So there I am, a 19-year-old goth girl, having by some incredible luck been given a backstage pass to the band who was THE flavour of the month. I'm in heaven, geting to meet my band. Yay me! As if that is not enough, the guitarist takes an instant liking to me, and pretty soon I find myself snogging him and having his hands explore my breasts while asking me to come back to his hotel. Obviously, I didn't have to be asked twice. I quickly finished my wine, checked that my black lipstick wasn't too badly smeared and off we went.
20 minutes later, and we are in a hotel room that is a lot dingier than I thought musicians lived in. And he undresses me, and asks me to lie down on the bed. No problem here, mate! He undressed with his back turned, then quickly crawls on top of me and ... starts weeping!
Got a story about how he was basically impotent, and he was living a lie. Everyone thought he was such a sex god when really he could rarely get hard enough for a proper entry and now I was going to laugh at him. HUGE Drama King here...
I ended up lying naked, stroking his hair and telling him everything was going to be OK until sunrise. Then he asked me to leave because he had to get ready to be on the tour bus. Didn't even give me time to take a shower first.
Yeah ... learned my lesson well, emo blokes suck!
I had this girlfriend with goth/hippie tendencies who always had to put on music and light candles and incense and crap before sex. One time she had these gigantic white church candles she got in Mexico. They seemed to be in a safe enough place but it turned out these cheap shitty candles occasionally ejected little flaming wax blobs in different directions. Awesome.
As you can guess, I was balls deep and suddenly noticed smoke and a flickering light. The drapes were on fire! I jumped up butt naked with a boner, tore the burning curtains off the window and smothered the fire with the blanket. But it was too late, the smoke detector went off and her roommates busted into the room to see me standing there wild-eyed still wearing a condom. I saved everybody's life.
It's been three years since I was last with anyone in any matter other than what can be described as 'customer service'. So I figured to hell with it, maybe if I try it one more time I'll like it. I found this cute co-ed down at a blues bar downtown with a little searching. Short, blond, big tits. A little full in body, but she was intoxicated and my goal to fill her up seemed certain. At the hour of 11 we found ourselves back at her apartment and as we drunkenly molest each other, I go to take off her pants and it occurs to me: I've completely forgotten how to do this.
Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the darkness, but I'm suddenly gripped by crushing anxiety and despair, it washes over me like a dark rolling cloud and I look down. It's ugly. It looked like a week-old road-killed squirrel nestled between two fat white logs. A mincing, sneaking, snarling thing that hides in the corner of your vision in the bushes of a dark and winding road on a cold night. My faculties left me and I bounded off the bed. I had to get away.
Cowering, I howled at my enemy, hooting nonsense, blind with fright, confused and cornered I fought back, hurling shoes, books, anything within reach. Still mostly clothed I run out the door, run for my life, run till my throat is sandpaper and my bare feet are torn and ragged and the sweat on my skin turns cold in the night air. The adrenalin pumping my blood through my cold heart dissipates and I limp the miles back to my car. Maybe one day I will try again. Maybe next time I'll like it.
I picked up (well, she picked me up) this older (than me) woman a week or so ago at a karaoke show I was singing at. She's hot and I've never been with a woman out of her thirties, so what the hell. Last night/this morning she calls me to come over, so I do. We're up in her bed, having a little fun when I notice this glass cabinet in one corner of the room. The cabinet is several shelves high, and starting from the bottom, I see two copies of the Kama Sutra (cool), handcuffs (cool), various books, a couple of boxes of condoms, and so on. Obviously, this is her little sex cabinet, whatever. Then, I get to the top two shelves, which are filled with lube, condoms, and a BUNCH of dildos and sex toys, every single one of which is fucking huge.
I'm in bed with a hot older woman who is literally trying to ram one of her hands into my underwear while using the other to try and shove my hand into her underwear and I feel completely emasculated. I swear her collection of silicone cocks was mocking me. I could hear them chanting in unison: "Baby penis! Baby penis!" The big black one with the giant balls for a base was actually trembling with laughter. Or maybe that was just the vibration caused by us on the bed, I don't know.
She must have noticed my attention stray, because she looks at me looking at the rubbery forest of mammoth phalli, then we look at each other. We're frozen in time for a second or two, hands halfway into each other's junk areas, and I manage to speak: "I'm afraid you're going to be very disappointed in me."
The sex was awkward, to say the least. But the worst part was when we were undressing and she said, "Don't worry, I'm fat too."
Someone told TIME magazine about trolling and now we all just have to deal with it.
If that boy isn't willing to shoot his laser and get you that carbon, he's not worth your time.
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