When I was young, I had had a few awkward dates with this girl. They went nowhere. We had nothing in common, but I worked with her mother at Home Depot, and it was her idea, so I didn't give up right away. A couple weeks go by and I end up having sex with the mother before getting anywhere with the girl. Which sounds kind of cool, but I wasn't any good at sex back then. It's hard to describe the embarrassment of making terrible love to somebody who's vastly more experienced and absolutely unimpressed.
Well I have a few stories. I'll settle for telling you about the time I decided that it would be fun to eat a Mars Bar out of my (now ex-)wife's snatch. I basically made two crucial mistakes overall. First, I used a King Size Mars Bar. Second, I'd had a big dinner that night. As you can imagine, it had taken a bit of persuading to get the missus to try something this unusual in the first place, but losing my appetite halfway through ... there are no words to cover the embarrassing silence while you are scooping rapidly melting chocolate out of your wife's vagina with your fingers. You would think we would have learned after the banana incident.
You know how if you fold a piece of paper it gets more stiff?
Apparently that principle doesn't apply to whiskey dick. I had drank too much, so I was trying to bend my dick in half and cram it in her. She was confused and told me to stop.
I go out with a girl several times. Yes, we met on the Internet. Through several conversations and texting, I find out that she is an interior designer, has a black belt in ninjutsu, and is basically loaded. Yes, she was 39, but she had a face like porcelain and the body of a 25-year-old. After a succession of great dates, we finally go to her place. Sadly, she has her roommate there, a blonde paraplegic in her early 30s. We eat food (cooked by my date) and things go smoothly. By this point, I have finished off half a bottle of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio (I never drink wine, and I grew up Mormon, so alcohol was alcohol to me).
After the meal, we roll into the living room to watch Eurotrip. I turn to give a french kiss to my date; it's clear that we're completely infatuated by this point, and I think that she's a little turned on. But of course, the disabled woman is watching us making out and she is essentially dying inside that a hot guy is making out with her upright-walking best friend.
BEING THE GENTLEMEN THAT I AM, I decide that the best way to make the roomie feel more at home is to walk over and give her a smack on the lips. A kiss turns into a groping. Next thing I know, I'm lowering my head to suck on her boob. My date at this point stands up and points to the door, wanting me to leave.
My current fling/long-term humpee will always excuse herself to the bathroom before sex or foreplay to do a check -- make sure her period didn't come, things are fresh, she doesn't have to pee -- and it's starting to really irritate me.
We've had all the red-winging and shit-dicking moments, and she's got too many trust issues for decent bondage, so it's come to this. I so desperately want something new with her that I'm trying to get her drunk enough that she forgets, and I'm hoping she'll accidentally piss on me while screwing.
I've never really had a urine fetish either and don't really think I do. I just love uncharted territory so much.
For some reason she thinks the idea is just silly, preposterous and laughs it off. Though I do sneak a stream onto her every now and then when she's rinsing off after we shower together, and boy is that little thrill there for an instant.
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
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