John~ Takes a BC Post

I remember getting asked during my RSDChat if I had attended a bootcamp yet. (The chat is available on our wiki). I said no, and gave some snotty answer, I think.

At the time, that's where I was. Still a little snot. Still a little blind to things. Since then, the blinders have come off, in a big big way.

Lots of opportunities. Big changes in life. Not drunkjohn. John. John fully present. (Stay tuned for John 2.0, Charlie Kilo style, even if it kills me)

So I went to the Flawless Natural bootcamp. It was time. I was ready.

I met Alex and Jeffy. I should tell you exactly what this means. I didn't meet two guys who have "internet personas" or two guys dripping with ego because "we're instructors and you're not", I met two guys who I'd absolutely invite over to the house for snacks and play board games with. (And yes Alex, I'd buy soymilk for you)

The reality, or more specifically, the realness of these two guys is palpable. They know what the hell they're talking about. They take a really complicated subject matter, one deeply personal for a lot of people, and explain it to you in the same way you'd give directions to the gas station.

Not in the I'm-talking-down-to-you way, because you'll never feel like an idiot. Never ever.

That first night, I had some fun, kept moving, kept going....honestly, it was an okay night. Good scene, nice atmosphere, and I had fun. It gave me a chance to get a feel for what to expect, what I can do and brought me glimpses of what the next nights of bootcamp would be like.

Or so I thought.

Day 2 of the bootcamp...well, it needs a story all it's own.

We arrive at the club, and I completely didn't give a fuck. Self-amusement to the max. Let's just have a good time. If I'm me, vagina will come (ooh, a pun!), so no worries, let's have some laughs.

I meet some ladies on a bootcamp. No, not our bootcamp, they have their own bootcamp. FOR SEX. Yes, that's right. WOMEN TEACH EACH OTHER HOW TO FUCK.

Could there be a better group of people to meet on a bootcamp?

So I find a brunette (I have a thing for brunettes) with a fire in her soul (you know the type, the kind that really knows who she is and parties), and we start chatting.

That is to say, I'm just dancing in place and she walks up to me, puts her hand on my cock and introduces herself.

Fuck yeah, it's on. Her name is Robin, and she calls herself a Goddess. She's a student on this female-sex-bootcamp.

Let's chat. Better yet, Robin, introduce me to your lady friends. And give me that pink boa.

For I christen that boa, the BOA OF GLORY.

I cannot dance for shit. Not club-style. Give me a ballroom, or salsa, and we're good. But the basic club work? No sir.

Doesn't matter. I've got 1000000000% knowledge that I'm the man I'm supposed to be, and that I'm living life the way I want.

Attraction galore. Abundance? Without a doubt.

So Robin introduces me to Sarah, who introduces me to Beta, and Susan and some other woman who goes into my phone as "Sexy Travel Woman". We start chatting. I decide to walk away and check out how other people are rocking. Don't worry, I'll come back to them.

More chilling. More boa power. The wierd Asian staff-lady asks me if I want a table. I play dumb, saying that I'm not from here (hey look! John does a hybrid Scottish and Aussie accent!) but I'll get some friends together for a table.

BOOM, now we have a place to sit. But I don't sit there. Because sitting isn't enough action.

So I go rock around the club, back to these sex goddesses, who invite me to their private tables. Sure, it's cool, I'm having an adventure. Chat me up. Yes, you can use me as your male demo. My laser eyes and claw will smoke your little piddly unsubtle escalation, no doubt. Sure, we can makeout. No, not on your terms. All me, lady.

So I'm drinking who-knows-which-glass of champagne, and telling the waitress that yes, we need another bottle and I need a coke. Travel lady is chewing on my ear lobe, and her tongue is doing twists just in the nice part of the ear. She asks where I'm staying. I remember my third grade teacher. Wierd. But whatever. That's who she reminded me of.

I turn to my left, to Susan, a reformed stripper she tells me, and we get to chatting about how I want to scuba dive off The Bimini Road. (Google it). Good conversation.

She leans over. Hand to cock. Through the pants, she's found the balls. Good hands. Neat, I love this adventure.

Oooh, here comes Beta, dancing and talking to me. Hey, why is Susan opening my pants? Oh.....oooooh! Was that her tongue? Awesome.

To paint this scene, there's a blonde ex-stripper giving me a good tongue-lashing, there's a woman sucking on my ear, asking me to fuck all three of them, and there's a woman dancing in front of me telling me she got her clit pierced for her birthday.

How can I make this fun? How far can I go?

Let me check out this clit piercing. I'm somewhat of an expert in labial matters. Ooh, nice. Shaved. Glorious.

More drinking, and I get nicely put back together after Susan has dessert. Where's my mind? On cupcakes. I was hungry.

Let's go downstairs and dance, on two couches and a table. Makeouts to the max. Gropes galore. Ready to pull deluxe.

And then there's this drunk guy. I met him earlier, he wanted to know why I was a fascist American. He's Dutch. And drunk. I called him a "creepy guy" earlier, and he ran away to the bar. He's back now, and he's grinding on the couch, the way I've seen my dog do it. Odd. Now he's in my ear, telling me how I'm shit and can't fuck a woman because....

he wants to fuck me.

Dude, be cool, I'm just having a good time.

The Dutch bisexual is three seconds from getting a shove when I see Alex, who I think had his mouth agape. Oh thank god, time to POOF.

I leave the horny cougars and the drunk Dutch to do whatever they do.

That was the second night. I met my destiny, I met the guy who I was supposed to be, and in Dragonball Z style, we fused.

I know who I am. I know which way to go. I know what to do. I know what I want. Nothing stops me now.

Time for night 3.

Extremely exhausted and dehydrated and babbling utter nonsense (a bartender says she'd lick me clean if she could spray me with seltzer, I responded with, I'll spray you with something in return, here's my number, now give me a drink.)....night 3 is spent completely having fun. So much sober fun in fact that my bad dancing has the bouncers thinking I'm a stumbling drunk. Faggoty Agent Smiths. Douchebags with earbuds.

Whatever.

Let's just hang out. Bootcamp continues and oodles of glory happen in front of me. Happiness abounds.

In those 3 nights, doing everything from getting cabs to getting blown to arguing with a guy as to where a club was (he's a cab driver, how do you not know where something is? Fucking ask someone!), I earned that ~. I understand what it means now to be a transformed man.

To be a natural.

To be who I am meant to be.

To love life.

(This part is for Jared) so I head home, riding that wave of "holy-fuck-this-is-my-life-now" and there's a latina on the train. We should chat. She needs to know that I enjoy chocolate milk, and that when this train makes the next stop, we should go somewhere and talk. And by talk, I mean she should kneel in a train car bathroom and speak into the Dicktophone.

I earned my ~.

You want to earn yours? You take this bootcamp. Take the steps to change your life, no one is going to do it for you.

Seriously, come talk to me. Let me describe to you, let my voice show you the change.

Come live life. It's waiting for you. Are you ready?