So I’m in L.A., and my BFF Kathy Griffin finally consents to let me come over and hang out for a while, mostly, I suspect, because she finally got one of her “assistants” approved for medical marijuana, and they’re going shopping for some quality federal shit tomorrow, and she needs someone like me to help finish up the street dope she’s got left over, because since I’m from Kentucky she figures I’ll smoke pretty much anything including oregano.
So we’re hanging out, getting mellow, and the doorbell rings, and Kathy says, “I’ll bet you $100 that’s Anderson. He never stops by to visit, but he has this sixth sense about dope and will show up at your door the minute you toke up.” And sure enough, she answers the door and a minute later comes upstairs with Anderson Cooper by her side.
He does not look like Anderson Cooper News Reporter. He’s dressed casually, and all I can think of is Anderson Cooper Porn Star. He’s wearing a tank and basketball shorts and running shoes and I’m trying to be all casual and shit because it’s ANDERSON COOPER and he looks even HOTTER IN PERSON than I ever imagined watching him on television.
So we’re hanging, the three of us, and I’m trying not to stare, but damn, Anderson Cooper has the most Amazing biceps I’ve ever seen on a live human being. And the higher we get, the harder it is not to stare. Finally, he gets uncomfortable and asks me if anything is wrong.
“Oh no,” says I, “nothing is wrong at all. Please forgive me for staring, but your biceps are absolutely beautiful.” And he responds with the most dignified yet heartfelt “Thank You” I’ve ever heard. And I’ve been high with Kathy for a while now, and he’s just catching up, so my mouth is saying unnecessary things it normally wouldn’t, and I hear myself say “Can I touch your bicep?”
Anderson Cooper looks at me strangely, his eyes still sparkling blue even though bloodshot by now, and says “I’m sort of uncomfortable letting people I don’t know very well touch me like that”. And I must have looked as embarrassed as I felt because after a minute he added, “You can Lick one of my biceps if you like, though.”
So I stand, making no effort what-so-ever to hide my obvious hard-on, because things are now Officially Freaky and who the hell cares, and I walk across to the side of the sofa where Anderson sits, and he raises his left arm and flexes his bicep, and I lean in, and as slowly and as sexually as I have ever mustered in my entire life, Lick Anderson Cooper’s Bicep.
I have not brushed my teeth since, because I know no matter how foul my breath may become, it will always be permanently freshened from deep inside my tongue by the taste of Anderson Cooper, and I never want to let go of that moment.
For those of you who care, he tasted like cloves and patchouli, which is odd in the sweat of a boy as white as Anderson Cooper.