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Chapter 83: “Filthy Fourths Or: How I Stopped Worrying About Relationships and Love the Sex”

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The summer of 2009 was forged through the fires of my heartache. But rather than scar tissue, I was left with an inner healing. For the first time in, well, forever, I was free. After years of desperately wanting a relationship, I was wholly happy being alone. I decided instead, to focus on loving myself for the first time ever, a relationship for which I had sorely yearned. And at the same period, any remnants of a social butterfly cocoon were finally shedding, and crashing to the ground.

My place in our frequent parties had finally settled into a place of familiarity and exuberant joy. No longer was I the outlier, staying in my room during the festivities, nor was I the “sober” one desperately trying to grasp at the fibrous tendons of civility, no, I was entrenched within the essence of the collective energy. Just like everyone else.

And sometimes, that meant hookups. I, myself, was no stranger to this as I had proven mere months ago, but it was everywhere. The parties proved to be quite the love connections, whether it was Travis meeting his girlfriend during a Super Bowl party, Kyle or Shawn finding flings before (or after) their own relationships’ formations, or people who had discovered their “contacts” after our sordid affairs. Sex was “in,” and I was finally a part of the period known as “the Wild 20s.” I was liberated.

Except for one night, in particular, offered us all a sexually devious night to remember.

During the same season, I continued the search for a way to show my devotion to myself, and that came in the only way I knew how: written expression.

I stretched my writing muscles by penning for my first official publication. Okay, so it was only the hospital’s circulation: The Currents newsletter. I wrote articles from a dish room employee’s (and former patient’s) perspective: one about the actual completion of the dish room renovation, and in an interview, about my battle with Leukemia.

There was this campaign to raise money for Eastern Maine Healthcare System’s new Cancer Center, and I had wanted to help because there was a dire need for a better facility.

The campaign was my first foray into the Currents, and I was rather embarrassed by the pull quotes they used for the campaign. I sounded like a damn fool.

The dish room piece was something that I was actually writing, and I took that to heart, carefully crafting the story to make our plight in this hot box translate clearly to all of our co-workers throughout the hospital.

Instead, the editors watered my piece down to remove any potentially negative phrases and in the process, also stripped it of my personality. I was NOT pleased.

The night before we moved into the finished dish room, Travis and I used it for a test run, “stripping” one cart full of dishes and I drafted a list of preventative measures and detailed workflow improvements. I left the unrequested summary of our unsanctioned test under our boss’ door, and we went home. Travis and I did this mostly because they didn’t heed our warnings before and during construction and we felt slighted. Considering that we were stuck with this machine, we thought it best to begin the optimization process for which Travis and I had become well known kitchen-wide.

Our bosses were rather impressed we took the initiative to help our processes along, but the technician for the machine maintenance company was livid because the unit had needed a final fine-tuning before it was fully operational.


The act of drinking had become a friendly face over the past few years. I could handle it well, and still play the part of the “sober” guy, keeping things in check and cleaning up after others. You know, like a good host.

One of our biggest parties grew to almost a hundred people, but it all started with a six-pack and a handful of friends. My friend from work hung out with us for the first time ever, and after a few beers, partygoers began to swarm. Groups from Northern Maine, people from work, neighbors, acquaintances, and more bum-rushed this party. For a moment, I was fearful of another encounter with the police, but then I remembered my newfound spirit and instead, devised an exit strategy in case we were to be caught. Let the others deal with that noise this time.

Luckily, the festivities went off without a hitch, and I was amazed by the sexual rendezvouses in the night. My friend from work got a hummer from a girl in his truck, then later, Shawn, had a fling with a friend. Good for them, I say!

The night progressed swimmingly, even as some people got so drunk that they had to be carried downstairs and driven home. Some would say that was severely dangerous, others would say that’s just a sign of a good party. I drank too much hard liquor (which was never good for me), but I was managing just fine. At around two AM, the party began to vacate, and Shawn and Kyle had already crashed. As I was headed to bed, I saw Jess (the same friend Shawn had slept with earlier) leaving a dark living room, and I couldn’t help it. I did my best drunken “Hey, come here,” pulled her in and kissed her deeply. She was totally into it and immediately, we were upstairs.

We got right to it, and luckily, Travis was crashed too on the far side of the room. The whole experience was steamy and spontaneous; I was in the “zone.”

Except as I came I realized that I didn’t have my condom on. But I couldn’t find any remnants of my seed or the condom itself. I KNOW I used one because the wrapper was there and I was in a coherent (enough) state of mind but alas, nothing. After she left, I threw the light on and checked for any spots on my bed. Nothing. Did I even release or was it one of those “ghosting” Sting-like tantric orgasms? I NEVER had this happen before (or since).

The next day I told Shawn about this and apparently, Jess was the girl with my friend in his truck! Then, of course, Shawn had an excursion with her, but what was worse is that a friend stayed the night and told him that she had given him a blowjob right before I went after her. Yes, she had just finished giving her second blowjob of the night -let alone touching the third dick of the night – RIGHT before I kissed her deeply.


Shawn was in stitches over this news. I was the last in a long line of a night of sexual debauchery for Jess. To be fair, I made a move on her, and I sure as shit thoroughly enjoyed it, but I had to exclaim: “Talk about Sloppy Seconds! …No wait, that’s Filthy Fourths.” Shawn could barely breathe. His cackles morphed into guffaws as I continued to tell him about the potential pregnancy and that I would probably have to call her to take the Morning After Pill (aka Plan B). I thought he was going to pass out he was laughing so hard. He seemed to get a kick out of laughing at my expense.

Some would say she was slutty or promiscuous, but you can’t fault someone for relieving their sexual urges that are, after all, only human. Hell, you could even put the “blame” on any one of us guys that night, but that’s the great thing about all of this: There’s no “blame” of which to speak. We were all just enjoying ourselves at a killer party. No harm, no foul.


Just like Sloppy Seconds, Filthy Fourths is never a good portion. It’s used, dirty, and full of other peoples’ grimy germs. Thank God I got checked after this.

This was one of those moments in life when I said to myself “Someday, I’m going to write about this.”

Yep, you sure will.

-Jamie (@GuyOnAWire)

This is an ongoing story of my personal battle with Cancer. My hope is that it helps others who are currently experiencing their own battles (whether it be for themselves or a loved one) or to help with early detection.

The way I’m doing it is terrifying for a writerI’m writing a publically available first-draft outline for an eventual book, chapter by chapter in weekly form. The only reason I’m doing it this way is to get the story out as soon as possible for someone out there who needs a survivor to visit them during their own treatment. If you’re reading this and need someone to talk to, tweet at me and I’ll give you a call. No questions asked. This story is for you and I’ll help any way that I can.

Stay tuned, as I will be posting a new chapter every Monday until the story is complete.

And remember if you experience any Anemic symptoms– get checked for Leukemia as well.

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47 comments on “My Cancer Story Ch. 83 “Filthy Fourths Or: How I Stopped Worrying About Relationships and Love the Sex”

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