If you’ve been reading Drunk and Jobless lately, you’re no doubt incredibly jealous of all the cool places I’ve been to over the past few months, so I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I’m currently stuck at Dubai airport on a 23.5 hour stopover. That might sound like the hilarious premise behind the latest Home Alone film, but in reality it’s very fucking boring. I have to space out my trips to the toilet so that I actually have something to look forward to.
My time here hasn’t been a complete waste, however, because it has allowed me to meet Dipu Chandrababu, a chubby Indian poofter who is also my biggest admirer. I was enjoying a surprisingly good curry in the food court when a bloke who looked like a 1980s gay porn star picked up the chair next to me, turned it around and sat backwards on it. You know shit’s about to go down when someone sits on a chair backwards, although with Dipu I’m surprised he didn’t turn the chair upside down and sit on one of the legs.
“Hello, I am Dipu,” crooned the curry-crazed cutie, licking his lips. “How long are you in Dubai? Four days? Five? You can stay at my place. It’s close. Only one bed, a single, but we can share. Let’s go.”
From there, the conversation was a one way street, as the Punjabi playboy hammered me with question while mentally undressing me (not a great idea – a chick I hooked up with a few weeks stole most of my undies, so I’m anything but fresh).
“Are you married? Maybe a girlfriend? A lover? Are you single? No time for women? I have no time for women. Not my thing. I have many lovers. All over the world. You could be my lover. Nothing serious. I have a talented tongue.”
Now, If I had any inclination to have sex with a man, I would have acted on it by now, and I don’t think some fat curry muncher is going to be the tipping point. Kudos to the bloke for trying, but he’d have a better chance trying to shit into the eye of a needle. As a straight bloke, I think it would be awful to wake up after a big night on the piss to discover I’d been sucked off by some idiot I met at the pub, but over time I could probably deal with it. That woudn’t be the case if I was sucked off by fuckin’ Dipu, though – it’s so much gayer if the bloke blowing you has a moustache. I’d have to cut my cock off and throw it in a fire.
Dipu insisted that I take his phone number (which is how I was able to steal his photos off Facebook) and, after realising that I wouldn’t tikka his masala, ponced off to try his luck with someone else. Ships pasing in the night, I guess. Last I saw him he was leading a priest into the disabled toilet. And that’s how I went close to getting a rimjob off a fat Indian cunt. Isn’t travelling wonderful?