Kyle Irion: Sexual Inspirationalist.

8 May

Oh, sex. Sex is so crazy. Sex is so sexy.

As a part of a speaking tour I’m doing, I stopped by a local Civic Center and offered, out of the kindness of my heart (and $30 a ticket),to give a sex seminar. Now I’m no expert, but I’m definitely a sexpert (What?) and I feel it’s my obligation to share my knowledge with the good people of [Insert Your Town Here!]. By the way, I saw your parents there. Gross.

The room is set up with amphitheater-style seating. The seats and flooring are all black, lights shine from above me. I’m wearing a headset. In keeping with all the public speakers I’ve seen on TV, I’m wearing a tight fitting black t shirt and slacks, with a large ring on my right hand and a look of undeserved superiority. “Look, everybody. Look how smart I am. Look how much you need me.” That’s what my appearance says. That’s also what my mouth says. The audience responds with absent-looking stares and questions about parking. They’re eating out of my hand.

Seats all filled, I turn on my microphone and breath deeply. “Kyle…prepare for glory…” I whisper to myself. I forgot that I turned my microphone on. No bother, they needed to hear that anyway.

“Ok, everyone. Welcome to the ‘Kyle Sex Seminar for People Who Like Sex.'” People look around happily. It seems many of them do in fact like sex. Good start.

“Who here has a penis?” I ask. Many of the men raise their hands; others abstain. I assume that the ones abstaining are just ugly women.

“Who here has a vagina, or ‘penis holder,’ as we’ll refer to them for the rest of the Seminar?” Several women raise their hands. Those who do not seem to be offended. I have no idea why. Perhaps they’re just beautiful men.

“OK, we’re going to do sex talk now. Please remove all children. They piss me the hell off.” Scattered chuckles as I stare stone-faced into the crowd. I clinch my fists.

Right now, I’m trying to assert myself as an authority figure– someone to be trusted.

“Let’s open up with a light Q&A session. Who’s got a question?” I open my hands as if I’m about to accept a hug. One audience member in the front row stands tentatively and inches toward me with his arms open. I maced him. I had to. MACE him. MACE him.

“Kyle, I have a question.” A young man in his upper 20’s stands up.

“Go ahead.” I say

“Me and my girlfriend,” he motions to a woman seated to his left, “We have chemistry problems. We…I can’t seem to…stay erect for long periods of time. I just lose it too early…you know?”

“No, I don’t. Go on.”

The man stiffens (no pun intended) and then seems to do something with his hands to signal that he has something to say.

“Well, that’s what I’m asking you,” he says. “I thought we were…I finish too early, that’s a fairly common pr–”

“No, it isn’t. Please take your seat. Okay, let me ask you a question. What do you think about while you’re making love?”

“Usually my girlfr–”

“That’s your first problem. You think I think I daydream about cruising down the California coast in a Honda Civic? No. I think about driving down the California Coast in a sterling silver Millennium Falcon. You should do the same.”

“I don’t want to go to California, though.”

“You’re not going to California, man. It’s a metaphor. Think about somebody interesting while you have sex– someone you can never, ever have sex with in real life– like John Stamos or Ron Howard. Think about bangin’ Uncle Jesse; that’ll get your rocks off.” I make a gun with my finger and *click* at him.

“Next question?” This time a woman stands politely and waves to me. I wave back. She waves at me again and laughs. I flip her the bird and tell her to get on with it.

“All right,” she says, “How can I turn my husband on? I’ve tried everything, but I just c–”

“Lose 20 pounds.” I should not of said this. Time to evade.

“What?” She asks.


“Did you just tell me to lose 20 pounds?”

“No. I told you next question.”


“Okay, next questiοn.” I survey the audience. “You sir, in the back, yes.”

“Kyle, what makes you an expert on sex anyway? I also feel that someone should ask how you got into our Homeowner’s Association meeting and why we had to pay you $30 for this crap.”

“Phil. May I call you Phil?”

“That’s not my name.”

“Okay, well, Phil. For your first question, as to how I’m an expert, I’ll put it to you this way: I’ve had sex with a lot of women, somewhere between two and a thousand– but closer to three. I’ve also watched porn–and one time I might of heard my room mates having sex.” I pause for a moment, “Not with each other, with women.” I stop to giggle. “Is that enough for you?”

“All right, but what about the rest of my questions?”

“You only get one question. Next question?”

9 Responses to “Kyle Irion: Sexual Inspirationalist.”

  1. Holly Anderson May 8, 2009 at 7:37 pm #

    That was great!!! So great in fact I had to get my boyfriend in here to read it.

  2. Aaron, not the one you know May 8, 2009 at 8:17 pm #

    Kyle and I had an affair while taking a wilderness trip in Montana. He is infact, a sexpert. Just let him take the wheel, he’ll take it from there.

  3. Kyle Irion May 8, 2009 at 8:58 pm #

    I’ll respond to these comments in order in which they were received.

    Holly: Thank you very much. I hope your boyfriend enjoyed my boner-inspired hilarity.

    Aaron: God, to only hold you again.

  4. not talia May 9, 2009 at 12:25 am #

    the thought of you in a headset just does something to me, irion.

  5. Al Pacino May 9, 2009 at 5:41 pm #

    I don’t know what to say, really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives. All comes down to today, and either, we heal as a team, or we’re gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play. Until we’re finished. We’re in hell right now, gentlemen. Believe me. And, we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell… one inch at a time. Now I can’t do it for ya, I’m too old. I look around, I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I’ve made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. I, uh, I’ve pissed away all my money, believe it or not. I chased off anyone who’s ever loved me. And lately, I can’t even stand the face I see in the mirror. You know, when you get old, in life, things get taken from you. I mean, that’s… that’s… that’s a part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losin’ stuff. You find out life’s this game of inches, so is football. Because in either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it. One half second too slow, too fast and you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when add up all those inches, that’s gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing! Between living and dying! I’ll tell you this, in any fight it’s the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I’m gonna have any life anymore it’s because I’m still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that’s what living is, the six inches in front of your face. Now I can’t make you do it. You’ve got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now I think ya going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. Your gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it your gonna do the same for him. That’s a team, gentlemen, and either, we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. That’s football guys, that’s all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?

  6. Mr. McGraw May 10, 2009 at 12:43 pm #

    All this talk of Kyle and sex is making it har—difficult for me to concentrate.

  7. ironwesley May 10, 2009 at 1:22 pm #

    best ending

  8. Prof. Box-Top May 11, 2009 at 11:45 pm #

    This one time, I was getting ready to head off to the bedroom with this one chick. I told her I was fixing to give her the “Kyle driver!” just for kicks and giggles. She replied to me with, “Kyle driver? I thought you said your name was Steve?” I swiftly told that bitch to get the hell outta my sight and don’t ever get my name wrong again. After seething over it a couple minutes, I realized I actually did tell this woman my name was Steve. I tend to lie a bit to get girls in the sack. True story.


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