‘Tis the season for unicorn hunting: the northwest mist occasionally turns to snow, the nights come so early, and the cedar-y fires are so conducive to cuddling inside with hot toddies and blankets…and what’s even better than one beautiful woman on a bearskin rug? Why, two, of course!
(For the laggards, “unicorn” is, as defined by Urban Dictionary, a “bisexual person, usually though not always female, who is willing to join an existing couple, often with the presumption that this person will date and become sexually involved with both members of that couple, and not demand anything or do anything which might cause problems or inconvenience to that couple…”)
My friends are a nice professional married couple, and this isn’t their first rodeo. But they don’t play on the professional circuit (some of the rodeo clowns were just inappropriate, and kind of creeped them out, frankly) and so it’s not like unicorns just wander up while Friends are out having an elephant ear and snuggle at their feet. Instead, my Friends must head to holy unicorn hunting land: Craigslist. (Which has the perk, of course, that even if you don’t find anyone who looks like a decent prospect for naked sofa-surfing, you could at least find a fantastic new sofa and not be too disappointed with the day.)
After a few (dozen) hours making a (somewhat fruitless) effort to weed out the frighteningly insane, the obvious creepers, and the downright repulsive, Friends settle on a lovely young lass who is beautiful, interesting, and pursuing a professional career. Perfect.
They meet for cocktails, and everyone is enchanted. They eat appropriate amounts of food in what seem to be ordinary ways; no red flags like separating each thing on her plate to not touch each other, no 8 bajillion dietary restrictions (“strawberries give me hives!!”), no sass to the waiter or display of Game of Thrones-style table manners. They all go back to Friends’ house and open a nice bottle of wine, stoke up the fireplace, and nestle into the couches to take this in a flirtier direction. Husband Friend offers to draw a bubble bath for Ms. Unicorn — what most women would interpret as a sensual, sexy gesture (although frankly – and maybe I’ve seen Psycho too many times – bathing with strangers isn’t really within my own self-preservation comfort zone…but I digress).
Ms. Unicorn announces: germs can travel in water, and she isn’t going to potentially expose herself to Friends’ germs like that.
(And a hush falls over the crowd…)
Ms. Unicorn helpfully volunteers that she has quite a few other rules and boundaries, and launches into a detailed explanation. She does not perform fellatio – at all. She does not perform cunnilingus – at all. She will not accept performance of cunnilingus on her, unless a dental dam is utilized. (A dental dam? Really? Have you ever met anyone who knows how to use one of those? Have you ever even seen one of those?)
She DOES mouth-kiss, which absolutely blows my mind, since I am willing to bet that if you swab-tested a freshly-bathed penis versus the owner’s mouth, the latter would reflect a stinking cesspool of filth compared to the squeeeeeeky clean bits farther south.
There is a mouth-kissing caveat, however. If Friends perform fellatio or cunnilingus on each other, they must rinse their mouths out with water and wait 10 minutes before kissing Ms. Unicorn. Yep. Water? Why not Listerine? Or, fuck it, straight rubbing alcohol? And waiting 10 minutes? Is that like before swimming? Will the bacteria drown in that intervening sixth of an hour and freshen the place up again?
Digital/tactile exploration will require immediate multiple handwashing, both before and after, and between orafaces (orafaci?), even if all on the same person. It goes without saying that there will be absolutely no penetration of any kind, unless perhaps she’s brought along a selection of autoclaved dildos which meet her sterility needs.
By this point Friends have opened up and are making an impressive wreck of a third bottle of wine, because, fuck it, there’s no way they’re getting laid tonight. By the time Ms. Unicorn announces that maybe she’d just like to watch Friends have sex with each other (from a safe distance that the germs can’t kamikaze divebomb her, I assume), Friends yawn and muse that they are so sleepy all of the sudden…maybe they’re coming down with something?
Ms. Unicorn gallops out of the house as fast as her heels allow her…and Friends retire to their soothingly disgusting, germ-ridden (but unicorn-free) bath. Friends haven’t heard from Ms. Unicorn, which we all assume means that she has perished, merely from her proximity to so many germs. I hope that when she died, she became glitter on the sea — everyone knows unicorns have no souls.