Hey boys. Today I want to tell you about something a little different. I want to tell you about a new book. Jeffrey Hartinger is a young writer in New York City and he's just written a book that I think some of you might enjoy. The book is entitled "The Generation Y Handbook" and it basically is a compilation of essays, funny stories, and reflections on what it means to navigate the world of relationships, dates, flings, sex, and one night stands ... all with funny and insightful commentary from Jeffrey. You can purchase the book on Amazon. Below is a brief excerpt from it. Warning, it is a bit risqué. Enjoy. Oh and if you're wondering, Jeffrey wears boxer briefs as his go-to style. He prefers to keep it simple with black or grey ones from Lucky brand.
The Night I was Kicked Out of A Threesome In Los Angeles
I told myself the only time I would have a threesome was during college. I also told myself I wouldn’t eat a large pizza alone in complete darkness after a long night out, but life is complicated and sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.
My sophomore year at Canisius College, I was hooking up with a French foreign exchange student named Vincent. He was aptly named “French Fuck Buddy.”
He was a very handsome and smart guy, but things didn’t work out for a variety of reasons, such as his annoying need to have French subtitles on during every fucking movie we watched and the fact he was moving thousands of miles away from Buffalo after the semester was over. Oh, and he had a boyfriend.
To be honest, I was a little embarrassed when I told one of my good friends that I had a threesome with Vincent and another classmate. “Well, I wouldn’t really consider it a threesome,” I said. “Vincent and I just had sex with the same person. At the same time.”
It sounded better in my head when I thought about it. Alright, alright. I had a threesome. And since I went to a small Catholic college where nobody could keep their mouths shut, a majority of the school knew of my little tryst, too.
In a way, even though I regretted it a tad bit in college, I feel that it taught me a lot about what I am comfortable with in regard to my sex life. And thankfully, it helped prepare me for the embarrassment that happened to me a few months ago in West Hollywood.
Do you know that awkward moment where you are kicked out of a threesome because you start a debate about ethics while foreplay is coming to a close? I do and it ain’t cute.
“What? I’m not having anal sex with you. What do you think I am; some kind of slut or something?” I said.
“Uh, well, you are having a threesome with two guys you just met. Although slut is kind of a harsh word.” Participant Number One replied.
This was true. But, in all honestly, it wasn’t really a threesome. It was three gay guys fooling around. They, of course, were hot, Hispanic, muscular, and in a relationship with each other.
I kept telling myself that if I took off my glasses and squinted, I could pretend it was Ricky Martin and his hot lover. This turned into a daydream mid-hookup that involved the three of us living happily ever after and starring in a gay, reality show version of Big Love entitled, “Papi, Papi, and Jeff.”
Once I snapped out of my little fantasy, the reality of the situation set in.
After I refused to have anal sex with the Spanish duo, it turned into a mild argument.
“What did you expect was going to happen?” Participant Number Two demanded.
“To be honest? I forgot to go grocery shopping and I wanted to crash on your couch and eat some of your food. I suppose that’s not still an option?” I questioned.
“You’re a piece of work. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Leave? It was close to 5AM, I had no cash for a cab, and a few weeks earlier, I saw a few prostitutes of West Hollywood walking barefoot in an alley on broken glass in what I assumed was some sort of street walker initiation ceremony. I was scared.
Pretty Woman is still a pretty popular movie, but the working girls of L.A. County are nothing like the character of Julia Roberts, at least in my opinion.
I gathered up my stuff from the floor; my wine stained polo, my credit card, belt, and shoes. As I made my way towards the door, I turned to the anal obsessed divas; I was going to have the last word. Although I was being kicked to the curb for not having sex with them, I knew I had something that wanted. They still wanted to bang me.
“I hope this has taught you two a valuable lesson,” I said, “Because, truth be told, I was willing to have anal sex with you.” I lied. “And let’s just say that my asshole is so tight that if you put a piece of coal in it, it would turn into a diamond within a few seconds.”
I walked out the door, down the hall to the elevator, and began what I now consider my most epic walk of shame to date.
~Jeffrey Hartinger, The Generation Y Handbook