Despite my attempt at avoiding any sort of attachment, Robby (the former British hookup who can't hold his alcohol) and I have continued to talk and remained friends. He is working 800 miles away, but stays with me whenever he comes into town to visit college friends. Last weekend he visited for the first time in 2 months and we acted like horny, classless teenagers.
He had flown into an airport nearby and borrowed his friend's grandparents car to drive down, which was a tiny, pimped-out mini cooper. I don't know if you remember, but Robby is a tall, lanky guy, so he looked absolutely ridiculous in that car. Anyway, we went out to drinks and dinner with his friends when he got in town. However, it was evident that we just wanted to go home and have sex the entire time. After one too many drinks and the obligatory time spent socializing with his friends, I classily grabbed him and asked, "Can we just go home and fuck now?" Luckily for me, Robby has gotten used to my complete lack of a filter and happily complied.
The bars and my house were less than 3 miles apart, but that didn't stop me from somehow giving Robby road head on the way home. When he pulled into my driveway, he demanded that we have sex in the mini cooper...it is a tiny car and my bed it literally 30 feet away. But logic meant nothing; he somehow scooted into the passenger seat, I got on top, and opened the door so I could put on leg on the cement. I have no idea what time of night this was or if any of my neighbors/roommates were home. As far as I know, we could have easily given my whole street an incredibly sloppy show.
Well I am completely worthless on top, so mini cooper sex lasted all of 5 minutes until I demanded that we go inside. We grabbed our things and walked into my house completely naked. Then proceeded to have sex on the kitchen counter, couch, and stairs before finally making it to my bed. And, as expected, Robby passed out immediately after finishing, on top of the covers, snoring louder than ever before. The next morning, we laughed about how horny and insane we had behaved the night before. As we walked outside to get breakfast, I looked down to find my underwear in the recycling bin on the front porch...
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Sunday, November 10, 2013
shake that ass
I have been on good behavior the past few months. I decided to finally end my lady-like streak last night with Austin, whom I'd made out with a couple of times at a nearby bar. He had friended me on Facebook and was very charismatic and good looking. However, I stalked his pictures enough to realize that he'd played the tuba in college. The tuba. Like Katie, that alone should have been the red light. But last night, I was hammered and horny and decided to finally let him into my pants.
I'm not going to beat around the bush here. Austin had the SMALLEST DICK I HAVE EVER SEEN. Made that Bryan guy in the last post look like the Hulk. He is a huge guy; probably 6'5, 250lbs with a penis the size of a salt-shaker. Like his balls hung down significantly lower than his dick. I had stupidly already gotten completely naked before even taking his shirt off, so it wasn't like I could just say, "oh, nevermind," once he underdressed. I tried to get into it because he really is a great guy. But I legitimately could not tell whether or not it was in. Normally, the morning after sex, I wake up and can just feel that I've had sex. Nope, not with this guy. And the best/weirdest part was that he acted like a complete sex god. He said things like, "I can make you feel so good," and "Oh, you like that?" What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? In my head I was thinking, "Well, I can't actually feel you. Could you please cum already?"
Like what is his game-plan for life? He is a gigantic (ex-tuba playing) man with a teeny weeny. And to make matters work, he couldn't stay hard. I know that happens with some guys when they drink, but he claimed to be completely sober. He didn't even apologize. It was just like "Hey. This is me, limp-dick and all. Accept me as I am." I appreciate his confidence and refusal to let a small dick prevent him from having a sex-life, but I cannot imagine how any woman will be able to be pleasured by him. The idea of marrying someone with a dick that size sounds like a death sentence.
Finally he got hard enough to finish the job (on his end, obviously. I did not come remotely close to orgasming). But not before putting me through one of my favorite awkward sexual encounters: at one point I was laying on my stomach and he was standing over me at the edge of the bed. He made it very clear he was an ass guy at the beginning and preferred it from the back. So I'm laying there and he says to me, "Yeah, shake that ass." Uhm...what? Was I supposed to percolate right there on the bed? Stand up and put on a twerking performance? I have never been so confused by a question in my life. I think I just kind of laughed and stuck my ass out further, making it perfectly clear that there would be no ass shaking of any kind in my bedroom.
Poor Austin. Again, I was faced with a tiny dick and made it out alive. But I have decided that my clothes are staying on from here on out until I see the guys dick first. I am not going to put another sympathy notch on my belt just because the guy's dick never got the puberty memo. I pray for Austin that he finds a tiny Asian woman to marry and appreciate his lack-of-dick.
I'm not going to beat around the bush here. Austin had the SMALLEST DICK I HAVE EVER SEEN. Made that Bryan guy in the last post look like the Hulk. He is a huge guy; probably 6'5, 250lbs with a penis the size of a salt-shaker. Like his balls hung down significantly lower than his dick. I had stupidly already gotten completely naked before even taking his shirt off, so it wasn't like I could just say, "oh, nevermind," once he underdressed. I tried to get into it because he really is a great guy. But I legitimately could not tell whether or not it was in. Normally, the morning after sex, I wake up and can just feel that I've had sex. Nope, not with this guy. And the best/weirdest part was that he acted like a complete sex god. He said things like, "I can make you feel so good," and "Oh, you like that?" What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? In my head I was thinking, "Well, I can't actually feel you. Could you please cum already?"
Like what is his game-plan for life? He is a gigantic (ex-tuba playing) man with a teeny weeny. And to make matters work, he couldn't stay hard. I know that happens with some guys when they drink, but he claimed to be completely sober. He didn't even apologize. It was just like "Hey. This is me, limp-dick and all. Accept me as I am." I appreciate his confidence and refusal to let a small dick prevent him from having a sex-life, but I cannot imagine how any woman will be able to be pleasured by him. The idea of marrying someone with a dick that size sounds like a death sentence.
Finally he got hard enough to finish the job (on his end, obviously. I did not come remotely close to orgasming). But not before putting me through one of my favorite awkward sexual encounters: at one point I was laying on my stomach and he was standing over me at the edge of the bed. He made it very clear he was an ass guy at the beginning and preferred it from the back. So I'm laying there and he says to me, "Yeah, shake that ass." Uhm...what? Was I supposed to percolate right there on the bed? Stand up and put on a twerking performance? I have never been so confused by a question in my life. I think I just kind of laughed and stuck my ass out further, making it perfectly clear that there would be no ass shaking of any kind in my bedroom.
Poor Austin. Again, I was faced with a tiny dick and made it out alive. But I have decided that my clothes are staying on from here on out until I see the guys dick first. I am not going to put another sympathy notch on my belt just because the guy's dick never got the puberty memo. I pray for Austin that he finds a tiny Asian woman to marry and appreciate his lack-of-dick.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
wait, what?
I have trouble saying no to weirdos who ask for my number. No recollection of who this is, but he sends me entertaining, unanswered text messages every once in a while.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
thanks for the free place to crash, Bryan
This isn't a particularly exciting story, but is at least noteworthy. I met Bryan at a bar in NYC with his brother. Bryan was 6'7 and almost hot. But he was one of those lanky, awkward tall guys with very little coordination and an even smaller amount of game. But of course that didn't stop drunk Katie. I'd been going through a dry-spell. And all of my friends I'd gone out with had started pairing off with random guys, so I settled for a drunk hook-up with Bryan. We went back to his place, and things started heading towards the direction of sex. Until I saw his penis. Almost had to put on my fucking reading glasses to notice it. This poor guy falls under two categories that should never be paired: the tallest guy I've ever hooked up with, and the smallest penis I've ever seen.
Now I can appreciate a small-ish penis here and there. And understand that it takes a lot more than size to be good in bed. But I was not about to add another notch on my belt with giant Bryan and his mini weinie. I convinced him I was too drunk to have sex that night, but would be up for it in the morning.
...But I snuck out the next morning before he could wake up.
I hope you never read this, Bryan. But if you are, thanks for the comfortable bed and making me a quesadilla? And I really hope your penis grows.
Now I can appreciate a small-ish penis here and there. And understand that it takes a lot more than size to be good in bed. But I was not about to add another notch on my belt with giant Bryan and his mini weinie. I convinced him I was too drunk to have sex that night, but would be up for it in the morning.
...But I snuck out the next morning before he could wake up.
I hope you never read this, Bryan. But if you are, thanks for the comfortable bed and making me a quesadilla? And I really hope your penis grows.
Friday, May 24, 2013
babysitting
I met Robby out one night in college and thought I'd won the lottery; he was a 6'4, ripped, gorgeous swimmer with blue eyes, a 4.0 GPA, and a BRITISH ACCENT. We had a month-or-so long fling that started out as passionate sex, cuddling all night, and going to breakfast. He was older and graduating in a few months, so it was clear that the relationship was going nowhere. But he was wonderful company. For awhile. Until our sex-sessions turned into babysitting jobs...
I would meet up with him downtown, or he would call me after going out with his friends, and we would go home together. He would stumble all over the place, blabber about how much he loves hotdogs, how much he hates slices of cheese (??), about how great his ex-girlfriend in London is, and then proceed to tell me how great and tall our kids would be... Then he would sprawl his gigantic body out on my bed, snore so loudly that my roommates couldn't sleep, and wake up in the morning not remembering a damn thing. The mornings were always great, so I let it go on for awhile. He would be charismatic, we would laugh about the shit he'd said the night before, and have good morning sex. But this was clearly heading in a sloppy direction.
Normally we would skip sex at night because he was too drunk, but every once in a while he would manage to get his shit-together and put on a less-than-impressive performance. Until one of our last nights together. He was unattractively drunk; I literally had to wipe his nose for him and tell him he had food in his teeth. He begged like a little boy to have sex. You try denying a guy lying naked in your bed with a British accent saying, "Can we please have sex?" I stupidly gave in and ended up REALLY regretting it. About 10 thrusts in, Robby stopped, laying down on my chest. I thought he was just taking a break until an ear-shattering snore filled the room. I tried everything to wake him up; I yelled at him, pinched him, and tried as hard as physically possible to move him with absolutely no luck.
So that is how I spent the most sleepless night of my life; with a gorgeous man not only passed out on top of me, but passed out INSIDE OF ME. Robby is 210lbs of lanky muscle. I spent 4 hours partly suffocated with him drooling on my chest, snoring in my ear, and his penis shriveled up inside of me. Finally, he drunkenly responded to my shoves and rolled off of me. I had imprints in my skin from his hip bones and a nice pool of drool in the indent of my clavicle.
Naturally, he remembered nothing the next morning and was pretty embarrassed when I told him what happened. With graduation only a few weeks away, we slowly stopped calling each other and ended things pretty effortlessly. Yes, I will miss waking up to his gorgeous face and sexy accent, but I would choose sleeping alone over sleeping with a drunk, sloppy baby any day.
Let us all say a little prayer for Robby: that he may one day learn to handle his liquor.
I would meet up with him downtown, or he would call me after going out with his friends, and we would go home together. He would stumble all over the place, blabber about how much he loves hotdogs, how much he hates slices of cheese (??), about how great his ex-girlfriend in London is, and then proceed to tell me how great and tall our kids would be... Then he would sprawl his gigantic body out on my bed, snore so loudly that my roommates couldn't sleep, and wake up in the morning not remembering a damn thing. The mornings were always great, so I let it go on for awhile. He would be charismatic, we would laugh about the shit he'd said the night before, and have good morning sex. But this was clearly heading in a sloppy direction.
Normally we would skip sex at night because he was too drunk, but every once in a while he would manage to get his shit-together and put on a less-than-impressive performance. Until one of our last nights together. He was unattractively drunk; I literally had to wipe his nose for him and tell him he had food in his teeth. He begged like a little boy to have sex. You try denying a guy lying naked in your bed with a British accent saying, "Can we please have sex?" I stupidly gave in and ended up REALLY regretting it. About 10 thrusts in, Robby stopped, laying down on my chest. I thought he was just taking a break until an ear-shattering snore filled the room. I tried everything to wake him up; I yelled at him, pinched him, and tried as hard as physically possible to move him with absolutely no luck.
So that is how I spent the most sleepless night of my life; with a gorgeous man not only passed out on top of me, but passed out INSIDE OF ME. Robby is 210lbs of lanky muscle. I spent 4 hours partly suffocated with him drooling on my chest, snoring in my ear, and his penis shriveled up inside of me. Finally, he drunkenly responded to my shoves and rolled off of me. I had imprints in my skin from his hip bones and a nice pool of drool in the indent of my clavicle.
Naturally, he remembered nothing the next morning and was pretty embarrassed when I told him what happened. With graduation only a few weeks away, we slowly stopped calling each other and ended things pretty effortlessly. Yes, I will miss waking up to his gorgeous face and sexy accent, but I would choose sleeping alone over sleeping with a drunk, sloppy baby any day.
Let us all say a little prayer for Robby: that he may one day learn to handle his liquor.
just some casual suffocation
The other night I hung out with Hank (see "Tinder" post). You're probably thinking, "Uh, WHY?!" but he has kept in touch with me for a few months and seemed like a pretty good guy. And I'm literally always horny. Plus I told him that the horse-mask thing was an absolute-fucking-no.
So I went over to his place and we ended up having a really good time just watching the Miami Heat game and drinking beers. He even maintained total normalcy for the first half of sex; he definitely knew what he was doing. And he's one of those guys who are so big that they can just throw you around the bed, making you feel like a 110lb Barbie.
But of course, it would be too good to be true for me to have normal sex, so I wasn't the least bit surprised when his hands started creeping up to my neck. And before I knew what was happening, this mother fucker was literally choking me saying, "You don't cum until I tell you to cum. You hear me?" Like lets not get ahead of ourselves, pal. We should probably focus on breathing before we even think about orgasming...
Now I am a big fan of being dominated in bed. I am intimidating and bossy and demanding in all other aspects of my life, so it is nice to be thrown around a bit in the bedroom. But I don't think its too much for me to ask to just be able to maintain proper respiration. I eventually wriggled out of the chokehold and managed to change positions ("I'll flip you over when I want to flip you over. You hear me?"). After a few more minutes and a couple more over-the-top dominating comments, Hank finished and I politely walked him to the door. I'm not sure if I ever see him again, but I think he's the kind of hook-up where I should probably have my phone within reaching distance. And 911 on speed dial.
Friday, May 17, 2013
i like feet
I have been wanting to write this post for ages, but there is just no way to do it justice via writing. Regardless, its a good story to tell. And I promise, I didn't make this up; my sex life is just this fucked up.
I met Andrew while visiting my friend, Annie, at her college campus. Tall, dark, and handsome with a huge nose that I, unfortunately, chose to overlook. He seemed perfectly normal. Annie had paired off with his friend, and it became inevitable that him and I were going to hook up. We all went back to his place where I immediately headed straight for his bedroom, pretending to charge my phone. Drunk me is pretty much a horny (not even remotely sneaky) teenager. Andrew picked up on my oh-so-subtle hint and followed me into the bedroom.
Aside from the fact that he had a painfully monstrous penis, everything was fairly normal. Although side-note; unless I haven't eaten in like 5 days and magically have washboard abs, please don't put my damn legs above your shoulders and proceed to LOOK at my rolls. Like I don't know who the fuck looks good in that position but it's not me.
Anyway, he was a nice enough guy and knew what he was doing. So the next weekend when I came up to visit Annie, I contacted him, assuming it would be the same. Well, a few minutes in, Andrew asks me, "So, what are you into?" Uhm, guys? Shopping? Maybe some intramural soccer on the weekends? What the fuck?
I replied with, "Uhm, this is fine..."
After which he follows up with, I kid you not, "Well, I like feet." Unfortunately, I am really good at covering up laughter with coughing or this story could have (and should have) ended right there. Instead, I told him I was up for whatever. Which is a lie. STUPID DRUNK KATIE. It all went downhill from there.
Andrew started by sucking on my toes and moaning. I will pause here to tell you that my feet are not cute. At all. As a kid, my sister called my toes "sausage toes." I hadn't had a pedicure in over a month and I had all kinds of rough calluses from sports. But APPARENTLY this was not an issue for Andrew who at this point was caressing his face with them. And then (ready for this?) he put my feet together and proceeded to fuck the arches of my feet. So here I am, laying on my back just chilling in this stranger's bed getting my FEET FUCKED. I had had enough. So instead of slowing transitioning out of the arch-fuck position, I just blurted out, "I'm uncomfortable," grabbed my clothes, pulled Annie off some random guy on the couch, and got the fuck out of there.
Good riddance Andrew. And God help all the future girls he brings home from the bars.
I met Andrew while visiting my friend, Annie, at her college campus. Tall, dark, and handsome with a huge nose that I, unfortunately, chose to overlook. He seemed perfectly normal. Annie had paired off with his friend, and it became inevitable that him and I were going to hook up. We all went back to his place where I immediately headed straight for his bedroom, pretending to charge my phone. Drunk me is pretty much a horny (not even remotely sneaky) teenager. Andrew picked up on my oh-so-subtle hint and followed me into the bedroom.
Aside from the fact that he had a painfully monstrous penis, everything was fairly normal. Although side-note; unless I haven't eaten in like 5 days and magically have washboard abs, please don't put my damn legs above your shoulders and proceed to LOOK at my rolls. Like I don't know who the fuck looks good in that position but it's not me.
Anyway, he was a nice enough guy and knew what he was doing. So the next weekend when I came up to visit Annie, I contacted him, assuming it would be the same. Well, a few minutes in, Andrew asks me, "So, what are you into?" Uhm, guys? Shopping? Maybe some intramural soccer on the weekends? What the fuck?
I replied with, "Uhm, this is fine..."
After which he follows up with, I kid you not, "Well, I like feet." Unfortunately, I am really good at covering up laughter with coughing or this story could have (and should have) ended right there. Instead, I told him I was up for whatever. Which is a lie. STUPID DRUNK KATIE. It all went downhill from there.
Andrew started by sucking on my toes and moaning. I will pause here to tell you that my feet are not cute. At all. As a kid, my sister called my toes "sausage toes." I hadn't had a pedicure in over a month and I had all kinds of rough calluses from sports. But APPARENTLY this was not an issue for Andrew who at this point was caressing his face with them. And then (ready for this?) he put my feet together and proceeded to fuck the arches of my feet. So here I am, laying on my back just chilling in this stranger's bed getting my FEET FUCKED. I had had enough. So instead of slowing transitioning out of the arch-fuck position, I just blurted out, "I'm uncomfortable," grabbed my clothes, pulled Annie off some random guy on the couch, and got the fuck out of there.
Good riddance Andrew. And God help all the future girls he brings home from the bars.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
if only i chose not be be anonymous
So I recently had sex with the biggest name in college football. This is the one time I really wish I hadn't chosen to keep this anonymous due to the simple fact that I deserve a fucking trophy for sleeping with this kid. And by kid, I do mean that he's a year younger than me. Which I have never done before, but he was SO worth it.
Like if you google his name, you can watch countless videos of him beating the shit out of D1 football players. I fucked someone on the COVER OF SPORTS ILLUSTRATED :)
Unfortunately, there is really nothing special to say about our sex except that it happened. Before this, I had never slept with a black guy. So go big or go home, right? And I mean BIG. The kid himself is over 6'5 and 260+lbs. His body literally looks as though God himself hand-sculpted it. And his penis is exactly how you would expect a gigantic D1 black football player's penis to be; overwhelming.
I won't go into details, but I certainly started my summer off with a bang. And I cannot wait to see his ass drafted to the NfL next year knowing that I had him in my bed :)
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Friday, May 3, 2013
bedside manners
I recently slept with this guy, Thomas, who was visiting old friends on my college campus for the weekend. He didn't leave me with any super outrageous stories, but his bedside manners deserve to be noted:
1. I will give him credit; he definitely knew what he was doing. When I told him that, he proceeded to say, "I mean yeah; I've slept with over 30 women."
2. He had no problem farting...in my bed. Like Thomas, you are not my boyfriend and you kind of look like a dinosaur. What the FUCK makes you think you can fart in my bed.
3. We had to kill time the next morning while waiting for a friend to pick him up and got on the topic of Spring Break. I showed him a few pictures off my phone of NYC on St. Patrick's Day; he showed me the lovely picture below of himself and "some random," below from Panama City...
4. And finally, as he was getting dressed the next morning, he turned to me and says, "Just so you know, I already have plans to sleep with this girl, Tess, for the rest of the weekend. I just didn't want you expecting anything."
And who says chivalry is dead!
1. I will give him credit; he definitely knew what he was doing. When I told him that, he proceeded to say, "I mean yeah; I've slept with over 30 women."
2. He had no problem farting...in my bed. Like Thomas, you are not my boyfriend and you kind of look like a dinosaur. What the FUCK makes you think you can fart in my bed.
3. We had to kill time the next morning while waiting for a friend to pick him up and got on the topic of Spring Break. I showed him a few pictures off my phone of NYC on St. Patrick's Day; he showed me the lovely picture below of himself and "some random," below from Panama City...
4. And finally, as he was getting dressed the next morning, he turned to me and says, "Just so you know, I already have plans to sleep with this girl, Tess, for the rest of the weekend. I just didn't want you expecting anything."
And who says chivalry is dead!
Monday, April 29, 2013
always ask ahead of time
Jessie was my first hook-up after getting out of a rocky, dysfunctional 3-year relationship. And he was quite possibly the worst rebound to date. Lets start with the fact that hammered me just casually overlooked the fact that he had a HORRIBLE CURLY BLONDE AFRO. It was unlike anything I've ever seen. But for some reason, this didn't stop stupid, horny me from hitting on him. I spent the evening flirting with him and making him buy me drinks, including one called "The Red-headed Slut," to which I so cunningly replied, "I'm not a red-headed slut, I'm a dirty-blonde one..." Real clever, Katie.
Anyway, at some point in the night, we got separated and he ended up leaving. Naturally, I was disappointed and REALLY wanted to get my first-time-after-the-relationship-time over with. So I texted him my address saying, "How soon can you get here." This is where I should tell you that I was home from college on Summer break and living with my parents...drunk me didn't exactly think this one through. So Jessie and his fucking blonde afro show up in my front yard. Being as classy as I am, I suggest that we have sex in my backyard. (I am so, so sorry mom.)
Well the clothes start coming off and I find myself face-to-face with my first uncircumcised penis and nearly scream. I am sorry, but WHY IN GOD'S NAME WOULD ANYONE LEAVE THEIR CHILD UNCIRCUMCISED IT LOOKS LIKE A HOTDOG IN A SLEEPING BAG. Fucking Jessie was so drunk that he couldn't stay hard and the "sleeping bag" just kept coming back. I was livid and disgusted. And had grass in my hair and was starting to notice the blonde afro. It became clear that nothing was going to happen, aside from being scarred for life, so I kicked him out of my backyard. Thank you Jessie for being my worst rebound to date. Since then, drunk me ALWAYS slips in the casual "Soooo, are you circumcised?" question ahead of time.
where are you from?
Last night, a guy came up to me and asked where I was from. After telling him, he proceeded to say, "WRONG! Your dad's balls!"
I walked away.
I walked away.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
tinder
For those of you who don't partake in the new, pathetic phenomenon of Tinder, let me briefly explain it to you. It is an app that shows a picture of everyone in your area that is also engaging in this creepy social media outlet. You can scroll through their pictures, choosing to "like" or "dislike" each person. If you "like" a guy's picture and he "likes" yours back, the app enables you to message each other.
Well naturally I downloaded it. I guess this is where I should tell you that I am absolutely pathetic. I fall in love with every bearded man that walks by me. Within minutes of meeting a cute lab-partner, I have already chosen kids' names that go nicely with his last name. And twice I have accidentally said hello to people on campus that I've never actually met, just stalked on Facebook. So downloading Tinder is the least of my problems. I downloaded it over spring break while visiting friends in New York City and began "liking" any Thor-resembling, manly specimen that came across my screen. I proceeded to message my "matches," quickly realizing that the likelihood of finding my future husband on a juvenile dating app was probably pretty slim.
But, low and behold, a few days later on St. Patrick's Day, a gigantic man comes up to me at a bar, introducing himself as Hank and saying he recognizes me from Tinder. Like WHAT ARE THE CHANCES. In NYC of all places. Drunk me immediately reads this as fate and is making out with him within about 5 minutes. But apparently not before I casually ask/scream, "Are you circumcised? Because I'm dealing with that shit again." (My friend Marie made sure record as much of my stupidity as possible in her Notes section in her phone...). And I wonder why I'm still single.
Anyway, the last thing I remember leaning against a wall watching Hank dance with my friends and proudly telling the two random girls next to me, "Hank and I are engaged. But I'm worried our kids are going to be freakishly large." And that's it.
But then somehow, here I am, fully clothed and sock-bun still intact, in Hank's bed at 6:45am the next morning. I rolled over (on brown sheets, mind you. Who the fuck buys brown sheets) and stare at this Hercules-but-with-a-huge-nose-like specimen next to me. We pieced together/he embarrassingly recounted for me, that my phone had apparently died at around 10:30pm and I insisted upon going back to his place to charge it. The whole time home I alternated between loudly proclaiming, "I'm not sleeping with you," and "I can't BELIEVE there's no McDonald's within walking distance from this bar!" So we get back to his place, I plugged my phone in, crawled into his bed, and 8 hours later, here we are.
I felt a little bad for just passing out in this guy's bed, but I managed to stay classy and stick to my chastity vows of last night (just blow jobs are classy, right?). Then I got the fuck out of there. Because this man was literally so big he could have accidentally rolled over in his sleep and smothered me. And also because I couldn't stop thinking about eating an everything-bagel. So Hank, the chivalrous guy that he is, walks me to the door, kisses me goodbye, and ends our romantic rendezvous by saying, "Let me know when you're back in town. I want to fuck you with a horse-mask on."
Like what is my life...
Screen shotted a few off my conversations the next day on the miserable plane ride home; clearly I surround myself with the classiest of women.
Well naturally I downloaded it. I guess this is where I should tell you that I am absolutely pathetic. I fall in love with every bearded man that walks by me. Within minutes of meeting a cute lab-partner, I have already chosen kids' names that go nicely with his last name. And twice I have accidentally said hello to people on campus that I've never actually met, just stalked on Facebook. So downloading Tinder is the least of my problems. I downloaded it over spring break while visiting friends in New York City and began "liking" any Thor-resembling, manly specimen that came across my screen. I proceeded to message my "matches," quickly realizing that the likelihood of finding my future husband on a juvenile dating app was probably pretty slim.
But, low and behold, a few days later on St. Patrick's Day, a gigantic man comes up to me at a bar, introducing himself as Hank and saying he recognizes me from Tinder. Like WHAT ARE THE CHANCES. In NYC of all places. Drunk me immediately reads this as fate and is making out with him within about 5 minutes. But apparently not before I casually ask/scream, "Are you circumcised? Because I'm dealing with that shit again." (My friend Marie made sure record as much of my stupidity as possible in her Notes section in her phone...). And I wonder why I'm still single.
Anyway, the last thing I remember leaning against a wall watching Hank dance with my friends and proudly telling the two random girls next to me, "Hank and I are engaged. But I'm worried our kids are going to be freakishly large." And that's it.
But then somehow, here I am, fully clothed and sock-bun still intact, in Hank's bed at 6:45am the next morning. I rolled over (on brown sheets, mind you. Who the fuck buys brown sheets) and stare at this Hercules-but-with-a-huge-nose-like specimen next to me. We pieced together/he embarrassingly recounted for me, that my phone had apparently died at around 10:30pm and I insisted upon going back to his place to charge it. The whole time home I alternated between loudly proclaiming, "I'm not sleeping with you," and "I can't BELIEVE there's no McDonald's within walking distance from this bar!" So we get back to his place, I plugged my phone in, crawled into his bed, and 8 hours later, here we are.
I felt a little bad for just passing out in this guy's bed, but I managed to stay classy and stick to my chastity vows of last night (just blow jobs are classy, right?). Then I got the fuck out of there. Because this man was literally so big he could have accidentally rolled over in his sleep and smothered me. And also because I couldn't stop thinking about eating an everything-bagel. So Hank, the chivalrous guy that he is, walks me to the door, kisses me goodbye, and ends our romantic rendezvous by saying, "Let me know when you're back in town. I want to fuck you with a horse-mask on."
Like what is my life...
Screen shotted a few off my conversations the next day on the miserable plane ride home; clearly I surround myself with the classiest of women.
let the shambles begin
I am starting this blog after a lot of pressure/encouragement from a couple of my closest friends who have cringed and laughed at my expense multiple times. Obviously, I have chosen to keep this anonymous because I would really like to get a job one day. Preferably not one listed under the "personals" section on Craigslist. And my poor tiny mother would keel over if she even knew I was engaging in pre-marital sex.
If for some reason you're reading this and think it's obvious who is writing it, PLEASE contact me and let me know. I'd rather my younger siblings not know about these things. Especially not about that one time in our backyard....
I have also changed everyone's names, including my own. So I will now call myself Katie because it is the world's most generic, boring name. And it's my go-to name that I use to introduce myself to men with horrible teeth. Or those below 6'0. Or those wearing fedoras. I will, however, tell you a few things about myself that I believe are important to know before we get to my shamble-y stories.
1. Despite what it may seem, my "number" is not something outrageous; I just happen to attract the biggest fucking weirdos. You're probably thinking "She must sleep around a lot to find all these outrageous guys," but unfortunately, that is not the case. Like my weirdos to guys I've slept with ratio is practically 1:1. Sometimes I look at my track-record and think that life has got to be fucking with me.
2. I am not even close to being absolutely gorgeous. I have (significantly) smaller than average boobs. And my butt and thighs refuse to fit into anything labeled "small" or "medium." I have to use an inhaler the three times a year I actually do go to the gym. And one time I ate two chipotle burritos in one day. I still have to wear a retainer at night. I also have that charming flap of skin/fat underneath my arms that makes it impossible to look thin while waving at someone. I'm telling you these things because I HATE really pretty sluts. And I know you do too. And I want to be relatable to readers.
3. And lastly, I must tell you that at least 99% of these encounters involved alcohol. Don't get me wrong, I am totally owning up to these shameful acts, but I'd like you to know that the likelihood of them occurring had I been sober is NONE.
Enjoy :)
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