I would first like to make it very clear that I am not writing this out of jealousy or any sort of hot gay sex envy. Alright? Now, with that out of the way.
God Damn it! Grindr is really screwing up my studio practice! Sure … at first, it all seemed harmless enough. I have no problem with my assistants engaging in a little anonymous group sex. That’s all par for the course. But is it too much to ask they get a little work done first??
I know, maybe it was me that created the problem. You see, I tend to hire gay guys to work as my painting assistants. I have my reasons. Mostly being that when gay men speak crassly about sex it’s considered charmingly shocking and a celebration of freedom but when I do it it breaks the terms of the court order that explicitly bars me from addressing any sexy sexiness in the “workplace” or within 75 feet of my personal assistant, Rachael.
Rachael!!! Officially the worst personal assistant ever!!!
Where was I? Oh yes! Grindr! So when my painting assistant Tommy first started taking long lunches and coming back refreshed from stranger-fucking to regale us with his adventures I enjoyed it as much as the rest of the crew. Sure! I would have preferred talk of little pink pussies to his intimate descriptions of the stiff cocks, red hot with promise and brimming with warm cum, that he encountered on a day to day basis. But fuck it! I’ll take my sexy time talk where I can get it! I’m smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds me. Soft little titties or fat dicks slamming bearded faces until they cum so hard it feels like your shotgunning a hot salty beer! I’m good either way! As long as somebody’s getting off and Rachael is laughing rather than tossing hot coffee on my face, neck, and chest area.
But, like a contagion sweeping the studio, before long the sound of smart phones beeping with horniness alerts obscured the kachunk! of staple guns and already-long lunches were further augmented with multiple 20 minute “smoking breaks.” The whole studio seemed suspended in a fog of erotic anticipation. It was like I worked with an army of sex zombies! Half-gessoed canvasses lined the studio wall. Dried up brushes and sandwich wrappers littered the floor. When I ran out of Phthalo Blue (Green Shade) and sent an assistant to New York Central they returned an hour later cum drained and empty handed. Hell, they stopped bothering to even button their pants anymore! When I timidly suggested we try a “Grindr free” hour my studio manager lunged at me with his mat cutter but thankfully tripped on the shoelaces he hadn’t bothered to tie. Christ to heaven!! I have a exhibition opening in Aspen in two months and I’ve completely run out of huge canvasses to paint! I have to do something! But what??? I’m not a boss! I’m an artist!
The coup de grace has now come! They’re too exhausted to even share their adventures with me. They simply sit staring dead eyed at their phones. Trousers stained with cum where once gesso happily splashed. I haven’t painted in weeks as my brush hand shakes violently with lustful expectancy. My cheeks constantly afire with flush, my loins pulsing, yearning. Are they really going to deny me this last service in return for their hourly wage? Sure! I’d personally prefer talk of swollen clits glistening with desire but Christ! what I wouldn’t give for just one more hot story of a man meeting another man he doesn’t know and then the two of them just fucking the shit out of each other!
Short of that, a gessoed canvas.
What am I going to do!? Does anyone have any suggestions???
Oh! And while we’re at it does anyone know of a decent straight Grindr? One that, you know, is on the level?
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