• kaleenamadruga

Evacuate the Premises

Updated: Jan 10, 2020

personal essay - nonfiction

Both of Danny’s hands were occupied by pints of beer. The golden liquid sloshed back and forth as he swayed to the shitty music playing over the speakers. Raul lifted one manicured eyebrow in disapproval, but said nothing. We were at some disgusting dive bar filled mainly with paramedics who just wrapped up their shifts and people who looked barely alive. I leaned over the pool table ungracefully and scratched for the fourth time in a row that night.

“Mami, you’re drunk!” Raul said as he pulled the cue from my grasp.

I said nothing, as I was momentarily distracted by the feeling of my cell phone pulsing in my pocket. The number wasn’t stored; I had made it a recent habit not to save numbers from guys I had fucked, likely because I assumed I would never hear from them again.

Despite this, I had a rush of excitement from the message history. Kyle was a drummer in a punk band with a shaved head and a smattering of violent tattoos on his muscular arms. I “met” him on a dating app, the one where the girls make the first move, and had stayed the night at his place on the first date, despite lackluster conversation.

“Who is it?” Danny yelled, accidentally cocking his wrist in a way that caused half of his beer to spill all over the floor.

I shoved my screen in his direction and Danny gasped.

A peach emoji, followed by a question mark.

Though my list of sexual partners was by no means short (and neither were Danny and Raul’s, I knew) I had never engaged in the act of anal sex. Not only did it seem painful and unnecessary, but frightening in a matter that I could not comprehend. How did one prepare, initiate, or even engage in butt sex? Obviously, as I had learned right then, it was initiated by a simple image of a peach. But what next?

While I initially want to dismiss the message as a drunk act of courage or a even a mistake, my friends quickly snatched my phone away, excited by the prospect of their hetero friend participating in a night of uncharted waters.

“You have to do it!”

“Yes bitch, you HAVE to!” Raul agreed. “You gotta get it in.”

My face quickly fell into a frown, but I was struggling to come up with a good excuse.

“And, if you don’t do this,” Danny warned, his glass of beer getting dangerously close to my face. “You can’t say that you are an advocate for the gay community.”

I burst into laughter, but he somehow managed to keep his perfectly tanned face completely still.

“Are you fucking serious?” I said.

“Yeah!” he shot back. “You can’t just keep hanging out with us if you don’t even understand what it is that we do.”

“That’s true.” Raul said, nodding.

I thought to argue that I was nearly 100% certain that he and his boyfriend and the rest of the gay community surely did a lot more than ass play, but it didn’t seem worth it. I asked him, then, what the hell was I supposed to text back?

They quickly settled on sending three peach emojis in response, followed by a collection of exclamation points. Appalled, but nonetheless intrigued, I let Danny and Raul set up what was supposed to be the perfect night of carefree, gay approved, anal sex for the very first time in my life.

We called an Uber and made our way back to their apartment, where Danny showed me how to use his detachable shower head to “prepare”. I didn’t want to admit that any type of social stressor often caused me to feel gassy, so I followed along with each of his instructions, assuming he was an expert in this case.

Half drunk and half joking I asked, “I won’t shit, right?”

“I mean, maybe,” Danny said, unbothered.


“You’ll be fine.” he waved me off as he searched for a bottle of wine.

It would hurt at first, Raul explained through the shower curtain, but it would feel amazing after. They seemed to have no doubts that I could conquer this mountain, an act that would certainly keep me in the good graces of the gay community for many years to come.

Before I knew it, Raul’s cousin Maribel was driving me over to the gentleman caller’s house. My stomach churned the way it does when you’re inching towards the top of the highest drop on a rollercoaster.

“Get it girl!” she screamed out the window as she departed.

Kyle met me outside in plaid pajama pants with a smile on his face. I was still pleasantly drunk.

We quietly smoked three cigarettes on his porch before heading to the bedroom. What began as innocent kissing and foreplay became only more awkward by the presence of his young border collie, and black and white spotted puppy who loved to jump on and off of the bed.

Once we were able to calm her down, I was flipped over and ready for battle. Or so I thought.

As soon as I felt the tip of his penis touch my ass, my instinct was to scream: “No!”, which I of course did.

“No?” he asked. “But I thought…”

I tried to unclench my cheeks while I assured him that all was well, and that I was just falling into traditional terms of response. A knee jerk reaction, if you will.

“Aren’t you supposed to use, like...lube?” I asked. He shrugged and looked around the room. This was quickly becoming the most unromantic moment of my entire life.

It surprised me that someone who was so confident asking for an open and willing asshole had no means of lubrication on hand. He settled on some Vaseline, which I couldn’t help but feel was not the appropriate means of entry, but I was inexperienced, so again I let it slide (no pun intended).

Danny was right, at first I was shocked by the sharp pain that made its way up my spine and settled into the deepest part of my gut. But it didn’t take long for things to settle into their natural rhythm, a cadence and a dance I was all too familiar with. Amazing wasn’t the word I would use to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t as terrifying as I had built it up to be.

He finished in grand fashion, and I quickly rushed to the bathroom to relieve myself and hopefully avoid any further complications. I was assured that it went “phenomenally” and “felt amazing”- for him at least.

As I sat on the toilet, I was reminded of when I had my first period. While I was aware that something new and transformative had happened inside me, I didn’t feel the dramatic shift of womanhood I had so furiously expected. Uncertain of whether or not to spend the night after a situation like this, I edged out of the bathroom to assess the situation, only to find him already passed out under the covers.

I crawled in next to him out of laziness, though I tossed and turned all night. Never one to enjoy a bed that was not my own, I toyed with the idea of sneaking out in the dark of night in an Uber, arriving home and cuddling up safely in my own bed, perhaps pretending that none of it had ever happened at all.

When I finally drifted off to sleep, I was soon awakened by the border collie’s tongue dripping hot saliva on my neck, her incessant panting a sign that she either had to shit, or simply needed attention. I glanced over at Kyle, who was still fast asleep and snoring with his mouth wide open.

It suddenly occurred to me that I, myself, had to shit, and I had to do it now. I typically would never perform such an act at a man’s house, but these had abruptly turned into dire circumstances.

I rushed to the john and released everything that had ever been inside my body for the past few hours. Feeling dirty and unlovable, I flushed the toilet in disgust, ready to call my Uber and take a much needed shower.

As luck would have it, the toilet was not agreeable, and my feces floated lazily around the bowl, refusing to evacuate the premises. I frantically searched for a plunger but saw nothing. For the second time in twelve hours, I was completely puzzled by the lack of anal related equipment present in this man’s home.

Perhaps he keeps it in another room, I mused, knowing the entire time that there was no way this was a possibility. But I humored myself and wandered about the small one bedroom apartment as quietly as possible.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Perhaps my turd just needed a bit more motivation. I returned to the bathroom and flushed again, wincing at the sound, which to me resembled a level eight earthquake. Again, nothing happened, and the water was getting dangerously close to the surface of the bowl.

At this point, I did the only thing left I could think of. I scampered outside, barefoot and sore, and I called Danny. Luckily his workouts start around six am, so he was energized and ready to talk to me.

“HOW WAS IT?” he bellowed into the phone. I could hear the gym’s incessant techno music thumping in the background.

“Shut up!” I whisper screamed back. “Listen to me. I just clogged his toilet. I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Just leave.”

I didn’t have the heart to explain that I actually kind of liked this weird guy whose plumbing I had potentially caused permanent damage to. Perhaps this was the reason for the devious act in the first place, an ill-advised attempt to get him to like me back.

“No, I can’t do that. It’s so terrible.”

“Oh my god, bitch, seriously. Just do it and make peace with the fact that you’ll never see him again. I gotta do squats.”

I groaned and hung up while the border collie attempted to hump my leg.

As I made my way back into the house, I evaluated my two terrible options of an exit. I could:

A. Run away and never return, leaving him to clean up the damage and forever remember me as the weird butt sex girl who clogged his toilet, or,

B. Softly nudge him awake, apologize, and then run away and never return, again leaving him to clean up the damage and forever remember me as the weird butt sex girl. Who clogged his toilet.

I tried to get dressed and pack up my purse as quickly as possible, when in my haste I accidentally knocked over his lamp. The sound of its contact with the hardwood floor left me frozen in fear. He slowly stirred in his sleep, and his dreary eyes made contact with mine.

“Hey,” he said lazily. “Are you leaving?”

I nodded and told him that yes, it was time for me to go. He rolled over, clearly unbothered, and I was almost in the clear. As I made it to the doorway, I stopped, turning only halfway around to face him.

“One thing,” I began. “Your toilet’s clogged. I tried to find a plunger...I don’t...I’m sorry.”

I pushed my body out of his home before I could even see his reaction. My hangover kicked in somewhere along my Uber ride home, and I threw up a few times when I made it safely to my own bathroom.

As I cradled my toilet and choked back tears, I noticed my phone light up on the floor. It was the same unsaved contact from the night before, but no peach emojis were present.

“I fixed it.” he wrote. “Don’t worry.” The text was followed by three innocent, smiley faces. I deleted the texts and his number and closed all the blinds in my room.

When I heard my phone buzz again I almost flushed it down the toilet with my remaining bile and dignity, but it was actually Danny letting me know that he and Raul were on their way over.

What? I wrote back. Why?

It’s PRIDE bitch! Did you seriously forget? Danny wrote back, a flurry of rainbow emojis trailing behind.

Oh, so I’m allowed back in the crew now? I typed, smiling.

Haha, yes, you’ve earned it!

I peeled myself up off the bathroom floor and turned on my shower. As I washed away the sins and embarrassment from the past few hours, I was warmed by the comfort and consistency of my friends. I had secured my place in their hearts and earned their stamp of approval. My conscious was clear.

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