It was hands-down the best first date I’d ever had with someone I met online.
Corey and I met in a cool hipster bar in West Hollywood and the chemistry was palpable. We shared banter. We got each other’s jokes. The conversation flowed naturally. And believe it or not, he was as cute as his photos suggested. Cuter, in fact. How often does that happen? Any of it?
When the date ended, we kissed and I smiled all the way home. Honestly, this never happens to me with online dates. I’m usually fighting the urge to upchuck all the way home. He texted the next day and I smiled some more. It was so peculiar — I actually liked this guy! I could see this becoming a thing.
The following week, we met up at a bar in his neighborhood for a couple drinks then went back to his apartment. Yes, I know, *danger zone*. But I knew I wasn’t going to pork him. It just wasn’t part of my plan that night. After all, I hadn’t shaved and was wearing a beige bra. A Maidenform.
I figured maybe we’d watch some Netflix and make out a bit. But one thing led to his unmade bed and before I knew it my Maidenform hit the floor and there was a hairy naked manbeast on top of me.
Ladies, you know exactly what I’m talking about, right? The way sex just sometimes happens and you’re not quite sure how you got there — like when you’re really tired while driving then freak out a little because you don’t remember merging into the fast lane? This can occur with sex as well: one minute you’re exchanging soft, fluttery kisses and the next your forehead is ramming the headboard.
I am certain men do this on purpose. They figure if they’re swift and crafty enough, they can get your pants off and their penis in before we can string together a sentence, such as, “Um, I think this might be date rape?”
Anyway, I was not prepared for this penetration and neither was my vagina. At that moment my hoo-ha could’ve been the spokesperson for Arrid Extra Dry. So I lay there attempting to conjure sexy thoughts and after about two friction-filled minutes, he suddenly just stopped, got up and went to the bathroom without a word.
I was puzzled. Did a bout of sudden IBS kick in? I lay there whistling Dixie for a few minutes until he returned to the boudoir… and started checking his phone.
Um, HELLO? You’ve got a hot bitch in your bed, mister, and it certainly has not been long enough for a 15-minute intermission. I mean, it wasn’t exactly the best two minutes of my life but couldja at least not leave me hanging like that?
Finally, he came back to bed and lay down on his back next to me.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “It’s been pent up for a while.”
Oh. That happened? I honestly didn’t know. We were practicing safe sex so no trace was left behind, and he uttered no grunt or bleat or other indication whatsoever that the fat lady had sung.
Alright, then. I understand this sometimes does occur and I ain’t mad. I was just kinda bummed because I wanted the first time with this guy who I liked so much to be awesome. And nothing about it was awesome.
After that, I decided we should hold off on the sex stuff for a while and just try and get to know each other better first. Like I said, I thought this could actually be a thing and I didn’t want it to be about sex. But I knew it would be tricky. It’s tough to do a take-back after you’ve already played hide the salami.
The next time we went out, we had a fantastic time and I was reminded of why I adored him so much in the first place. We came back to my place for a nightcap. Not banging him, not banging him, not banging him, I kept telling myself. No siree, Bob. Wore the sensible cotton Gap undies and everything.
We started making out and once again it seemed he was trying to break the record for speed stripping. It was all flashing before my eyes, so I took control of the situation by so eloquently shouting:
“I AM NOT HAVING SEX WITH YOU!”
That seemed to do the trick, because he stopped and gave me a look like a wide-eyed doe the second she realizes Sarah Palin is standing before her with a deer thug rifle.
I explained that I hadn’t really been ready on our last date and I wanted to take it slow and all that jazz. It took him a minute to get why I would do it last time but not this time and he was obviously disappointed but, finally, he seemed to understand.
And then… he dropped this little nugget:
“You have to admit, though, it was pretty incredible.”
Beg pardon? Are you talking about the sex you had with me? Are you perchance mistaking me for another person with whom you had mind-blowing boom-boom? Or maybe you ate some funny fungi and hallucinated about this so-called stupefying sesh? Because this “incredible sex” you’re referring to? I wasn’t there.
Did he honestly think a two-minute stint in the Sahara qualifies as a rapturous romp? Because if so, this is a cause for concern. I mean, I know my pootie is quite the enchantress and maybe it was the most captivating 120 seconds of your life, Bubs, but how could you possibly think it was good for ME??
Now, before some indignant fucker has a fit and cries out that premature ejaculation affects 99.9% of all men at some point, allow me to repeat: I KNOW. I am not pissed about his prejack. I’ve experienced it before and I know it’s not his fault and it may even be a compliment to me in some weird way. And I usually tell the guy not to worry, I totally understand and I still think he’s a stud muffin.
What baffles me is the delusion of grandeur he is operating under in suggesting that I found the experience hella awesome. And trust me, the pre-show was no treat either.
Obviously, the boy was grossly misinformed about what women might place in the category of incredible sex. Allow me to share a few pointers to help decipher whether or not it was good lovin’:
- Generally, the sex should last longer than the time it takes to pop a bag of microwave popcorn.
- Unless it is some sort of BDSM situation, she should not be making pain faces.
- Learn the difference between “Ohhhhh” and “Owwwww.”
- If it’s with me, you will know it’s good if I’m belting out vocal notes that even Celine Dion couldn’t touch.
- By the time we’re finished, we will very likely need to break out the extra-large ShamWow.
For reasons unrelated, Corey and I never did see each other again. I guess some other lucky lady will have to teach him how to please the pootie.
Surely I’m not the only one with a bad sex story. What’s yours?
Categories: True Story