Perfectly Clear

Hello everyone. I know that many of you don't know me, which is why, right from the outset, I'd like to make it perfectly clear that I'm not gay. I'd hate for there to be any confusion. I've never touched a penis—other than my own of course—and I've never been even the slightest bit tempted. You'll never catch my head turning to admire a man's tight, muscular ass as he walks down the street, nor will you find me stealing surreptitious glances at their bulges. Even the really big ones. Some people might find that kind of thing interesting but I'm not one of them.

In public restrooms, I keep my eye level horizontal at all times. I don't even look down at my own penis when I'm at a urinal just in case I catch a glimpse of a stranger's penis in my peripheral vision. This is rarely an issue however, because if a man pulls out his penis within six feet of me I leave the room immediately, even if I'm mid-stream. Urinating on my clothes is a small price to pay to avoid being alone in a room with a man with his penis out.

Let me add that after masturbating to lesbian porn, (I don't watch heterosexual porn because it has dicks in it which is gay), it has never crossed my mind to lick my finger to see what cum tastes like. I usually ejaculate into a sock or a tissue which obviates the issue, but in those "in case of emergency" situations, I have never lain on my back, fired it up into the air, and allowed it rain down upon me like God's sweet mercy. If I do accidentally get semen on my hand I wash it away immediately, first with water and then with soap, before allowing the tainted appendage to come into contact with my face or any foodstuffs. Similarly, if during the course of heterosexual intercourse with a girl, some of my semen gets on her or it gets in her mouth, I insist that she cleans herself and brushes her teeth thoroughly before intimate touching resumes.

Speaking of the exclusively heterosexual sex that I have, I'd like to note that even if I'm doing it from behind, and I'm gazing at the buttocks of the female human that I'm having non-gay sex with, I'd never put my dick in her ass and ask her to speak in a deep voice so I could pretend that she was a petite, hairless man. Such a thing wouldn't even cross my mind. For me, it's penis-in-vagina all the way. And sometimes penis in mouth. I'm aware that homosexuals do that too, but that's just heterosexual appropriation, am I right?

As far as my own ass goes, I hope it goes without saying that nothing has even been put inside it. No thermometers, no suppositories. I have absolutely no intention of ever getting my prostate checked. If it were possible, I wouldn't even have my poo inside my ass, but that can't be helped. One thing that has always made me uncomfortable is the way that poo is clearly phallic in nature, (I eat bananas with a knife and fork for similar reasons), and when it's coming out, it's difficult to deny that you have a solid, somewhat phallic object in your butt, which is extremely gay. It's going out rather than going in, which is an important distinction, but it's obviously still an issue.

To get around this problem, I consume a steady dose of laxatives which ensures that my faeces are almost completely liquid at all times. Pushing a stream of shitty water from my ass on a bi-hourly basis is both uncomfortable and requires me to maintain an aggressive regimen of hydration to safeguard my health, but at least it's not gay. Some men admit that they derive great satisfaction from the feeling of a big poo coming out, but if you're going to go that far, you might as well just cover yourself in glitter, suck a bunch of cocks, and be done with it.

I'd just like to address one last point before we get started, and that is the fear that at this point, some of you might be mistakenly assuming that I'm homophobic or that I'm repressing some latent homosexual impulses. Let me assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. I'm not going to say something cliche like "I have lots of gay friends" because quite frankly I don't. But I don't care what people do in the privacy of their own homes. God will take care of all that. My only desire in saying all of this is to establish before getting to the reason we're all here today, that I'm speaking from a perspective of unflinching heterosexuality. That's what you get with me. I talk straight and I fuck straight. With women.

Right, with that out of the way, let's talk about Rob. As you probably know, Rob was gay, and I don't have much to say on the subject one way or another. As I mentioned before, God will take care of all that. And that seems rather more relevant, gathered as we are, at Rob's funeral. The fact that he requested that I speak at it comes as a bit of a surprise, but who am I to refuse a dying man's wishes? He was a close friend of my sister's, so from time to time, I'd see him around the house. We'd ask each other how we were, talk about the weather, that kind of thing, but I mostly kept my distance. Sometimes I'd catch him looking at me in a manner that can only be described as lascivious. I wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at, but the way he was looking at it made me more than a little uncomfortable. Those kinds of looks are only meant to be exchanged between men and women. Do they make women uncomfortable? I don't know. But if they do, that's how nature intended it.

So far as we can tell, Rob's homosexuality was unrelated to his death. Instead, his death seems entirely related to the car that hit him whilst travelling at fifty miles per hour. But we mustn't rule anything out. Was he distracted? Maybe a particularly attractive young man, perhaps in a leather vest, with rippling biceps and eyes that sparkled devilishly with forbidden lust, walked past him just at the moment he stepped out into the road.

We'll likely never know. Just as we'll never know why he asked me, a heterosexual man to speak at his funeral. He must have at least recognised the possibility that the entire occasion would make me deeply uncomfortable. That some of you might assume that I was gay by association. Perhaps, even, that you would wonder whether he and I had ever engaged in some sort of ecstatic, cum-drenched, ballet of cocks, the memory of which makes me feel more alive than anything I've ever experienced, and the tale of which he swore he'd take to his grave.

But as I hope I've made perfectly clear; we did not. Not at all. We just met a few times, fully clothed, and made small talk. He will be missed.