Cuddle Club

The toxicity of his masculinity ran through his veins like the contents of a lethal injection except it wasn’t killing him. It was fucking up his chances with women, though, and he was trying to think of ways to combat it. No woman had ever shown interest him. He had done all the right things as well. Being emotionally available and crying on demand had been skills he had worked on extensively over the years. Women were still repulsed by him though and the initial confusion eventually gave way to the answer. It was masculinity itself. There was only one way around this, so he booked an appointment with the doctor.

The doctor’s surgery was packed. Thirty-three sick motherfuckers squeezed into a waiting room that only had seating for nine. Sweaty and crammed in like a suppository up an uncooperative arsehole, he waited for one hour and thirteen minutes before the doctor called him in. The doctor’s office was small but much cooler than the waiting room. There were plaques and qualifications and various other shit stuck to the walls. The doctor looked like he was 109 years old. “What can I do for you?” he said.
“Long story short, I want estrogen tablets,” he said.
“Too toxic,” he said.
“What’s too toxic?”
“My masculinity.”
“Son, you look like a lesbian. Any more estrogen in your system and your dick will invert itself and you’ll develop a vagina,” said the doctor.
“How dare you!” he said.
“You even talk like a woman. Now get out,” said the doctor. Outraged and offended, he stomped out of the doctor’s surgery, calling him a darn quack on the way out.

A spanner had well and truly been thrown into his plans. He contemplated his choices and decided that if he couldn’t rely on the medical profession to help him, then he would take matters into his own hands. He called his mother and asked if she was on the contraceptive pill, but she hung up. He had planned to take them, but he soon moved on to plan C. He drove down to the supermarket and cornered a shop assistant in aisle twelve. “I need your most potent soy. Where can I find it?” he said.
“What are you talking about, man?” said the shop assistant.
“My toxic masculinity is ruining my chances with women. I need to lower it. Show me where you keep your soy,” he said. The shop assistant pointed him to the back corner of the shop where the lights seemed to be broken and spiders freely spun their webs. He loaded up his trolley with soy milk, soy water, soy oil, soy paste, soy soap and soy bread. He went through the self service register and high fived himself after he’d paid for everything. The dark clouds that had shaded his existence appeared to be clearing to make way for a wonderful rainbow. It was still early days, but he felt it did no harm to be positive.

Three weeks in and he had still failed to secure a date. One woman had laughed at him and another had told him she wasn’t gay. He scratched his head in confusion. Maybe he was coming across as too wooden. He saw an advertisement online for an all male cuddle club. He thought it might help to expel some of his hard to reach toxicity through cuddling other men. The fact that it wasn’t with women was an added bonus in his opinion because it would act as a safeguard against any possible sexualisation that toxic males like himself were prone to descend into whenever they came within a dick hair of a woman. He noted down the time and location and made an entry in his diary so that he would remember. He looked into his own sad eyes in the mirror as he brushed his hair and wondered when it would stop raining in his heart.

The Cuddle Club was on the other side of town and the taxi driver who drove him there tried to convince him it was a gay bar. Undeterred, he ignored the moron and insisted he be taken there post haste. He had chosen a cuddle friendly outfit and was not willing to miss this opportunity. He was met in the front reception room by a tall and muscular, hairy man. “Hello there. My name is Chickenhawk. Welcome to Cuddle Club.”
“Thanks. I’m really hoping this works.”
“What’s the matter?” said Chickenhawk.
“I’m toxically masculine and women won’t fuck me,” he said and his heighten emotions slightly alarmed him. He had been moody since consuming mass amounts of soy and tonight felt like a last chance to him. Chickenhawk put his arm around him. “Little buddy, it’s going to be ok. We’ll look after you.”
“Thank you, Chickenhawk,” he said and he felt his mood lift ever so slightly. He was led into a larger room where nineteen men lay all over each other, cuddling and caressing like lovers. An older man was wandering from group to group only to be turned away. He had a bottle of what looked like massage oil. “Fuck off, Gramps!” said one of the guys cuddling another guy.
“What’s going on Camp Gramps?” said Chickenhawk.
“Chickenhawk, this is the year we get unstuck and these bitches won’t let me oil them up. You can’t get unstuck without oiling up. Just ask my President,’ said Camp Gramps.
“This is Cuddle Club. No oils allowed,’ said Chickenhawk. Camp Gramps put the bottle away, his heart broken one more goddamn time.

There were three men in the corner making out, taking it in turns to kiss. “Is this some sort of gay bar,” he said.
“No, not at all,” said Chickenhawk.
“Three guys are going at it over there.”
“I can’t see them.”
“Calm down little buddy,” said Chickenhawk and he took him in his arms and rocked him like a baby. The back and forth of the rocking settled him down to a point where he became drowsy and fell asleep in Chickenhawk’s arms. He dreamed of being stranded on a desert island with forty-nine nude women between the ages of 19 and 35. They were all lined up waiting for their turn to have a piece. He woke up in a pile of dudes with an erection stabbing another man in the back. “Hey, is that your dick?” said the guy.
“Uh, well..yeah,” he said.
“This isn’t a gay bar,” said the guy. He got up. Camp Gramps winked at him and mouthed the word “unstuck”. He went outside. It was raining. That didn’t bother him. He was hoping the rain would wash away the feelings of filth that lay upon his skin after having woken up in the arms of another man. He also needed a drink. There was a strange taste in his mouth.

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