by Willam Belli
Next time I saw that guy was at a bathhouse, and that was even crazier. Those places are like Space Mountain: dark with many dangerous choices. I mostly mean the porno mazes where you can walk right into a wall and stub your toe or cut your foot. Blood sometimes happens during sex if you’re a gay man. If you bleed after sex, it’s not always something to worry about. It’s fuckin’ gross, but not enough to make you call 911. It’s either a tear from rough intercourse or the baby Jesus weeping tears of blood through your asshole. He’s like “I told you. Water into wine, fags.”
This one particularly bountiful day in NYC, I fucked a guy in the gym for breakfast, got splashed with a protein shake after a day about town, and then had a sensible fuck for dinner. Afterward, I was in the shower and I was like “Fuck. This is the third time today you washed your ass, Willam.” And then I was like “Damn. You fucked three different guys. You shoulda had the forethought to call down to reception to get more towels.” But also #whore. And then I told myself back, “No, girl. Whores get paid. You’re a slut.” Then, as I dried myself with the corner of the bathmat, I reminded myself, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, myself.” It coulda been four guys in actuality, but I had sent one home who did not look like his pic. I’m not trying to say everyone needs to be the little engine that could and pull a train, but if you do, I’m here to advise you to always allow a fifteen-minute gap. Don’t be ashamed to admit that it’s been an active night either. Sure, it’s a double-down risk. When it’s getting real hot and heavy with that third or fourth guy, you may wanna try to test the waters, telling them that they’re the hottest you’ve had all day. If they ask, say you’ve tried it with a few others today and just was feeling some kinda way.
TOP TALK
Bottom to top, me to you. Here are some things I should mount above a headboard:
Every thrust’s endgame should not be to herniate a disc. You can get all jackhammer with it eventually, but breaking and entering shouldn’t be your MO. Put your dick on the porch of the house and say hi. Then go in the back door. Let that ass know there’s a visitor by throbbing or flexing your dick a few times. Consider this a foyer minute. After you see the bottom is cool, g’head and head to pound town.
If you see your bottom is taking a hit of poppers/amyl, please allow him the moment of resealing it before you go apeshit on his hole. Then fuck him good enough that if he sneezes the next day, it’ll make his butthole hurt.
Approved objects only. There is no need to put your fingers in while your dick is, or worse so, your toe. This little piggy stayed the fuck home.
I am not just a hole. I have front parts, too. Chances are I may also want to get off.
I know. You hate condoms. But wearing one is easier than convincing me you love me in hopes that I’ll let you skip that step.
Now, it can go one of two ways: He can say “Oooh, hot. You’re fuckin’ nasty. Lemme get you pregnant.” Or he can say “Excuse me while I remove my penis because you are an actual waste can.” Either is fine. The judgment is not. Don’t feel bad. No one can make you feel any way that you don’t want to about yourself. One guy, who wasn’t my first partner of the day, told me I shoulda told him before he came over, and he started asking if I had been tested recently. I should just get a ticker tape for my headboard. BREAKING NEWS: NO ONE CARES. I was safe and I knew what I was doing with my body, so I was cool about it. “Did he give me something?” should never pop into your head, because you should be asking yourself, “Did I allow myself to get exposed to something?” It takes two. Nobody gives you anything. You get it on your own. I like to hammer this point home with everyone, because it’s about being in total control of yourself. That’s why at each show I give out condoms (with my picture on them) as a preventive measure. Not only does the lucky individual think “What would Willam do?” before using it, or not (FYI, I’d fuckin’ suck it), but they also know I practice what I preach. You can look at my face and think “Hold up. I could get a terrible, disgusting, rancid baby asshole like Willam as a child.”
SEXTING
Sexting the wrong person can be a bitch. Work quickly to resolve it. Google spam and start posting some random weird shit combined with porn so people won’t know what’s up with your account. Write up something about wiring money to Angola for an ambassador or some shit. Say your phone was stolen or your nephew got it. Everybody’s got that one bastard kid in their family whose mother gave him too many sweets instead of side eyes and slaps.
And that’s why I say to most girls in the audience “There’s a six-pack available in the lobby for ten dollars.” I especially say it to you, dear reader. You should get the family pack. I mean I was an unplanned baby. My parents had sex after installing a linoleum floor. I think that’s why I’m so down-to-earth. See what I did there?
Can you imagine raising someone who thinks that this is OK? That’s the risk you take each time you have unprotected sex, ladies.
Available now at WillamBelli.com.org.gov.
HOW TO REMOVE LUBE FROM ANYTHING
I learned about this because I fucked some dude at a hospice when I was nineteen. (I wasn’t Tranna-Nicole-Smithing. He worked there as a janitor.) He could get anything offa anything, including me. To get lube off your body is a three-step process that I have to be super fastidious about because my tucking tape won’t stick if there’s any lubricant left. First, wipe away any excess mudhoney. Next step is a good cleansing (I like Dove soap). Rinse and then rub dry with a paper towel or rag. Then repeat the wash and rinse, and you should be good to go.
The most effective way to remove silicone lube not on your skin is with regular liquid dish soap applied, then rinsed. For machine-washable sheets and fabrics, spot-clean first with soap, then rinse thoroughly. Once you have spot-treated the item, get your maid to wash normally. Don’t dry in a machine. Allow the item to air dry like that scene in The Color Purple where Whoopi and her sister fuck up all the nice hanging laundry. Verify that the silicone spot is gone; if not, repeat. Once the spot has been removed, you may use the dryer as appropriate.
For flooring or surfaces, be extremely careful, because silicone is slippery and spreads easily. Use the same process as with fabrics. If it’s a laptop, find a fat guy or a fag at the Apple Store. They’ll definitely help you outta solidarity because they probably jerk off the most and know all about being a crumbdump and/or cumdumpster.
Coming out is a piece of cake. Literally. Bake a fuckin’ cake. Don’t go to a superstore bakery. Sheet cakes are shit cakes.
27
How to SUCK LESS at
COMING OUT
Teenagers hit me up online at least once a day, seeking assistance with coming out. Usually, I know they’re gay just by their thumbnail pics, and chances are the people they’re about to tell do, too. BTW: If your closet door has bead curtains, you can probably skip disclosing you’re a homosexual to your parents. You’re so gay you fart with a lisp.
So there’s no need to be nervous. Nerves are wasted energy. It’s borrowing trouble before it’s there. Get excited about the future instead of worrying. Plan a beautiful little day when you know who’s ever important in your life will be present for 10 min. Keep it quick. Your Dad really doesn’t wanna miss the game because he thinks he needs to play Father of the Year and let his son who he probably had an idea was gay years ago properly do it and get it out.
My parents told me on a Friday night about my two aunts and uncles being LGBT, and all I remember is trying to continually grab the remote. I wanted to watch Family Matters, not listen to family matters.
But, yeah. Back to you being a fag/dyke/trans. Get a cake. My parents, despite being television Nazis, were the best ever to deal with because their family tree already had so many LGBT entries on it. They probably had an idea I wasn’t straight because I’d made it clear I was going to marry at least one member of either Judas Priest or NKOTB (Funny that Rob Halford and Jon Knight ended up coming out too). My mom says she knew when I was three because I used child safet
y scissors to cut some suspenders I didn’t like off my pants. She told my father I was gay and he just laughed. Cut to him taking me to Rocky Horror Picture Show and sleeping in the car to take me home at three a.m.
By seventh grade, I wore a gay pride necklace in my school photo and was the only out kid all through high school. I also had a family member walk in on me sucking dick, and that was an easy way to come out to the other half of my family. That’s what cousins are for, right? Boy cousins do that kinda thing, weird as it sounds. I had one who “made” me blow him, and it’s not as weird as one would think now that I’m an adult. Granted, he’s dead now, so I don’t have to deal with any tense looks while I have a hot dog at family functions, but generally, incest is fine as long as babies can’t be made and it’s consensual.
Telling your parents you’re bisexual or gender fluid is very in right now and keeps the options open if you change your mind or science comes up with something fun. I did the bi thing, but only in AOL chat rooms when they allowed thirty-one people in them at a time. I was always jealous of people who could “pass” as straight until I realized I had nothing to be ashamed about. It’s like what Magneto says to Mystique in X-Men. Should a tiger hide its stripes? No.
That’s why it infuriates me when people wait to come out and then get celebrated. There’s a kid from Glee who could’ve easily come out at the height of his show’s success, but he chose to stay in his plush closet and presumably whisper his secrets into a hot Brazilian’s asshole. It’s people like this who make me worry for kids, because if there’s nothing wrong with being gay, why aren’t they open? Then when they come out, we give them magazine covers. I think famous people who are enjoying gay sex while excluding the parts of their lives that may indicate their sexual preference should have to pick up trash at the end of the Pride parade. Caitlyn can drive the trash truck provided she’s learned to drive in heels, and Shane, Joey, and the fags from Teen Wolf can all deal with the bins.
Remember Wentworth Miller? Imagine if he came out while he was on a Fox show and how that coulda changed the landscape years earlier. Sure, he was worried about never working again, but I think his acting pretty much sealed that fate. I understand needing to be able to disappear into a role as an actor, but denying something that’s not bad only furthers the assumption that it’s worthy of shame. Staying in the closet makes it seem like there’s something wrong with being you, and there’s nothing wrong with you except maybe that one toe you have that looks funny in sandals.
The weird toe is probably a genetic thing, much like any deviations from a heteronormative predisposition. If someone in your family doesn’t like how you’re shaping up, let them know their options. They can evolve or they can be cut from your life. You cannot allow yourself to be treated poorly by others just because you’re related and they’re “family.” Surround yourself with people who treat you how you want to be treated. If you can’t live your life a certain way because you won’t get the support you need financially or something, you have to make the tough decision of how important being you is to you. My parents were scared as fuck about me going out on my own, but they didn’t have much choice because they weren’t financing me at that point. I knew I wanted outta my small hometown at twelve, and I had my first job bussing tables at a lesbian-owned bakery brunch spot and saved every penny. If you can look in the mirror at night and lay your head down knowing that you were true to you, then you did good—and if you can lie down in bed and look in the mirror at the same time, congrats. You’re probably in my room.
This is my best friend DJ Pasta Body and my other best friend Courtney’s freakshow foot.
If you’re a budding homosexual and don’t want to come out, at least align yourself with the popular, pretty girls, because they will most likely date the boys who are most likely to torment you and they won’t tolerate their mates bullying their fruity friend.
Pillow choices say a lot about a person. A poor choice would be moving my pillows or furniture in my house. The stains live there and like to be left alone.
28
How to SUCK LESS at
HAVING A NICE HOME
My husband once told me all he really needed was a hot plate and a shitter. I tend to think the same but with, like, maybe a dartboard and a mirror, too. The one thing that most everyone can agree on is that cleaning sucks. So keeping it simple will help it suck less, which may lead to getting sucked more, because nobody wants to have sex in a pigpen. I mean I will, but I’d rather not, y’know?
Here’s a quick list to make your home clean-ish when you’re about to have company. I call it Operation Transvestite Storm.
1 Hit the head and squirt that blue toilet cleaner shit under around the rim. TBC…
2 Kitchen: Hide/do/throw out the dishes. Grab the toaster, which you turned on its side to make grilled cheese, and tip it back upright (toldya it was a great tip).
3 Get rid of any pet hair. No one wants to sit on your couch covered in hair. Either throw a blanket over it (not a sheet, ’cause ewwww) or use painters’ tape to lift it off. If you have wood floors, I’ve totally just blow-dried my floors with a hair dryer, ’cause it basically acts like a leaf blower and gets the hair into a more general pile faster than sweeping.
4 Go back to the toilet. Now try to power-wash that kersplat of crap off the side that looks like a Rorschach test made of poop. Pee real hard on it. If that doesn’t work or you can’t pee standing up, a traditional toilet brush will do the job. I usually just use my sock to wipe up any splashage or piss on the rim, ’cause I’m kinda a pig. Oh. Clean the mirror while you’re there, too. The water drip marks and residont from popped pimples on a medicine cabinet mirror are even grosser when they’re not your own.
5 Light a candle in the bathroom. I know I’d rather shit in a yard than have anyone smell my booty bounty, and the sulfur from a lit match is the best way to cover it. “Did someone smoke in here?” is always a better question than “Did someone have turkey chili?”
6 Fluff the pillows and make sure some surface area is visible on whatever kinda table you have. Even if it’s some milk crates and an old door. Think HGTV, not Hoarders.
7 Pick cigarette butts out of any plants.
In a bathroom, anything guests may need should be out: extra toilet paper, a towel, or maybe a Dyson Airblade if you’re bougie. Don’t be going into my restroom and coming out with a new hair tie and a different colored eye shadow on. Dipping up into my makeup is no. Maybe a squirt of lotion, but don’t even look at the La Mer. That’s not for you. If my stuff is out, try to avoid it, and just shit and run. Bathrooms should be streamlined and German in disposition. Bathrooms should not fuck around in the least.
Making a large wall into a focal point doesn’t necessarily mean you have to fill it up with a buncha shit. I regularly print and cut out video game graphic icons and throw them up on a blank wall to change up the look. There is power in negative space.
No one I know really has time to decorate. It just sorta happens as you live in a space. I had an interior designer once when I bought my first house, and I ended up hating him and all his ideas except for an awesome couch. I’m a Cancer, so that means my home is very important to me, which explains why I may have also gotten into a fistfight with the designer for trying to make my dining room look like the Wynn. Keep it simple and ease up on the tchotchkes, ’cause you’ll just have to move them all and dust and then move them back. I have an aversion to a buncha crap because my parents saved everything. Like, why does anyone need my old report cards? So I bit a kid and have a problem with authority. Nothing new there.
Think of the wear and tear that goes on versus how much effort you want to spend cleaning. My white walls in my living room were no match for the giant beast that liked to sleep against them in the same spot by the air vent in the floor so I had to paint them all gray. My husband suggested we just do the one wall but I told him accent walls are for lazy faggots. The dog’s fatness even corroded the copper on the pennies
that I put on the wall at my house. At a certain point you just say “fuck it” though, right?
These are above my friend Leo’s bed. The Lady Bunny one is useful for whenever he wants to hold off from cumming too quickly. I usually think of my grandma and mayonnaise when I need to hold off so Bun Bun is a fair equivalent I guess.
As a big fan of a little choking action, I’m used to rough trade putting me in a half-nelson, but being on this Paris wall next to half a Nelson is just as good. @Surianiart can whip up any kinda art for your wall to funk up your home a bit.
Flick her vagina and speak to her in whale.
Pictures should be on the walls, because you want to keep surfaces open for your guests to not use a coaster or engage in spontaneous coffee table sex. No one ever said “I can’t wait to invite people over and show off the magnificent grain of this wood furniture.” Being precious with your things makes having fun super hard. The most common example of this is having a buncha clutter in your bedroom. No family photos. It should be a lewdness sanctuary with more lube than a Pep Boys. Maybe a dresser. No chairs, though. Take it from me, the only place to sit down in my bedroom is my face. If you’re confused as to what should go into your home, get real fucked up and visit an IKEA. See which mock living space you gravitate toward and take notes before security asks you to leave. Then just go get Swedish meatballs and eat, like, two before you figure out they’re from Costco. I like customizing light switches and outlet covers too, because it’s an easy change back should you move or change your mind.