I had a crush on him from the very second I laid eyes on him. He was a senior and I was a freshman in High School, which probably lead to my idolization of him. One night, while driving me home from rehearsal, he asked me if I had ever touched a penis before. I hadn’t. Moments later, he reached across the cab of his truck, took my hand, and brought it back to his exposed lap. If it weren’t bad enough, he pulled into the next neighborhood after mine, made out with me for awhile (my first kiss, by the way), and then instructed me to watch him jerk himself off for the next twenty minutes. After watching him cum all over the dash, he dropped me off and we never spoke about it again. Nine years later, he contacted me on Facebook and begged me to come and give him a pity fuck. Bitch, please.
The Vintage Douche, Part 3
This guy bragged constantly about how huge his dick was, talked about himself in the third person, and once stopped mid make-out to eat a cheeseburger he had picked up from McDonalds and made me carry around in my purse all afternoon. Real nice guy.
After some awkward flirting with this guy, he took me back to his band’s van. Once inside he put on some music to “set the mood” but was dead set on listening to DMX, whose barking made him get into it while we made out, so much so that he came while putting the condom on. Apparently this was a normal experience for him, as he was not shaken by it. As I left he gave me a free t-shirt from his band as a souvenir, how generous!
I thought this guy was super hot at a club. He told me he was from the future. I thought it was just his cute, funny pick up line, so it worked. But then the next morning, he was still talking about it. I think he’s either a little bit crazy, or actually from the future. Either way, I feel a bit weird about it.
I’d known this guy for a few years while working at the same pub, he used my ass as a paddle board and pretty much tried to get me into the sack with him every day even though he knew I had a boyfriend. Drunk and desperate a year after my breakup and a year after I’d worked with the guy, I finally gave him a chance. I told him point blank I’d sleep with him but he had to answer yes or no right then and there. Without hesitation we were back to his house in a cab. When we got there, he started searching under his doormat and then asked me to wait a bit while he went around back to get in. I heard a huge crash and ran around the house to check it out. He was standing on a milk crate in front of a 2 x 5 foot plate glass window with blood gushing down his hand. He told me he lost his key and really wanted to get into the house, and he’d let me in the front door in a few moments. We ended up on his twin mattress on the floor in his basement room, blood everywhere, him telling me it was the best night of his life. I was so disgusted later I left without saying goodbye. I’m sure there were smaller windows to break in that house. What a genius.
I’m absolutely a dog person, I love dogs, in fact if a dude has one he’s far more likely to get me into his bed…but I have to draw the line somewhere. This particular dude didn’t have a bed, we were boning on a dirty sleeping bag on the floor, which made me a little reluctant but we’d been friends forever and it was a carefree summer night, so why not. Things changed when we were right int he middle of it and his dog who had so politely been sleeping in the corner decided to investigate what exactly I was doing to his owner. I got over the initial sniff in our direction, but when he called her over to assure her that what we were doing was not hurting him, then held open the sleeping bag to invite her inside, that was the last straw. Peace out, far be it for me to complain if he wants to fall asleep cuddling a bitch.
He was actually a pretty cool guy, and I had a thing for those remarkably skinny hipster boys and that’s exactly what he was. However, I did not realize the repercussions that came with hopping into bed with someone who’s bone structure is covered in nothing but skin. It was a little awkward, but drunk sex tends to be, so I ignored that problem at the time. That was until the next day as I woke up and felt an intense pain in my legs. As I looked to investigate I realized that he had, in fact, bruised the holy lord out of my inner thighs with his completely un-padded hip bones. Ouch, as cute as he was I didn’t feel like waking up to purple thighs again, kid needs to eat a sandwich.
This guy seemed really cool: he’d been to burning man, his body was a temple and his dreads had me in hippie boy heaven. Once the clothes were off things got a bit dicey when I noticed the 7 piercings traveling up and down his shaft. To make matters worse, he explained that he his Prince Edward impaired his usual urinating habits and he had to turn his penis over in order to avoid spraying himself ever since he had it done. After about 5 minutes of honestly the most interesting sex ever, he explained that his girlfriend might be home soon and that I better skedaddle. The fact that I don’t remember his name is probably a good thing.
I had known this tall, lanky boy for over a year, during most of that time he had a girlfriend, so I waited, not wanting to be other woman. He finally called me on Valentines Day at two in the morning for directions to our party. We hooked up and then again the next weekend. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but apparently he wanted me to remain invisible. He deleted my comment to his Facebook, which was something like “Hey mister, hows it going. Hope you don’t get sick,” yeeesh, how shady.
He was my first love. I could have looked past any flaws but dear god was he a hairy dude. I mean seriously, running my fingers through a guy’s hair is nice, but being able to run my fingers through your head hair, facial hair, chest hair and pubic hair all without ever coming into contact with skin? That’s just ridiculous. It was like fucking a shag carpet.
Lets start this by saying frat boys are not my type, and I usually go out of my way to avoid them. Knowing that they would be at the party I was attending, my friend and I decided it was in our best interest to tell everyone we were lesbians and currently dating. Unfortunately as the drunk took over this somehow turned into a threesome with whom we thought was a pretty chill non-frat boy back at her house. Lucky for my friend she sobered up at some point and made us leave. Tragically the lack of appropriate sleeping arrangement left me to wake up on the bottom of a bunk bed, on a frat house sleeping porch, surrounded by giggling freshmen who I’d apparently woken up with my incredibly loud orgasm the night before my frat boy served them all high fives as he walked me to the front door. Classy.
I met this guy online while recovering from a pretty bad breakup. He was the somehow mysterious, skinny artsy bohemian type but was actually very sweet and attentive. We drunkenly hooked up the first night we met. We ended up dating and it was fun until he started to throw hissy fits and whine endlessly about my plans to study abroad. We broke up but I kinda got back with him shortly before I left, only to dump him again over the phone 4 weeks after I went abroad cause he wouldn’t stop crying. In that short period of singledom, he had however managed to contract an STD and pass it on to me. He ended up visiting me abroad, we hooked up – but when I asked him about the STD, and whether we had gotten treatment he promised he had and named a recent date on which he had gotten the meds prescribed. I discovered a couple of weeks after he left that he had given me the exact same STD AGAIN! When I confronted him, he told me that he had been “too afraid to tell me cause I would have rejected him” and never heard anything until I came back home and he begged for me to get back together with him.
