In South Carolina for a work conference, (first, 3-0 first) it was something I’d been dreading. Conferences are not my favorite of things for the most part. You are forced to parade yourself in front of people like a piece of cheap meat dressed in your best. This conference was not only one in which I had to sell myself it was one where I had to actually take in a ton of technical information and relay it back to the office.
Usually, I’m polite to the point which is required and drunk to the amount which my body says it can handle. Open bar? Yes, please! After the first day of long, long sessions I found myself a bit tipsy from a personal happy hour on the boardwalk, we were housed at the beach, where the drinks were free from 6-10pm. [Insert giant happy face] Sitting at a table with colleagues who run a similar/almost competing company it was dumb luck or gravity that put me next to the only other obvious gay.
Fast forward two hours and he’s got me taking a walk on the beach. Wait, is this the first romantic, moves being put on me, after thirty moment? Why yes, yes, it is. I didn’t resist, I’m at a conference with no cell reception and no WiFi, literally, what else am I going to do? So, that’s what I did…him. I mean, I tried to. Things didn’t exactly work out to plan.
We went back to my hotel room after last call and clothing hit the floor, my head hit the pillow and my stomach flipped a switch. Out of nowhere, okay, not nowhere, out of what should have been obvious behavior, I was way beyond my personal legal limit of consumption and things wanted to come back out to play. They did. Not in the bed thank god. I politely excused myself under the guise of needing to pee, as quietly as possible, vomited my guts out and returned. (First 3-0 vomit! Kinda proud. #NoShame)
A quick brush of the teeth and I went back in for more. I was determined to have the sex. My body disagreed with the determination of my penis. Back at it, as soon as he tried climbing over me there it was again, that sensation of vomit biting at the back of the tongue. I admitted my issue, again stepped away to vomit, eventually returning to set him free. It was clear I’d be praying before passing out and at that point my penis was more or less dead to the world.
The next day I apologized profusely as it’s not my goal to be unable to perform. That was the moment I was called something I’ve never, ever been called. This boy called me charming. Was it the vomit, or the jokes about the vomit? This is not a ‘C’ word I usually get called but I’m taking the compliment as my first one at this decade of life. Because now I can say: I’m a self hating, cynical, alcoholic, whore with just a dash of charm.
Overall, I call this a winning work trip. #Adulting