"You destroy me. You're good for me."
- Hiroshima Mon Amour
" You are like the life support system for a cock."
- The Doom Generation
"I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ."
- Dark Places, Gillian Flynn
I feel like I need to take this post to give an update on a caller who I wrote about previously.
He isn't just "a caller" though. I could never truly be that reductive in my feelings towards him. He is, as that goddamned Lana Del Rey song I listen to sometimes when I'm alone says, "the bestest."
He is the unwashed phenomenon, the original vagabond, who strayed into my heart....my sacred gong, my gospel song, he is, The King of The Dipshits.
I wrote about him in a previous post entitled "Son of a Preacher Man and the King of the Dipshits".
He has become a regular caller, which I consider a badge of honour, since he is a veteran phone sex John.
To sum up, he is a 37 year old guy with a dick so small he jerks it off using only his index finger and thumb, like a dainty lady sipping tea at a most proper garden party. He lives with his mom, because his job stacking dog food onto pallets at a warehouse doesn't pay much, and what money he does make he squanders on porn subscriptions, webcam girls, and of course, phone sex services.
He is a man for whom life revolves around his woefully undersized sex organ.
"Do you do anything?," I asked him once, "like, do you read anything, even newspapers, or watch movies...do you have interests?"
"No," he said, in a voice too sassy for my liking.
"Hey! Don't get those women's panties you wear all in a twist because I tried to see if you were a human fucking being. You should be grateful to me for hoping you were more than a dipshit."
"Well, sometimes I read sports statistics online so that I can talk to people at work about something. But I don't actually watch any games. And I watch some t.v shows, like Game of Thrones, because it has girls I like to jerk off to."
"Did your mom dress you up like a girl when you were younger?"
"No."
"Why not? Then you'd have an excuse."
He does have a few hobbies. One is jerking off in the bathroom at Walmart, and then walking around the store with his pants filled with cum. He also likes to go to bars to ask strange women if he can buy their panties in order for him to wear them. They usually slap him, but sometimes they sell.
He once had a gym membership, but, that was because he liked flashing his tiny dick at the women who also went to the gym.
"What exactly is wrong with you?" I've asked, on more than one occasion. "I mean, to talk to you, it's clear you have some intelligence. You are a retard, but, you aren't retarded...know what I mean? There is a difference."
"Thank you!" he said.
"I don't know if that's a compliment. Are you whacking off?"
"Yeah. I have been this whole time."
"Ugh. Are your pants around your ankles, you desperate fucking ape?"
"No, I'm naked."
"UGH! Christ. The thought of you naked makes me nauseated. Seriously, I'd happily puke on you. Would you like that?"
"No, but, I'd let you do it, if you like."
"Of course I like. Dignity, Schmignity, eh dipshit?"
It's usually around this point that he cums. I like to make gagging sounds while he climaxes, so he knows how I feel about him.
Through him, I have learned a little something about a practice known as "gooning". Gooning is one of those concepts that likely would not exist without Mother Internet to birth it. It's when a guy edges himself (brings himself to the edge of orgasm without going over) for so long that he becomes hypnotized by his own dick. It's like a weird state of being that chronic and/or compulsive masturbaters enter where the world falls away and only them and their dick exists. They become one with the cock.
I have this other caller who is a sex addict, and he told me that sex addiction is divided into two groups of people: fornicators and masturbators, depending on their compulsion of choice. I suppose gooning is why compulsive masturbators can't or won't or don't stop. It's a way to shut out a world they can't cope with. It's their addiction of choice.
I'm not a doctor, but, I'd say that it's a fair assessment that Dipshit is a sex addict of the masturbator variety. His addiction to whacking off has completely stunted his growth as a person, which is what addiction of any variety can do. Addiction is escape, and if you start young enough, it can freeze you in whatever mental state you were in when your addiction began. Dipshit started his chronic masturbating when he was 12, and it's only advanced, while the rest of him has stayed put. He's told me before that he's masturbated so much that sometimes his dick bleeds. This doesn't stop him. He puts on some bandaids and keeps gooning.
"There's this girl who works in the offices at my workplace, and she's really pretty," he told me one day.
"Have you talked to her?" I asked.
"No. I mean, I don't really have much of a reason to. I rarely need to go to the offices. But when I have seen her, I always go off to the bathroom and jerk off immediately. Sometimes I see her in the parking lot, and then I jerk off while driving home."
"You jerk off while driving? I can't believe you fucking do that. You could kill someone doing that! Someone who fucking matters!"
"I'm very careful when I jerk off and drive."
"Says you. You're an authority on nothing. Haven't you ever seen that fucking Werner Herzog documentary of distracted driving? It's fucking HAUNTING, dipshit! HAUNTING! A guy plows down an Amish buggy because he was too busy texting! The AMISH, dispshit!"
"I don't text and drive though."
"IRRELEVANT!"
"Do you think I should talk to that girl?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"What should I say?"
"Tell her how you feel. Corner her. Stalk her. Woo her."
"I'm nervous."
"I think you should do it."
"Okay, I'm gonna".
A couple of days later, I got a call from Dipshit at a suspiciously early hour in the afternoon.
"Why are you home?" I asked.
"I got sent home from work early."
"Why?"
"I talked to that girl."
"And...what happened?"
"Well, I waited until I could corner her, while she was walking down a hallway. Then I went up to her, and said that I thought she was really pretty and that I fantasize about her a lot."
"And what did she do?"
"She gave me this look, and said, 'Excuse me?' and then she asked my name and employee ID number. I gave it to her and then I turned around and walked head first into a pole."
I can't tell you how long I laughed about this. I feel like I blacked out in the process. It was cosmic.
"What did she do?' I asked, when the laughter finally subsided.
"She asked if I was okay. I said I was, and then she asked for my ID number again. A few minutes later, my boss called me into his office and told me to go home early and that we would discuss what happened tomorrow."
"Whoa. Shit, man."
"Do you think they'll fire me?"
"Likely, yeah."
"Do you think I'll get arrested?"
"For what? You didn't touch her, did you?"
"No! I would never."
"Okay, then, you didn't commit a crime. You were just dumb, which you cannot get arrested for, unfortunately. "
He called the next day, and he was in fact fired. He didn't seem that upset because he had the rest of the day to jerk off.
"You should try escorting now," I told him.
"Really? " he asked.
"Yeah. I mean what do you have to lose? You need to pimp yourself out now."
"I don't have a big dick or anything."
"I know. You can eat chicks out for money. Get a sugar mama."
"What if the chicks are fat, or ugly, or old? I don't want to go down on them."
"You know what's wrong with you? You have no fucking fortitude or work ethic. Who are you to be picky? You could webcam now too. You could dance around naked for money."
"I don't think I could do that."
"What if one of the guys watching is a rich Saudi prince and he wants to adopt you? You could be seriously missing out."
I made him write a Craigslist ad for his sexual services. I don't think he posted it. Typical.
Since then, Dipshit has turned down the chance to work at McDonalds. He claims to be holding out for something better. His mom is furious at his freeloading, but still enables him by giving him money.
We have this running joke where he "threatens" to come to Canada and find me. He better not, because if he ever did, I'd break his face. Not because he stalked me, but because he'd let me. He'd let me do anything I wanted to him, which is why I appreciate him and his kind.
When I was really little, everyone always remarked about what a sweet girl I was. I'm not sweet anymore. Sourness crept in over time and it has left a permanent residue I can't wash off. I'm a dirty girl sticky with my own volatility that leaks out of my pores. I have to work at not being a total cunt. I'm a sourpuss at heart. I hide weapons in my vagina. I had to teach myself compassion. I had to destroy the sour part of me. It's not totally gone, even though I've changed a lot. I've calmed down all the rage, but I'll always have a sharp edge when you touch me....if I let you touch me. I'm okay with it, I've learned to like my bad personality. It's a good thing, like always carrying a switchblade you know how to use, and aren't afraid to use, if someone fucks with you. Sour girl will always cast a shadow, but I like the darkness she gives me, I appreciate the shade when I'm feeling less than sunny.
I vent my sourness on callers like Dipshit. He lets me use him as an emotional punching bag, and I'm grateful to him for it. I watch violent movies and violent porn like Facial Abuse, and I degrade men on the phone sex line, and that's where I let the sourness live. Then I pack it up, and go meditate or chant, and let the light back in.
Sometimes Dipshit asks me if I would know him if I saw him. I have no idea what he looks like, but I imagine that he has a puffy white boy fro, glasses, and a turned up pig nose. I also imagine that he always wears mechanics coveralls, as though that is his uniform of choice. I'm probably way off base on all counts.
No one knows about his secret kingdom of masturbation, in which he is ruler. Not even his mom, though she may just be in denial.
I do see you, Dipshit...I see your deepest and darkest. Of course I know you.
And I'm amazed at the gamut
Oh, I'm amazed at the clarity
Yeah, I'm amazed at the rage in me
-"Knot" , 7 Year Bitch.
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