I woke up with that song stuck in my head today. Despite some fabulous and not-so-fabulous solo work, I am so happy that RW is back with Take That.
Moving on, I’ve thought about why it is that I continue to write this blog and I think it’s mainly to entertain myself. Especially during the long summer days stuck at home. The posts may be sporadic, but most things in my life are. I enjoy the feedback from the blog, which is primarily good, with the occasional ‘You are a boring bitch’ comment, which I then reject in my Comment Moderation section. I even like those comments though, because it’s always beyond me why someone would take the time to get through an entire post which they are clearly not enjoying, think, ‘I really don’t like this’ and then take the extra time on said post to write some random insult that will never be published. Silly. Just google something else to read.
A lot of people are too interested in what they want. Myself included. Usually what I want is to write funny stories about whatever it is that has happened in the recent past. I want everybody to be happy though and thus am up for any requests as to what people want to hear about. A lot of people ask me questions on Formspring, but if there’s a particular subject people would like me to elaborate on, I’m open to suggestions.
Until then, I shall tell you a cringe-worthy story about someone I slept with.
A question I get often is in regards to which students are best in bed. Engineers? Physicists? Historians? I have yet to find a solid link, but all of the aforementioned are good. A more important question is who are the worst. Now I’ve only slept with one English student (the subject, not the nationality), but it was so bad that I’ve sworn them off forever. It’s like when you get food poisoning from a restaurant. You can safely say that you will never return to that restaurant, and warn all your friends not to go there as well.
The funniest sounding dog name I could find without having to scroll further than the letter ‘A’ was the Argentine Dogo. I’ll just keep the Dogo part though for this boy’s name.
I met Dogo at a party, and amongst a crowd of gay guys and ugly straight guys he was the most attractive of the group. Well, there were far more attractive gay men than him, but he was the most attractive of the men available to me. We started talking and it was immediately apparent that he was very impressed with himself. As if he were thinking, ‘I am the most attractive available straight man in this room.’ Apparently he found me to be the most attractive available single woman in the room because after a night of banal conversation over lit shit (one of my favourite sixth form teacher’s term for ‘literary criticism’), we ended up in a cab together back to mine.
Now Dogo, to his credit, was attractive. He dressed well and he smelled nice. When we got back to mine he droned on some more about some pretentious essay he had been writing before he turned his full attention on the girl sitting on the bed and said, ‘You. Are a gem.’ He ran his hand through my hair and down along my cheek.
Ugh. And you are about to be kicked out. He started to recite some poem, which was just about the last straw, but then I figured I could feign enough enthusiasm before chundering to kiss him. The kissing wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t all that great either, but it was getting late and it was then or never. In hindsight, I wish I had gone with never.
Soon he was down to his Calvin Klein briefs. The waist band was quite thick and had ‘Calvin Klein’ written in neon pink, which was another warning sign that I should have heeded. He left the lights on and stripped down to nothing to reveal what is the smallest penis I have ever seen. You would think that he would have wanted the lights off really. I slightly panicked that normal condoms wouldn’t fit him and that they would fall off, but he put one on and it seemed secure enough so we continued.
Like most women, I have faked it in bed. Sometimes you just get bored and it’s clear that it isn’t going to happen so you try and wrap things up. However, until this night I had never suspected that men could fake it as well. Either this man’s climax was so unremarkable that he couldn’t bother to make a sound, or even an expression really, or he faked it. I came to this conclusion because after a couple minutes of what I think was sex (I couldn’t actually feel much), he said, ‘I’m done.’ Oh are you? Really? I half-heartedly smiled and he got up to go use the loo.
I grabbed my clothes off the floor and put them on as quickly as possible. I was in my own room but still felt that immediate need to flee the scene. Realising that I couldn’t exactly abandon him where I lived, I sat on the bed, half dressed, waiting for him to come back.
When he finally came back he said, ‘You put a shirt on.’ Well observed, sir. ‘You look gorgeous.’ And before I could object he was back on the bed and kissing me. He pulled away for a moment, ‘Do you want to go again?’
I felt like saying, ‘Do YOU want to go again? Because you seemed to have really hated it the last time …’ but instead I said, ‘Actually it’s getting quite late. You should probably go.’
‘Oh. Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. He got up and thankfully started getting dressed. I tried to avoid any suggestion that he should stay the night. ‘Can I get your number?’
No. ‘Actually I’ve just lost my phone,’ I said, hoping that my phone wasn’t sitting on my desk or anywhere obvious like that. ‘But you can find me on facebook.’ I wondered if I had told him my last name.
‘Oh, okay. I’ll definitely do that.’ He finished getting dressed, kissed me goodbye, and was gone. Apparently he knew my last name because he found me on facebook the next day. I think that request is still pending somewhere in facebook land.
Rarely do I feel the need to tell people about my sexual exploits (verbally I mean), but this was so bad that I had to tell someone right away. I called Briony.
‘Remember that guy I left with earlier?’
‘Yeah, how’d that go? He was fit.’
‘We slept together.’
‘Really?? How was it?’
‘Remember that time during first year that I got really drunk at the Christmas party and ended up throwing up in the bathroom all night?’
‘… Yes …’
‘Well, take how bad that was and multiply it by about infinity.’
‘Did you get sick??’
‘I wanted to be sick many times.’
I then recalled the encounter to her. We still laugh about it. One time he passed us on his bicycle as we were walking down the street and I saw him do a triple take but luckily I had sunglasses on and was able to avoid any acknowledgement that I had actually seen him.
I suppose the above story is a bit hypocritical of me to tell directly after talking about how those rare people who don’t like my blog still feel a need to complain about it. I could have just hated the experience and moved onto something else, but for the sake of entertaining you I think it was worth the rant.