Eating My Feelings (12 page)

“Wow!” I said. I had never gotten a blow job. I certainly
knew when I did get a blow job that I did not want to get one from someone who had a vagina.

“She’s amazing at it,” Buck said.

“Really?”

The only time I had seen anyone give a blow job was the rare occasions when no one was in my home and I could download gay porn onto my mother’s computer without anyone catching me. I could not believe that such antics were taking place in my very own high school. I really should have known better, since three dumb bitches had gotten knocked up earlier that year and Lord knows there was no immaculate conception involved. Everyone had been getting some but me.

After class, I quickly found Maureen to consult with her about my latest findings.

“Maureen, did you know that Betty gives Buck blow jobs every Saturday night behind the Chili’s?” I asked.

“Duh!” she replied. “Betty gives everyone blow jobs behind the Chili’s. It’s like her claim to fame.”

“Really?” Had I been living under a rock for the last three years?

“Yeah,” Maureen said. “Jeff, Curtis, Brian, Michael, Cameron, Bill, Ted …” The list went on and on. “She’s, like, known for it, you know?”

“No, I did not know, but I am glad I found this out when I did.”

“Why?” Maureen asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. I really wanted to get a blow job, but knew I did not like girls. I was really more curious about what it felt like. I had obviously not come out of the closet, but considering I did not play sports, was involved in theater, and had a
fondness for soap operas and show tunes, it was pretty clear to everyone that I was a huge homo. However, the only other gay kid at our school was this crazy black kid named Darius whom everyone hated and I certainly could not get a blow job from him. Everyone would find out and hate me too. “This is all very interesting. Everyone is getting blow jobs except me.”

“It’s okay, Mark. You will get a blow job sooner or later.”

Fall passed and Betty continued giving Buck his weekly blow job behind the Chili’s until January rolled around and I got word from Maureen and Angie that Betty was no longer blowing Buck behind the now-infamous chain restaurant.

“I don’t know,” Maureen said, “something about Betty asking Buck to go down on her and him refusing to do it.”

“What?” I replied. “I thought this was like a barter system. Betty gets free meals at Chili’s and Buck gets free blow jobs.”

“I guess not,” Maureen said.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Besides, would you want to go down on Betty?”

The thought repulsed me. I wanted to go down on a girl about as much as I wanted a sandpaper hand job from Marlon Brando circa
The Godfather
. But I couldn’t let anyone know about my disgust with vaginas just yet. I had to play it cool.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe if we went to the salad bar at Ruby Tuesday’s or something and I was in the right mood.”

“Seriously? She’s pretty foul,” Maureen said, “and she’s given blow jobs to, like, half the school.”

“True,” I replied. And she was a girl. Nasty.

Shortly after this exchange I found Betty in her car, ready to drive to McDonald’s for lunch. I hopped in.

“Hey, Betty,” I said.

“What’s up, Mark?” she replied.

“Nothing much. I heard that you and Buck aren’t going out anymore. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “He just wasn’t giving me what I wanted.”

“So I heard. Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner this weekend.”

“Why not? I am free Saturday night. I guess I will be free every Saturday night from now on.”

“Maybe not,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe we could date,” I said. I really did not want to date Betty, or any other girl for that matter, but I did want a blow job, so I had to play it cool.

“Really?” she said as her eyes lit up.

“Why not?” I replied. “Let’s meet up at the mall on Saturday night. They just opened a new Chevys. We can eat there.”

“Perfect.”

In high school I discovered the beauty of the tanning salon. I had really bad acne as a teenager and I had read in
Cosmopolitan
that tanning could decrease acne. I was the only teenager at Gaithersburg High School who walked into class every day looking like George Hamilton, and I loved it. Everyone would always ask me if I had taken a trip to an exotic locale the weekend before. I never answered, thinking my peers would think I was cooler than them if I left it to their imagination. But I am sure they knew the only trip I had taken recently was to the Swiss Alps with Julie Andrews and the rest of the crew from
The Sound of Music
.

That Saturday I went to the tanning salon at the mall before meeting Betty. After tanning, I stepped outside and smoked a cigarette as I waited for cancer to come and bitch-slap me from
behind. Finally, I saw Betty’s car pull up to the Chevys at the mall and greeted her.

“Hey, Betty,” I said as she got out of her car. She was such a mess. Her hair was always all over the place and those braces. The thought of kissing her repulsed me, but I really wanted a blow job.

“Mark,” she said as she greeted me, “so great to see you.” We had just seen each other the previous day at school and had planned on meeting, so I was not exactly sure why seeing me surprised her, but I let it slide. Maybe she thought I wasn’t going to show. I wanted that blow job and would risk anything to get it.

We went to Chevys and chatted. Betty told me about her relationship with Buck and how things hadn’t worked out. I didn’t want to tell her the real reason things didn’t work out was because he didn’t want to go down on her, but instead I sat and listened intently.

“I really liked Buck,” Betty said.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” I replied. “I am not always comfortable with his fashion choices, but he’s a good guy.”

“Well, we’re dating now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was in a full-blown relationship. We were discussing such adult topics, like her past flings and the rise of Britney Spears on the Billboard charts. Little did we know at the time that Britney would be a full-blown superstar. But how can you predict magic like that happening? You just can’t. Anyway, when dinner was over, I walked Betty to her car and we kissed. It was the first time I had kissed a girl and it was kind of slimy. She stuck her tongue down my throat and began wiggling it around. I did the same, except I was pretending Bailey from
Party of Five
was on the receiving end of
my kiss. It made it all worth it. However, I was a little miffed that I had taken her to dinner and didn’t get my complimentary blow job. Wasn’t this how relationships worked? I was confused.

On Monday, I ran in to Buck and told him what had happened.

“BUCKY,” I yelled as history class was about to begin.

“What up, Rosie?”

“Nothing,” I said pointing to my pants. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“I went out with Betty on Saturday night. I took her to Chevys and was expecting a blow job afterward, but got nothing. What the fuck?”

“Mark, Mark, Mark,” Buck said. “You have to take her to Chili’s.”

“What fucking difference does it make?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he continued. “Something about that restaurant really turns that girl on.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I have taken her to P.F. Chang’s, T.G.I. Friday’s, Macaroni Grill, you name it. The only time I have gotten a blow job out of that girl is after Chili’s.”

“Christ!” I replied. Not that I didn’t like Chili’s, it was just out of the way and not nearly as convenient as, say, the Cheesecake Factory that was right down the street from my house.

“Just take her to Chili’s. You’ll get your blow job.”

The next Saturday came around and Betty and I were off to Chili’s. When we got there, Betty ordered almost everything off the menu. Perhaps Buck was right, perhaps this place did get Betty off. We barely spoke throughout the entire meal. I have never seen anyone go down on a sampler platter the way Betty did that night, and I was hoping her feeding frenzy was a
preview of what was to come. After dinner was over, Betty and I got into the car and she drove me behind the Chili’s and we both hopped into the backseat.

Finally!
I thought.

She mauled me. She took my clothes off and went down on me in the backseat of her car in the parking lot behind Chili’s. Who knew Chili’s was such an aphrodisiac? As she was giving me head, all I could do was picture my beloved Bailey and his dimples. He was so cute, and such a great brother to all of those obnoxious siblings of his. Then I thought of how lucky Jennifer Love Hewitt was that she got to kiss him every week. Besides that pesky alcohol problem of his, Bailey was the perfect man. Then I turned to see Betty bobbing up and down. She was certainly no Scott Wolf, I will tell you that much right now. There was something about her that was so simply unappealing, but I let her continue blowing me until she was done.

“Dessert!” she said after she had finished.

Gross
, I thought.

Was I supposed to cuddle with her now? I didn’t know what protocol to follow, as this was my first blow job and first girlfriend, so I put my arm around hers.

“You know,” Betty said, “my pants are still on.”

“They sure are, aren’t they?” I replied.

“What should we do about that?”

Chunks of the burrito I just eaten had began to well up in my throat. The thought of going down on Betty was like eating a rotten egg omelet. Neither of which I had any interest in doing.

“I should probably get home,” I said.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“Because my pants are still on.”

“Yeah, that seems to be a problem for you, huh?”

“YES!” she yelled.

“Well, you can drive me home pantsless if that helps.”

“GODDAMN IT!” she yelled. “I just gave you a blow job. Now give me one.”

I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only thing that came to mind. I threw up all over Betty.

“GROSS!” she yelled.

Spewing chunks of regurgitated burrito and brownie sundae all over Betty was not nearly as gross as going down on her would have been. She drove me home and we sat in silence the whole way back.

On Monday, I confronted Maureen about whether or not she had heard about what had happened on Saturday night. Since we all had cell phones as we were breezing into the new millennium, she heard about it, seconds after I had gotten out of Betty’s car.

“Yeah, Betty told me about what happened. Pretty disgusting on your part,” Maureen said.

“I have not felt the same since. I think I may have gotten food poisoning.”

“Funny how that kicked in right about the time Betty asked you to go down on her,” she replied.

“Right,” I said.

“You need to take her out again. Valentine’s Day is coming. You should do something nice for her.”

Girls, myself included, love Valentine’s Day. It’s the most romantic day of the year and girls cash in on it like JonBenét’s mother at a beauty pageant.

Shortly after Maureen left me, Betty approached.

“Sorry about the other night,” I said to her. “I think I must have eaten something that did not agree with me.”

“It’s okay,” she replied. “Valentine’s is this weekend. Should we do something special?”

“Sure, what would you like to do?”

“We can go to Chili’s.”

“Seriously? I don’t think I ever want to go back there again.”

“I am the girl and you are supposed to do what I want. It’s Valentine’s for Christ’s sake.”

“Fine. We can go to Chili’s. Pick me up at six,” I replied. I don’t know what this girl’s fascination with Chili’s was all about, but I knew it wasn’t healthy or normal. Maybe it was the spinach-and-artichoke dip or the never-ending bowl of chips, but the girl literally got off on Chili’s. I had no interest in ever eating at Chili’s again or dating Betty at this point, but knew I would be a real bastard if I didn’t go through with it.

When Valentine’s Day rolled around, Betty picked me up and off to Chili’s we went. Again, she went crazy with the appetizers. I wondered if she had eaten at all that week. I knew her mother made killer turkey sandwiches and wondered why she was so hungry. I honestly didn’t understand what this girl’s deal was. Blow jobs don’t really increase one’s appetite that much, so I questioned her motives.

After the feeding frenzy, Betty drove behind the Chili’s and parked in the lot behind the restaurant. I knew what came next: another blow job. I was excited that I would now have two under my belt, but all I could think about while she was giving
me head, besides Bailey Salinger, was the inevitable question of whether or not I was going to blow her afterward. As if the girl had a penis.

After she was done, she made another comment about dessert and I almost lost it again, but kept it to myself.

“Ha,” I said. I would have preferred a blondie, but I guess she liked blow jobs to top her meals off.

“So …” she said, “what do you want to do now?”

“Nap,” I said jokingly, “or just flat-out go to bed. I am pooped.”

“I mean, what do you want to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know … take you home?” I knew her game and I wasn’t playing it. “I am really wiped out.”

“MARK!” she yelled. “Take my pants off!”

“Uh, I don’t think I am really comfortable with that. Remember what happened last time?”

“Go down on me!”

Suddenly I felt like Tori Spelling in every Lifetime movie ever. Was I about to get date-raped?

“Betty, I don’t think I can,” I replied.

“I know you can, so just do it!”

“No, I don’t think I can. And I don’t think I can date you anymore either.”

“Seriously? You’re breaking up with me on Valentine’s Day?”

Shit! I had totally forgotten it was still Valentine’s Day. Now I really was going to look like a bastard.

“Betty, I just don’t think this is going to work out. I don’t think I can afford to take you to Chili’s every weekend and your pressuring me to eat you out is clearly not agreeing with my digestive system.”