The Tumours Made Me Interesting Read Online Free PDF

now it was almost as if I could feel the tumours in my bowel dancing. The birth of awareness heralds the death of ignorance, no matter how blissful.
    “Know what we need, Brucey?”
    “Please, tell me.”
    “We gotta get laid! My balls are packing so much baby batter that I’m about to spit jizz.”
    I found the upfront way in which Jerry spoke uncomfortable. The self-censor that controls most of us, especially me, didn’t appear active in him. Getting laid was something that filled me with excitement, but I knew it was unlikely to happen and I’d certainly never announce my desires out loud. My sexual life wasn’t something worth writing home about. I’d been laid once when I was in my mid-twenties. The girl’s name was Polly and she thought I was someone else. I was in the pharmacy picking up some medication for my mother and Polly waltzed in, drunk out of her mind. She stumbled toward me and lowered her sunglasses while staring. She kept calling me Patrick, asking over and over where I’d been. I tried being virtuous and informed her I wasn’t who she thought I was. The alcohol had a hold of her pretty bad though and she simply wouldn’t believe me. Before I could really comprehend what was happening, I’d been dragged back to her apartment. I was frozen with fear, wondering if it was finally about to happen. I watched as Polly stripped naked. It was such an unusual feeling to actually see a naked woman in person who wasn’t my mother. She climbed on top of me. My erection was so intense that it hurt. She tore into my pants like a birthday present and I watched in awe as this stranger manipulated my penis with her hands. I couldn’t believe that someone other than me was touching it – it looked so big in her small hands. After that, I became so paranoid about cumming that I couldn’t enjoy the moment she slipped me inside her. After five awkward hip twists, it was over. Polly collapsed beside me and I snuck out, never seeing her again. I was finally sexually active. A few years later, I accepted the fact I was dormant again. I guess I always assumed some dream sex life would greet me one day. Now that prediction seemed unlikely.

    When we arrived at ‘The Tent’ I was reluctant to go inside. I hadn’t been in too many bars and on the occasions that I had, it was usually with large groups of people, allowing me to easily blend in. Now it was just Jerry and I, one on one. I would be expected to participate.
    Jerry darted inside too fast for me to adequately procrastinate so, like the good lamb I was, I followed him. The bar was dark with long bars of garish, multi-coloured neon light strewn awkwardly about. Half-speed Shania Twain songs droned from the jukebox.
    “They’re juke has been fucked for like, three years,” said Jerry. “How awesome is that? It’s become expected so they never bothered fixing it. People actually come for the slow-mo music. Weird fucking world, man”
    The drifting music hovered above the room while clusters of people mapped various areas beneath. Their combined voices congealed into an ugly foreign language that hurt my ears. The bar itself was the only brightly lit area in the whole place. Three bar-staff dressed uncomfortably in tents were attempting to maneuver around each other while serving. They kept colliding, spilling drinks and looking understandably agitated.
    “Let’s liquor ourselves up, man,” said Jerry, making a bee line for the bar.
    He pushed through strangers and I followed, growing more disoriented with each step. I was led to a barstool and sat down gratefully.
    “What’ll it be?” Jerry asked.
    I stared at the wall of liquor bottles, scanning their labels for something I’d seen in the movies. “A shot of Jack Daniels, thanks.”
    “Adda boy, Brucey! Let’s hit the hard stuff. Two shots of Jack, thanks love.”
    The tent-enclosed woman behind the bar smiled politely and spent the next 15 minutes attempting to prepare our drinks. I was