The Nineteenth Post

"Oh these moments in time, my friends. They make us remember how we'll always feel. Hours, minutes, seconds captured, embellished, sung about. We can make you think or feel anything we want."

- Long lost Morrissey quote that never existed.

The state of my industry is as dismal as the weather at the moment. Everywhere I turn, I see cutbacks. Expense accounts shriveling. Development money dried up. The ubiquitous Amex business card slowly disappearing in favor of split checks, personal debit cards and cash.

I too, have done my part. I haven't asked an assistant to deliver me marijuana and t-shirts in a while. And when asked if I needed my business cards messengered, I said, no, please go ahead and overnight them, instead—we need to cut corners where we can.

Because I'm amiable. It's all about People Helping People™ here in Gentleman Whore World®. Don't get me wrong, I'm no purveyor of Good Karma—I'm just its Agent.

So perhaps that's why I've been recently bestowed upon, a great gift. A gift so rare, it's most often been listed as an unusual side effect some women experience when taking an anti-depressant.

The gift of the spontaneous orgasm.

The first time it happened, I had just gotten out of bed. I walked to the bathroom and ended up leaning heavily against the wall, with my knees almost buckling. I was involuntarily spasming, my cock was pulsating wildly, and it was intense. There was no ejaculation. I was actually worried, afraid I had some kind of condition. I looked at WebMD, Google and Wikipedia. But I didn't look too hard—I mean, this was a gift horse, right?

It happened again last week. I was on my couch, working on the laptop with my legs crossed. I was a little tense—I've been trying to push an international project forward and the logistical support I requested wasn't happening fast. So I sent email, put the laptop beside me and stretched out my legs. I ended up grabbing the sofa cushions instead, hips buckling upwards as I felt simultaneously penetrated, and penetrating. I came hard. Then sat in bewilderment, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Two days ago, I bent down to pull the clothes out of my washer stack, and transferred them up to the dryer. I shut the door, turned the dial, and then it happened. I slammed my hands against the stack, almost falling on my knees, gasping. I looked up spontaneous orgasms. And found indications that suggested some women who take Prozac and Zoloft can have it just by yawning, but this was rare. A young woman wrote an agony aunt complaining of the distress it caused her to suddenly come when she was at the supermarket, or the office. And yet there were others who described it as myth, as something some people claimed to have experienced, but with no real evidence to indicate it actually did. But then again, didn't they say the same thing about the G-spot orgasm, and female ejaculation?

One day it's going to happen when I'm at a lunch meeting. Or an informal greet. When everyone's sitting around a table, or in The Maestro's place. I'm going to kick out and spasm and start groaning and writhing. And every one is going to want to know what the fuck is wrong with me. And I'm going to have to recover fast and say, "The fucking double metaphor of whatever the fuck we happened to be bloody talking about just formed a cross current in my head that made my cosmic twin have an orgasm and he was psychically relaying the experience to me."

Then every one is going to crack up and go, "Ha ha ha, man, you're fucking CRAZY! I fucking love it!" And, "Dude, that's some Gary Busey shit!"

Spontaneous orgasms. Potential public humiliation. Hail Mary saves. I just don't know what to do with myself.