There are a couple things that I have always enjoyed, like birthdays, and cheese, and Fraggle Rock, and having my hair braided. There are other things that I used to like, but don’t anymore (lunchables, barrettes, flowered leggings), and things that I used to hate but now like (guacamole, asparagus, drinking…). Everything else is pretty much up for discussion. I’ll try anything once, and usually won’t form an opinion until the second time around, unless it’s SO GOOD (like the mixture of gin, cucumber, mint, sparkling wine, and vibrators) or SO BAD (like drivers in Los Angeles and people that think sticking their tongues down my throat is a good idea). When it comes to sex, I’ll say yes to almost anything as long as it doesn’t involve poop or golden showers. So don’t try and pee on me. It’s not sexy.
When I try something new in the bedroom, I can’t tell right away if I like it. I feel like during every worthwhile experience there are so many things going on at once that it’s hard to focus on any individual feelings, and thoughts like this are usually going through my head:
‘Hm, this is… interesting. I wonder what he’s gonna do next. Ooh, that’s nice, but, um, where is his other hand? Oh, I don’t mind a little fondling. Why are his balls so cold? I hope I have an orgasm soon. I hope he stops making those weird noises. Maybe I should say something. Or maybe make some weird noises of my own? Maybe I’ll switch positions. Ooh, that feels good. Don’t stop! Why is he moving? Don’t move like that it kind of hurts and I don’t think OUCH HOLY FUCK THAT’S MY ACTUAL ASSHOLE JESUS CHRIST!’
And then I know what he should NEVER DO EVER AGAIN EVER EVER EVER.
You would think I learned my lesson. But while I put up a good fight, I am super easy to convince that things I know aren’t good ideas, are actually really good ideas. Like anal sex. With a large Alaskan.
It started at Big Wangs the weekend after my birthday. I used to live around the corner from the one in North Hollywood, and in retrospect, I wonder why I didn’t go to Big Wangs every day since they stand for all things awesome: beer, wings, karaoke, and large genitals. Big Wangs was the place we went when we wanted to get wasted with our underage friends. They let you in if you’re hot, no matter how old you are, as every bar should.
We had no expectations, just came in for a beer after dinner, but those are always the nights that go down in history books.
After beating some fat girls in beer pong (wait, did we beat them? or did they have to leave because it was too late? whatever, I say we win). two attractive men came over to take their place and challenge us. I’m pretty sure we lost the game against them, but since it was late, and we had had way too many beers to do anything but walk home or play again, we played again (duh). This time we had guy and girl teams, as opposed to girls vs. guys. I was happy that M picked the one that looked like Bambi, because while he was tall and had a great body, the deer-in-the-headlights eyeballs and chiseled jawline just don’t do it for me. I got the rugged one with the equally amazing body, a dirty mouth, and a bad attitude. Turns out they were models. In North Hollywood. Classy.
I really will never understand why we all love the assholes. Is it because we think we are so amazing that we can make them not be assholes anymore? Or are we all on an unstoppable self-destructive mission? The why isn’t as important as the fact that no matter how many times I tell myself NOT to go for the assholes, I always end up convincing myself that it will be ‘fun’ and that it ‘doesn’t matter’ if they talk to me like I’m a pile of shit. Is this also what girls in severely abusive relationships say to themselves?
Beer pong led to tequila shots, tequila shots led to a twenty-minute walk down the street, past our apartment, and to the one with the hot tub, the Rockband, and the naked models. Then there was the foursome shower (without the foursome). Then the continuous stream of vodka shots. Then the bong rips. And then the nakedness. And then the huge penis in my face. Oh, did I mention rugged-big-dick-model is from Alaska? I’ve never met anyone from Alaska. If they are all as sexy and well-endowed as this one I think I might be able to put up with the winter all year long. But probably not the darkness. I get depressed when it’s dark.
He convinced me that I was a great lay, and that he would like to put it in my butt.
‘But I don’t really like that,’ I replied. I could have said, ‘I really don’t like that,’ but I guess I wasn’t really sure.
‘Oh, you’ve tried it?’ Duh. And it didn’t feel good. And I don’t think I want to do it again.
‘Well, I really think you’ll like it,’ he says. What in the hell would make him think that? Things are supposed to go OUT of there, not come in.
‘I don’t think I’ll like it.’
‘You will. A lot of girls do.’
Great. Now he’s telling me about all the OTHER ASSHOLES his giant cock has been in. And apparently these other assholes were too shy/drunk/mortified to tell him how much they hated it. Just like me.
Next thing I knew I found myself making the same motions as I normally do during doggy-style, but this time the pleasure power tool was in a different hole. The WRONG hole. And I was NOT enjoying it. And I was too shy and drunk and mortified to say anything about it.
So I put up with it for what felt like 3 hours and then ran out of the room across the hall to the bathroom where I prayed that there weren’t any nasty human excrements ANYWHERE near ANYTHING including his penis. I have read way too many horror stories about explosive diarrhea and have no idea why I even put myself in a position where those rumors could possibly come true.
I stayed in the bathroom for at least 20 minutes. I hoped that my extended absence would make him forget about what he just got me to do, or at least make him bored enough to fall asleep. I contemplated getting my girlfriend from the other bedroom and making a run for it, but then remembered that I was still naked and my clothes and purse were still in his bedroom and it would take way more effort and awkwardness for that to work out. So I walked out of the bathroom, found big-dick-T taking more bong rips in the kitchen, and realized that there is no possible way he will hold my behavior against me since he definitely won’t remember any of this in the morning.
And then I vowed to never let ANY large Alaskan cocks make ANY decisions for me EVER again.