you're dead. Who the fuck cares? But that's just it. I care.
I had a dream a few nights ago that laid out how I would die. It was very detailed. And for some reason, when I woke up, I felt that it was coming soon. Now, I know this is bullshit, but I've started tying up loose ends in my life. I've paid off that credit card bill, I've cleaned my room, and I've properly disposed of my gay sex toy.
But the feeling is still there. I still want to turn back from my journey toward work, still want to double-check. It's like my adolescent sexaulity... It's still lingers. Still tingles. But when I reach for it, I only grab air.

Happy Mothers day, mom. Love, your nearly departed son, Noah.