On Saturday, the day after Judge Thomas Penfield Jackson concluded that Microsoft was indeed a monopoly (like duh, it took a year and a half to figure that out?), I was hanging out with my friend Will, a software developer at Microsoft. We were shooting pool at a bar when Will lamented he had lost a lot of money because the stock price had decreased $5 on Friday night. I told him to not worry about it, that the public would start buying again and the price would go up. Besides, he’s still a rich bastard.

Everyone seems to have a Microsoft story these days. This is mine—and it has nothing to do with the quality of Windows 98.

Perhaps it’s because programmers spent so many years studying and tinkering around with their computers that some of them are experiencing a postponed youth. My friend Will, for instance, was a born-again Christian during college, while everyone else around him was getting Biblical in other ways. Now, at 30, Will is one of the hardest partiers I know. He’s super-smart, but he also parties all weekend long and takes lots of weird drugs.

A couple of months ago, I was hanging out with him and some other Softies when he presented us with a small vial containing a liquid that made you feel like you were drunk with just a teaspoonful. Will had gotten it from a doctor friend. Since I have no tolerance for alcohol, I didn’t try any, and I watched Will and his friends get more and more obnoxious throughout the day. It was three in the afternoon and they were acting like frat boys in hazing. One of them flirted with me blatantly, scooping me up in his arms, amazed at how “light and delicate” I was. (Blecch.)

After a while, I didn’t want to babysit any more, so I left. Will, who is always a gentleman, offered to walk me home. At my place, we started talking about sex. This was at the time Alien Boy was blowing me off, and I hadn’t gotten laid in two months. Will himself was in a long-distance relationship and hadn’t gotten it in a few weeks.

He asked me if I had ever had anal sex. I said once, in college, but that I hated it. He countered, “But it must feel so good. It must be so tight, I bet I’d come in a few seconds.”

“You already come quickly,” I said. Actually, since I had never slept with him, I didn’t know this for a fact, but if Will was like most 30-year-old men, it was a good guess.

He said that if his girlfriend would let him enter her in the back, he’d let her do the same with a dildo. This seemed like an invitation to teach him a good lesson. I brought my dildo out of the closet, and his eyes popped out. Dildos are big. Even a “small” dildo like mine is hung like a porn star. I put it in his mouth and let him gag on it for a while. “Does that feel good, bitch?” I asked. Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes.

“Are you giving your girlfriend orgasms?” I asked, to which his muffled answer was “I think so.”

“‘I think so’ isn’t enough. Before you start thinking about anal sex, you better make sure you’re getting the basics right. Like giving your partner a big O every time you have sex.”

I looked at him, his mouth stretched out to accommodate the dildo. I took it out and pushed his head down. “I hope I don’t have to ask, ‘Where do you want to go today?'”

P.S. I’m not saying anal sex isn’t desirable. My gay friends attest to its pleasures, claiming that it makes them come “like a gorilla” (uh-uh-uh!). I’m sure I’ll do it sometime, but I’m waiting for the right guy. In any case, whoever is doing it better be ready to receive as well.