In the end this one was not so embarrassing as bizarre. My girlfriend (fuckbuddy) were in my bed, my room mate was gone for the night. I was on top, and we were going at it. Now, I was in a very tired state, due to a combination of a large academic course load, insomnia, and a girl who wants to get some three times a day and lives in the next building. So we were going about things at a somewhat slow pace, and I slip into some kind of semi-sleeping state, where we keep going at it but I begin to dream. I think this only lasted a few seconds, and I don't remember the dream, but something happened that made me say out loud, "Who're you?" Of course, the sound of my own voice made me snap back to reality. I was thinking "oh shit I just zoned out... did she notice?" Of course she did, and asked, "what did you say?" Of course, telling her that I almost fell asleep could only have negative consequences, so I mumbled something to the effect of, "I don't know what just happened..." and we continued as if nothing had happened.
Then there was the time my roommate and another guy from our floor walked in on my girl and I, but we didn't notice. I found out a year later, chatting with them at a party.
I had two roomies my freshman year. One was normal; a friend from before college that I'd known for years. One was the randomly assigned jackass who we'll call Eamon. Eamon did nothing but play CS and Diablo2 while eating Goldfish crackers, chewing on beef jerky and drinking Dr. Pepper. Actually, I guess he did at least one other thing.
My roommate walked in on him wanking it. His friend did. His brother did. My friend did. The guy down the hall who was in the room and left on a 3 minute snack run came back to find him beating off. Everyone but me. Thank you Jeebus. Really though, I could have dealt with the fact that he masturbated. Not something I need to see, but The problem was what Eamon did it to. In a dorm situation, it's obvious that when you're gone, there will be some searching and poking around on your computer. I hid my porn (which BTW is fairly standard hetero/lesbian/solo stuff) but acknowledged its existence, my good roomie didn't care (we bought him porn for a thank you gift), and good ol' Eamon flat out denied having any. Of course upon inspection, he did.
The crowning achievement was not the Coke-can-in-the-ass video, nor was it any of the bondage. No, the champion video consisted of a shot from between the legs of a girl, and then zooming in on her pussy as the apple that was entirely inside is slowly squeezed out. That was creepy, but then it kept going. "Why that's interesting. This woman's ass appears to be bulging... how odd! That looks like... no, certainly she doesn’t have an orange crammed inside her asshole. Oh. My mistake, I see now that she did."
I was having pretty loud sex with my girlfriend in her parents basement. We both went upstairs and were making small talk with her mother and sister when her mom says just out of the blue "Kate, you have sex hair...HIGH FIVE."
Also, I once called my parent's answering machine during sex because of a cell phone in my pocket down by my knees. That was pretty embarrassing.
During high school I was dating a cute little Irish Catholic girl who lived in the country. Her dad was a gun owner/enthusiast/nut, a really good guy. I was home from college with my parents in the suburbs for Christmas vacation. A few days before Christmas, I get this call:
"Hey, what's up?" "Uhm, not too--" [cutting me off]"You know, no one is here for a long while." [*click*] tires squeal on the wet back roads [cut ten minutes later] doorbell ring "Come on in."
I walk inside and look around, and she's nowhere to be found. I go to the stairs, and there she is in her underwear at the top. I start up the stairs, thinking happy thoughts. She disappears into the bathroom, and I follow. Huh, the shower's running. We strip each other, step into the shower and start at it. And it is good.
[Edited for explicit content. This is a family show, sicko.]
Ten minutes later, she stops, stands up [she was, uh, not standing at the time] and yells, "HOLY HELL." It was a car door, her dad's truck.
Now I'm filled with thoughts of her dad's British .303 [with a 10x sight on it] he loves to shoot so much, and his shiny Kimber .45... Then of my parents, sad but understanding [I have two sisters] at my closed casket funeral.
She takes her clothes and bolts out of the bathroom into her room to change. I dry off and dress as fast as I can. I walk down the steps first casually, because it wasn't uncommon to use that particular bathroom. He was standing in the kitchen. I make small talk, and then he notices my hair's wet. 'Fuck,' I thought. Wait--rain oh sweet Jesus in a breadbasket, it was raining outside. I blurted 'RAIN' out, perhaps a little suspiciously. He must have bought it, because I walked out of that house myself.
The rain and sleet saved my life.
Anton Chekhov's famous gun rule is not being followed by some lazy screen writers for the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
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