WINNER of Poor Mojo's $33-and-a-third Meritorious Boon for finest Monstrously Bad Sex Rant, Summer 2008
I suppose it is my fault for agreeing to an early morning hook-up. You see, I am not, NOT, a morning person. When I say this, I don't simply mean that I am groggy in the morning. I mean that I am actually emotionally impaired, reduced cognitive function, excruciatingly slow reflexes, the whole kebab. So behaviors that world normally elicit a BITCHSLAP of Brobdingnagian proportions are met merely with a bemused look of disgust.
All that being said and documented. . . I still must rant.
HEY! Lame Ass Booty Call Dude! (Heretofore referred to as LABCD.) Let us review this morning's performance:
You went on and on about how much you wanted to hook up, and soon. I took this as a matter of desire and a matter of wanting to have some hot nasty sex. Not the fact that you are obviously possessed with the attention span (and phallic fortitude, but more on that later) of a hummingbird on E.
Against my better judgment, I agreed to do you this morning, at an obscenely early time. "Why not?" I thought. "What a way to start the day!"
When you showed up, you called to explain that you found a space that would only let you park until 8:00 AM. I checked the clock. It was 7:46 AM. I gently suggested you FIND ANOTHER BLOODY PARKING SPOT, YOU GODDAMNED IDIOT. (But without the "bloody" and the "goddamned" or the "idiot".)
I should have called the whole thing off then and there. Why? Big clue: this was a precursor to my later discovery that 14 minutes of "hang time" is about 8 more minutes than you actually need to finish YOUR end of the bargain. But you caught me at my weakest moment, LABCD. A pox on you.
Upon arrival, I am sorry to report that you looked about as intelligent as you sounded on the phone. Now, intellectual prowess and sexual prowess are not necessarily trotting hand-in-hand all of the time. But in your case, LABCD, it would seem that both sexual prowess and intelligence have been liquefied into some foul effluent by whatever passes for your cerebral cortex. Sorry, sorry, I used a few too many polysyllabic words. Put simply: a sack of wet weasels has more going on upstairs than you do. But whatever. I can overlook that. It is way too goddamned early to nit-pick, and I really just want to fuck.
Now, LABCD, let me run a few names by you: Right Guard. Mitchum. Arrid. Sound like anything with whom you are familiar? Tom's of Maine?!? Anything? Bueller?!?! But hey, you're a workin' man, and sometimes workin' men get sweaty. But hopefully, with some of the fruits of their labor, they take a minute to wash and freshen up the pits.
I know some people just like to go natural and all that. Let the pheromones do their work, yeah? But Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, why not default and use a little Irish Spring?
At least you didn't waste my time trying to talk to me at the top of the act, LABCD. You got right to business. And hey! Look! You have an erection within moments! How nice for you. And so very thoughtful of you to attempt to ram your cock down my throat at an angle so oblique as to render any finessing of this act on my part totally moot. But it didn't seem to matter to you, LABCD, because you were moaning fit to beat the band anyway. My guess is that your dick really just wants to be someplace warm and wet. You probably creamed your shorts during the pastry-fucking scene in "American Pie" and went right home for some hot Sara Lee lovin'.
Now. You might or might not be aware of this, LABCD, but sucking dick for 3 minutes isn't usually going to get a girl all hot and ready to go. And you know what else, LABCD? When you go to try to stick your dick in someone's cunt and you can't get it in because she isn't aroused, the solution is to do something to arouse her. Not push harder. But I forget. . . YOU had a hard-on, so all is right with the world. At this point, LABCD, I ought have cleared my throat and said "Hey, old chap! How about a little turnabout on the oral sex thing?" but the thought of your stupid head between my legs was enough for me to just go ahead and stimulate myself, at least to alleviate the non-effect of your pathetic thrusts.
Now, I am a generous person. And easily aroused, and endlessly optimistic. So, after the first few minutes, I decided to make the best of it. Your penis wasn't spectacular, but I was AWARE of its presence, and I'd had the good sense to not allow you to fuck me face-to-face, so I could easily pretend Michael Madsen was mounting me and get on with the fucking. Lo, the blessed and sought-after climax was not to be.
Well, it was to be for YOU, LABCD, in about another 3 minutes, but not for me. Alas, alack.
I couldn't even be pissed off when I realized that the whole situation had played itself out in about eight minutes. I suppose in my Womanpower brain, I was shrieking for reciprocity, for justice, for an orgasm, for christsake!! But really, at this point, I wanted your funky-armpit-having-no-kind-of-stamina-ass out of my flat. But wait!! Now you are going to make small talk! How thoughtful. Standing there naked with your pecker drooping and telling me that you'd heard that "The Illuminatus! Trilogy" was "weird" is just not going to in-fucking-gratiate you to me, LABCD.
Mercifully, you took some kind of hint when I lay there staring at the inside of my eyelids for the duration of your other puerile conversational gambits. And then you did the best thing in the whole goddamned lame encounter, LABCD: you left as quickly as you came. Buh bye!
I know, I know. I certainly COULD have said something, and I certainly COULD have stopped it at any point. But the experiment helped me to remember that I should never, ever take a good fuck-buddy for granted.
. . . Also, I can't be too mad. . . I did get nicely fucked last night by a completely adorable personal trainer (Thanks, V!!) and he WILL, unlike you, LABCD, be asked back for seconds.
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