Makin Whoopie

Me:  hi there

Trade:  hi

Trade:  so u 

lookin 4 a fuck?

Me:  yes, u?

Trade:  yup

Trade:  as i said

Me:  ive unlocked my photos for u

Trade:  unlocked 4 u 2

Me:  got it, we've fucked before havent we?

Trade:  dunno

Trade:  have we

Trade:  was it good

Me:  lots of times u don't recognize my unlocked face pic?

Trade:  very horny here

Me:  yeah me too but im working still

Trade:  when u finish?

Me:  5 pm

Trade:  ok kewl so wanna play then

Me:  where?

Trade:  MY PLACE !

Trade:  wos yr name?

Trade:  sorry i just get over the constant typing when guys dont pay attention

Me:  **Bare Asian Spawner**

Trade:  when did we play last?

Me:  we used to fuck when i lived in *bleeeep*

Trade:  then u moved to *bleeeep*?

Me:  yes

Trade:  oohhh yes

Trade:  i remember now

Me:  d'oh lol

Trade:  yr a very aloof person not very warm

Trade:  i liked fucking u

Trade:  but u have barriers

Trade:  u don like to show warmth

Me:  ok we dont have to fuck then

Trade:  its not me its u

Trade:  just an observation from experience

Me:  of course, its not a prob

Trade:  i would send u txt & u wouldn reply or u were busy & u never asked me if i wanted to fuck

Me:  yr entitled to your opinion, no harm there

Trade:  i know sum guys have issuses with inimacy & i figured yr one

Trade:  any way u take care c u

Me:  bye

Ok so you don't have to take sides, because I know you're reading my side of the story.  But the following chat conversation made me realize that no matter what or who you encounter, you really have to treat them with the right amount of respect.  Because the universe does have karma and it can come back and bite you.

Trade was entirely true about the "aloof" issue.  I really couldn't be passionate or intimate with him, and it's a shame because we've been fucking on & off now for more than 5 years, and even now seeing his picture at 41, 6'1, 189 lbs and a real 8 inch cut cock that is truly beautiful, he is physically on top of his looks.

However.

I don't really know how to say it to his face, so I just left him on his high horse and just pinned it down to karma hitting me back in my face.

Trade has what I can only describe as e.x.t.r.e.m.e. B.O. (body odor - for the European & Asian readers of this blog).  I get it that most men like to smell like men and to some degree I consent to the no cologne, no deodorant preferences.  To be a bit broadminded, I sometimes like a funky smell in a man's pits or groin.  The kind of smell that is all male, lust mixed with sweat & tobacco or beer.  The kind that makes you salivate the minute you whiff his unwashed crotch as you kneel down to give him fellatio.

But as I said Trade's BO is undescribably e.x.t.r.e.m.e.  Words fail me.  All I can share so you can visualize my dilemma, is that when Tradie and I have sex and his already rank armpits start aggressively excreting their odious fumes, his smell permeates the entire room (not just the bedroom but the hallways too), and somehow takes physical or molecular form for it is so, such that the smell clings to the bedlinen, the pillows, the carpet, the entire frickin house!  It's like having sex with a skunk with a big dick.

After several non-soap-or-water improving encounters down the track, I finally got fed up of laundering, vacuuming & deodorizing my room with baking soda after each sexual bout.  I mean really, who wants to do house chores after sex?  So I eventually agreed to a change of venue.  

His place.  

When I got to see his place, I finally understood why he looked, dressed and smelled that way.  Tradie was a goth punk (by fashion sense) tailor (by profession)!  It explained his put together Pet Shop Boys outfits, half blonde streaked David Bowie mullet hair and his Six Feet Under hearse of a station wagon car.  (Yes he showed it to me, because he once fancied having sex at the back of his "van").  He has his workshop in front of his apartment and lived behind it, in a very cramped, windowless room, the four edges of the ceiling were entirely lined with LED lights that also were completely intertwined with dark purple artificial flowers Hawaiian-style.  Okay so I really wasn't expecting a Frank Gehry or Carson Kressley turnout there, but who the heck did this room?  

Oda Mae Brown Interior Design?

The bed was probably from Ikea and to be honest, nothing wrong with that.  But it was the type of bed you would purchase if you were a parent.  With kids, plural.  Or twins.  He built it so high, that there was a set of box steps to climb to get into the satin/velvet covered bed.  Underneath the Ikea-esque bunker bed he had some sort of a (satin) curtain that hid more of his boxed stuff.  His toilet was no better.  It was a detached outhouse latrine that looked like it was a result of a DIY, assembled from remnant surplus materials of a UN flood relief effort.  There was even sand (and lots of it) in the dirty untiled, concrete floor.  I had to close my eyes to pee because the sight of this grown man's toilet roof littered with spider webs, was so against my grain that I wanted to bolt out of there.  

Which I did.

Enough was enough.  No cock - no matter how big, hard or beautiful - was worth this much mental cringing.  So I finally stopped messaging him, returning his calls and from then on he was a non-entity to me.  Until yesterday, when he messaged me again, using a different profile name and different public pictures.  When he unlocked his pics and I realized who he was, it was too late.

Seriously, I don't suggest you readers suddenly scrub madly with soap & water driving up the stock price of Procter & Gamble or Unilever.  But honestly being skanky & rank in your 40s is not as cute as broke & unable to afford deodorant in your 20s.

Uh-uuh!

You attract more bees with honey.