by Willam Belli
“No Diggity” Blackstreet
“Baby One More Time” Bowling for Soup
“Ride” Ciara
“Rack City” Tyga
“Boyfriend” Justin Bieber
“Closer”—Nine Inch Nails
“I Just Wanna Love You” Jay-Z
“Rich Girl” Hall and Oates
“My Pony” Daniel Wesley
“The Wire” Haim
“Cream” Prince (but only if they’re gonna nut)
“My Favorite Mistake” Sheryl Crow (The opening guitar lick alone…)
Obviously, I’m not saying pick Kidz Bop songs. If anyone sees this as me schooling pedophiles, please know that’s not the T. I’m not encouraging minors to have sex with adults either even though I did a lot. Adults having sex with underage people is never gonna stop as long as there are horny teens who lie. Some don’t even have to because parents and the law do very little to govern it as long as no one is crying foul. (Hi, Kylie Jenner and Tyga.) Did my having sex with a buncha grown dudes hurt anyone? No. I have a great father, so it wasn’t daddy issues and I was emancipated and on my own by the time I was sixteen. I was going down on this one DILF in a waterpark bathroom once near closing time, and we heard a voice all of a sudden go “Dad?” and this dude grabs my head like he’s in a balloon-popping contest. It was obviously his kid. We stood soooo still for like fifteen seconds, dick just straight-up in my mouth like a slowly deflating water balloon. I laughed then and I’ll laugh now. I was fifteen at that point, so it’s not that bad. I’m writing about this not to brag about being a teen porker poking bag but more to warn all the people reading this who one day might have a gay kid or, hell, any kid. Get them Gardasil vaccines and don’t be ashamed to talk about sex. My mother told me about oral sex when I asked why a blow job from a vampire would be bad. (Coincidentally, I was Vampira the next year for Halloween.)
Everybody is probably gonna learn what cum tastes like at some point in their lives, and it hopefully won’t taste like green freezer pops and bleach. If you’re reading this and you’re underage, and you’re thinking, “Wow, how did Willam get so much play as a kid?” it was kinda word of mouth (ya get it?). Some boys on the football team mentioned me to some ROTC guys, and pretty soon it was on. It probably helped that I was first-chair saxophone, and anyone who plays a woodwind instrument knows how to give bomb-ass head. Mostly because you have to learn to wrap your lips around the mouthpiece so your teeth don’t touch it. Marching band was basically blow-job boot camp. I was obese and not that cute until I was about fifteen, so there are those who will argue that every time I slept with someone, it was basically them telling me, through semen deposits, that I was attractive, was not too fat to function, and/or didn’t smell like queso. Having gonorrhea at thirteen didn’t slow me down either. I mean, sure, my parents were surprised to find out it wasn’t strep throat, but it technically wasn’t my fault since at thirteen, even though I was the aggressor, I was statutorily raped (and they say you can’t rape the willing Willam). Still, my parents knew it was my own fault and made me talk about safe sex with some gay dude my mom worked with at the hospital, so at least they were covering their asses. I ended up fucking around with him nine years later when I went home for the holidays. There are only so many things you can do on Christmas break before you start fucking your parents’ friends, right? (Hi, Craig! Thanks for making that joke to my father about me calling you “Daddy,” too. Precious memories.)
WHEN YOU THINK YOU GOT AN STD/STI
When it burns during your morning piss after you’ve had sex but it’s actually just your piss hole glued shut with dried semen. Gotta let that hot, salty pee burst right forth through it like a Brave Little Toaster. If your subsequent streams sting, get checked.
When you’re low-key looking for ingrowns in your happy trail or blackheads to pop on your arms and you see a freckle relocate. That mole ain’t moving. That’s crabs—so still technically not an STD/STI but nasty just the same.
When you shit blood. Sometimes you just got ripped open while fucking. Slow down on your shit chute, Mary, and warm it up before you go trying to pull a cable car’s worth of dick into your bay area. Throw a few soapy fingers up there in the shower until your hole is stretchier than Mr. Fantastic.
When your piss turns weird colors. Maybe you got punched in the kidneys and you’re just pissing some blood (reddish) or you took too many uppers (bright yellow) or you got stoned and ate a buncha Flintstones kids’ chewables because it was the only thing in the house other than ketchup and soy milk (brown).
When you have a cold sore on your face. I know full well that I wasn’t licking stick before I knew my times tables, and yet I’ve been getting cold sores since I was a kid.
Rash gash, aka razor burn, aka chub rub. Chub rub is usually centrally located between the thigh and genitals in areas that rub together due to them being big enough that they rub together.
PS: Don’t ever try to fuck in socks. They kill your traction if you’re fucking on wood or tile, and no one wants your sock next to their face.
BIRTH CONTROL AND PROPHYLACTICAL THINGS
Helen of Troy was one of the great icons of beauty. Story goes she was the face that launched a thousand ships and the cause of the Trojan War. I’m pretty enough that I too find myself embattled in a Trojan war almost nightly. By that, I mean I have to fight with dudes to put on a fuckin’ Trojan. They always try “It doesn’t fit” or “I can’t feel anything.” At times like this you gotta value that beauty you have. ’Cause if you get some STD, certain parts of you won’t feel so attractive. No one has ever said “Wow, those scabs really add to the landscape of your genitals” or “Damn, that facial wasting looks good on you.” Value your body and how it looks, and if someone won’t respect your wishes when they want to enter your temple, well, then it’s time to look further into the congregation and find someone else to worship you, goddammit. I’m not saying I’m a face that can launch a thousand ships, but I for sure fucked around behind a dock with some Jet Skis in Whorelando.
I know someone who doesn’t want to have kids because she’s got an alcohol issue. It’s not that she’s an alcoholic. It’s just that she thinks the kid will steal her vodka. Morons like this make me realize there are too many assholes and mouths relying on the planet and not doing anything in turn for it. It’s really starting to hurt this big watery rock we’re living on. So birth control and the occasional “selective reduction” are great.
21
How to SUCK LESS at
TRUST
“Trust is a gift,” my marriage counselor told me. I coulda gotten that from a needlepoint pillow without a co-pay, so my husband and I only went to her once. You don’t want to know everything about whoever you’re in a relationship with. It’s like watching a movie and knowing the ending. A little bit of mystery is always good. My husband and I had a phone rule: We could look at each other’s shit whenever we needed to. He would regularly text for me on my phone when I drove, and vice versa, so there was no hiding things. My photos were all 3-D: dick, drag, or my dog. We were open and it worked really, really well.
Except when it didn’t. As I said, he’s a lawyer so he thinks he can lie really well, but I’m an actor and I lie, like, professionally. That’s all that acting is: lying really well. When he lied, it turned into Tony Danza doing Shakespeare: lotsa stuttering and trying to get outta it. If someone says they didn’t do coke but then your tongue is numb after making out with them, trying to lie is useless. Best to fess up immediately. I don’t need the reasoning when I had already tasted the seasonings. We were also both slobs about cheating. He would find the tiniest sliver of gold on the floor and bust me for my Magnum litter. Having my yellow lab throw up a condom on a Monday after he was gone was also probably not the best way to interrupt dinner. Finding a pillow on the floor after I was gone for a weekend right where he liked to get blow jobs was kinda tough to explain. In both cases it wasn’t cheating, because we were open. It was “Ooo
h yeah, I was gonna tell you…”
People cheat for the sole reason of getting something they’re not getting in their current circumstances (i.e. particular sex acts, thrill of the anonymous new partner or self destruction). Plain and simple. I had my husband’s dick in my hand within thirty seconds of meeting him, so for him to expect me to go from ho to housewife would’ve been ridiculous. Also, there’s the little fact that I run a stripper agency. Am I supposed to just look at the dicks? I mean really? Blow jobs are how strippers say “Sorry for being late” or “Will you count my ones for me?” It’s when the extracurriculars become more of an entrée than a side dish. That’s when you gotta worry. If you find out you’re being cheated on, make a game plan before you do anything crazy. Try to figure out what made them want to cheat. Do you suck in bed or are they just tired of the same ol’ same ol’? This could be a learning experience on how to improve your chances of getting someone to remain faithful. If you’re just done and don’t care, I recommend destroying their ass so bad that they have to reset their whole life to factory settings. Fuck them one last time and “fall back” while reverse cowgirling/boying. Snap that shit. It heals in like six weeks. If it’s a woman who’s creeping on you, be more careful, because they press charges and have dads. Try a simple thing like a few dead gerbils scattered about before you give back her key. Rats work too, but gerbils show intent better.
SLY TIPS FOR GETTING THE TIP ON THE SIDE
Make sure you put sexcessories back in the exact same spot.
Keep the condom count consistent.
Wipe doorknobs, faucets, and light switches anyone may have touched.
If you’re a mobile ho on the go, hide all your shit under a fake symbol. Like any pics of me playing Cheater Cheater Penis Eater are hidden with the Private Photo Vault app. Any hookup tools are under utilities because I like that it sounds like “You little tease,” which I’m not. Teases don’t put out. A favorite trick for saving numbers and pics you shouldn’t be saving is to name them as a food place that matches their ethnicity. So that hot guy named Tony who smoked you out and went down on you is now Uncle Tony’s Italian Bakery…’cause he got you baked, right? Little fun things to remind you what a skank you are. Just make sure the sushi place doesn’t text you, reminding you to stop for lube on the way over. Tell tricks it’s a work phone and not to text you under any circumstances because you leave it at work sometimes to download software. G’head and lie, but know that karma can give the worst kinda reach around.
Pour one out for ’em and move on…
22
How to SUCK LESS at
BREAKUPS
My dude bought a pair of Crocs for himself for Christmas in 2014. I considered it abusive behavior. We separated in February 2015. Anyone who ever thinks it’s OK to not care about their appearance so much that they deem it acceptable to wear something that ugly deserves to be alone. So I left him for a full year. We reconciled when I realized I’d rather be 95 percent happy with him than exhaust myself searching for the 100 percent I probably would not find. I figured if it came to a point when we wanted to get back together, we would. Our separation was actually pretty chill.
Things hadn’t been going well and we both knew it. Sometimes it takes a big gesture. I hired really, really hot guys from Real Rock ’n’ Roll Movers, who took their shirts off to get my shit outta our shared house. I still slept there for about a month because just the threat of me moving out wasn’t enough. It took the big gesture. I woke him up one morning looking cute. Human hair lace fronts out the door, sunglasses on, NutriBullet in my hand with the cord wound up all around it, and I told him, “Car’s on the way. Leaving on a jet plane.” I was actually just moving to Inglewood, which pissed him off even more because he knew he was the only white guy I’d ever dated. He didn’t even try to argue. I know he felt defeated. He probably just envisioned me rebounding like a trampoline with some guys around me yelling, “Now make that muthafucker bounce.”
Sadly, that big moving-out gesture still wasn’t enough. Sometimes you need one good last fight to throw some shit or cry—one or the other, not both. Then ya gotta walk away. I didn’t talk to my husband for six weeks straight when I left him. Total ice. Remember in the Gold Bar when I let Phi Phi scream at me and I just sat there composed? Same idea. Give them nothing to work with. No response for him was even worse than all the back and forth because we couldn’t continue the same vicious cycle we’d gotten ourselves into. I thankfully had a mutual friend to help with my shared dog custody and financial entanglements with him, but exes will still try to climb over that wall. If it’s finally time to get back together, another milestone should be offered up. A ring, a getaway, or a gesture, like your partner finally bottoming for you after not doing it for the past decade.
Not that I wanted him to bottom. We had both gained weight while we were together and that was an issue for us. He worked a lot harder than I did, leaving him less time to focus on his body. Being a Midwest boy, his food choices steered toward the heavier meat and potatoes too, so that didn’t help. It was really difficult for me to address it, and I would only think of it as I saw his utensil go to his mouth. It’s like Romy not letting Michele eat that one Dorito she had in her hand before they started their diet.
But, truth be told, if someone gains more than ten or fifteen pounds and it shows, you’re allowed to bring it up. That’s like bringing a third person into the relationship, ’cause that’s how much, like, a real fat baby could weigh. If anyone argues otherwise, tell them a drag queen justified it with math. I tried sitting my guy down and telling him I was into hot daddies, and by that I meant in-shape older guys with their shit together, not guys who looked like they were pregnant with their second child.
If the marriage is just not working, there’s usually some straw that breaks the camel’s back. I once told a girl to cut her bangs, and I really believe that gave her the courage to leave her marriage. (Hi, Seana!) I also informed her afterward about her husband sending me dick pics and that I supplied the piñata for his bachelor party after they were separated, and that was probably TMI for her. By “provided the piñata,” I mean he tried to bust me open with a stick once. I was so happy when she left his ass, but she did miss him. I had some cut-and-paste Internet meme on my phone ’cause my sister had just been flat left, so I forwarded it to her, but I still remember it. It was something like “It’s hard when you miss people. If you miss them, it means you were lucky. It means you had someone special in your life who’s worth missing.” Bullshit, right?
SUCK LESS AT SOUNDS
SULKING EDITION
Please don’t cue up Tammy Wynette as soon as you break up with someone. That is a horizontal slash across the wrist, and the songs in this playlist are three vertical slices that’ll get the job done better.
“Ring Off” Beyoncé
“Picture” Kid Rock featuring Sheryl Crow
“What About” Janet Jackson
“Another Lonely Night” and “Ghost Town” Adam Lambert
“What’s Going On” Remy Ma
“All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You” Heart
“When Love Hurts” JoJo
“Love Lockdown” Kanye West
“Should’ve Been Us” Tori Kelly
“You’re So Vain” Carly Simon
“Just a Fool” Christina Aguilera featuring Blake Shelton
“Save Up All Your Tears” Cher
“Mirrors” Justin Timberlake
“99 Problems (But a Bitch Ain’t One)” Jay-Z
“Go Your Own Way” Fleetwood Mac
“Into the Blue” Kylie Minogue (This one was my play-every-day jam.)
“Hotel California” Eagles
“This War” and/or “Blood from a Stone” Shoshana Bean
“Blank Space” Taylor Swift
“Sister Christian” Night Ranger
“Goodbye Earl” Dixie Chicks
“Just Give Me a Reason” Pink featuring Nate Ruess
“I Hate Myself for Loving You” Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
“How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore” Prince
We all cope in different ways after a breakup. I like sex and being awesome. I think more people should try it instead of limping back to an ex for casual sex. Waiting at least a year for that shit helps remind someone why they moved on, even if the dick was right. The month and a half without speaking to my temporary ex after I left him was really rough on him. But that straight-up Elsa meets Casper frozen ’n’ ghosting is the way to go. After someone shows you who they are and you then try to change them to your liking, and it fails miserably, it’s best just to cut the cord and leave. If you don’t, you better have a better game plan than sex as a weapon or fucking up their car, because I’ve tried both and they only offered momentary relief, like a topical ointment. You can also just watch The Color Purple with a blunt and learn about what real pain is.
WILLAM’S FAVORITE STRIP CLUBS
Strip clubs are a great way to distract yourself after a breakup with penises, titties, and four-dollar ATM fees.
Atlanta, GA—Swinging Richards. I’ve made MANY poor financial decisions here. Five stars.
East St. Louis, IL—Boxers ’n Briefs. Dirty couches but it’s not like you came for the upholstery… where someone else may have actually come.
Fort Lauderdale/Miami, FL—Le Boy for twinks/twunks; Boardwalk for muscle; back room of Twist is muy caliente latino hunks.
Las Vegas, NV—Spearmint Rhino. A few Rock of Love girls work there still.