The Guy I Should've Trapped In a Closet

Yes. This is another story where I am going to blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol - cause that shit fucks you up enough to stutter uncontrollably, apparently. I am going to have to admit it. Me drinking leads to a lot of unfortunate incidents. Do I think I have a problem? Not at all. Intervention has thoroughly assured me that until I am drinking hand sanitizer or mouthwash, or my own vomit, I am definitely not an alcoholic.

That being said, this next adventure begins last summer at a friend's birthday party in the city. He decided to rent out a space, and provide an open bar. All night. For free. Open bars are great in theory AND in practice. In hindsight, not so much. Anyways, at any given point during the night I was walking around with about 3 drinks, getting nice and toasty. There are definitely some highlights from the night - I guess I thought it would be okay to booty pop in front of a dude that was blatantly talking to some other broad. I also thought it was okay to go up to my friend's little brother's girlfriend and tell her I was gonna cut her. Oops. Either way I start dancing with this kid at the party (this is about the point when I don't actually remember things.) Straddling, piggy-back riding, I was a one-woman show. At this point, my friends decided they wanted to leave. Instead of taking the drunk girl home, they thought it would be a good idea to leave me there with this dude because I said so. Now, I'm just gonna say - if I thought it was okay to expose my labia to a bar full of people, you probably don't want to trust my decision making. But they leave me anyway.

Fast forward to the next morning - I wake up, completely disoriented, on, of all things, a fucking AeroBed, with my hair looking like I dunked it in a fountain (it was a fresh perm y'all!), my cute outfit all askew, with this strange man next to me and NO CLUE WHERE I AM. After vomiting, because I had to, of course, make the situation as classy as possible, I scrambled out of that apartment with only a debit card and my BlackBerry, while this guy (whose name I did not know at the time), continued to 'sleep'. (Honey, I've faked sleep too many times to avoid awkward morning conversations to know that you really need some practice). Looking like a Class A street walker with this ridiculous-for-10AM outfit on, out-of-control hair and make-up, I trudged down the street with as much pride as I could muster (yes, I did manage to have some left.) Having literally no clue how I managed to get all the way to 59th Street from 17th, with only a debit card and cell phone, I was thrilled to see a TD Bank on the corner - Regis does not lie; definitely America's most fucking convenient bank. I grabbed some cash and went to meet my friends, who seemed to also have had interesting adventures, one involving being peed on (you will soon note the irony).

Fast forward now to later this summer. Somehow I manage to get in touch with this guy and we bone a couple of times (on his fucking AeroBed! - it was kind of like... sledding). Then we end up back at school and I don't hear from him for about a semester - most likely because I was busy getting bruised. Until - I walk into my French class second semester and oh ho, there he is! So we start talking, mostly because he and I were the only people in the room and he had already seen my vagina. Of course, this causes things to start up again, because, why not?

So after a few fun nights during the semester, there was one that really took home the gold (well, actually, I guess it actually luged into a metal pole). It was towards the last couple of weeks of school and I had been out with my roommates. It was one of those lame nights at our campus bar that I ended with some always-comforting McDonald's. (NB: you will never see a negative word about Ronald on this site. He's a good man). As I sat on my couch enjoying my fries, this guy calls me, wasted, and asks to "hang out". Now, this poses a huge dilemma. I love food. But I also love sex. Fries or dick, fries or dick? Such. A. Hard. Decision. Somehow my roommates manage to convince me to let him come over. (Don't worry, I finished before he got there). So he comes, we fuck, the end.

Just kidding. We fuck, and in a brief moment of orgasm-induced weakness, I let this motherfucker stay over. So he's on his side and I'm on the other, because, no, I don't cuddle. All of a sudden at around 4 in the morning, I wake up to a strange noise. Drunkenly thinking it was a bird or some shit outside, I just go back to sleep. Then at 7, I wake up again to another very distinct noise. Completely sober, I realized what it was.





That noise I heard at 4 in the morning? PEE. URINATION.

I jumped out of that bed faster than a girl who just saw a herpe. I bolted to my roommates' room and woke them up, telling them they had to tell the dude to leave. I just could not do it. I hate pee. So much. But, understandably, they didn't want to approach the naked peeing man anymore than I did, so I had to go back in there and kick him the fuck out. I hid out until I heard the front door click. I then rallied 2 of my roommates to help drag my mattress down three flights of stairs into the backyard. We kind of sprayed it and left it there, presumably to rot. The most affected victims of this catastrophe - my stuffed animals. Still can't talk about it. They're better now.

I was pretty upset about my bed. It was so comfortable and I had paid a good amount for it. I spent the last few weeks of school sleeping on a ghetto Ikea futon. To get rid of my furniture before moving out, I put it all on craigslist. I really wanted to get the Peeing Piper to pay for my bed, but then I had a genius idea. I just put my bed.. on craigslist. And now, some guy has paid a good amount of $ to sleep on a urine-stained mattress. And no, it's not R. Kelly.

Oh and before you all judge me (which if you hadn't until this point, I don't understand), WHO BUYS BEDS ON CRAIGSLIST?? You should expect much worse than pee. He's lucky that's all he got. Shit.

All I have left to say about the situation (ha) is this: "Ronny, like, this is no joke. You traumatized me tonight, like honestly, Ronny, like stop.. No, no, no like stop."

Well, feisty fuckin', y'all.


The Comeback!

Ok everyone, I know it's been months, but I am back with many, many (unfortunate) tales!


The Guy who Left His Mark, Part 2

So, I know what you're all thinking - after the ridiculousness that I had to deal with with this dude, why would I come back around thinking that the second time would be better? I cannot answer that question. As Rick James, once said... 'Cocaine's a helluva drug.' Well, for me tequila's a helluva drug, and I had had way too damn much of it. Woops!

It was September of senior year, and my last orientation. My only goal for that week: freshman boys. Obviously, that goal would only be realized after shots. Lots and lots of shots. I was living off-campus in a house full of girls, and we were determined to start the year off with a bang. For me, I meant literally. So after a night of drunken debauchery, we end up at our local bar for one last attempt to pick up some mens. Considering that it's our one bar on campus, it was more of a sardine can than anything, and there was really no more space for anything but another Long Island. So I knocked one back, and at 2, we were promptly kicked out. With no men picked up, my girls and I headed home for a visit to the refridgerator, where I had some leftover potato salad (better than any man.)

So at some point during my time at the bar, I had run into the guy from 3 years ago. I don't know what I said to him. I don't know what I did. But I am confident that our exchange did not last more than 90 seconds. I was not at all interested in what he had to say. So he was not at all on my mind as I made my way home. Nor was he on my mind as I sat at the kitchen table with the girls, shoes off, schwasty-faced and snacking. So when my phone rang with some mysterious number (because no, I did not save this lame ass' number), I picked up, not expecting it to be him AT ALL. Allow me to recall the conversation:

Me: [Mouth full of potato salad] Hello?
Him: I'm almost at your door, come outside.
Me: Who the FUCK is this?
Him: Its ......... Come outside
Me: Uh, no. Why do you know where I live??
Him: You told me [No I fucking didn't. I'm not trying to be on SVU.]
Me: Oh, I did? Ok...
Him: Ok, I'm outside.

Ok, now, let me remind you, reader who is going to judge my decisions, I was really drunk. So obviously, it seemed like a good idea to me to go open the front door and let this dude waltz in. And waltz in he did. I tried to tell him it wasn't a good time, my room was a mess, blah blah bah. His response: 'Well you might not get this oppurtunity again.' I guess in that moment, I believed his statement, and thought it was an oppurtunity worth having - both things turned out to be untrue. So I let him upstairs and attempted to get what he owed me from our last encounter.

Expectedly, it did not go well. I unfortunately don't really recall the happenings of the rest of the night, because not only was I drunk, but the events were very unmemorable. However, my handy dandy roommates made sure to let me know what happened. This dude comes over. Without. Any. Condoms. What fucking guy expects a girl to have condoms? One who's not expecting any fucking sex. Well, upon this discovery I went downstairs to ask my roommates for condoms, while whispering to them to not give me any because even my drunken self knew not to have sex with him. So I went back upstairs, he felt me up a little, and went on his merry way.

The end, right?

Of COURSE NOT. The next morning I woke up, not too hungover, but still acceptably so to just lounge around the house in preparation for the next night out. My roommates and I laughed about the silliness that went on the night before, amused that this kid has gotten me naked twice, and still hadn't managed to have sex with me. At that time, I wasn't really thinking that the night particularly stuck out. Then, as it was about 3 in the afternoon, I decided it was time to shower.

So I'm standing, getting my aromatherapy on with some Johnson's & Johnson's, when I look down at my ta-tas and see bruises. Full on black and blue bruises, in the shape of a HAND-PRINT on my each of beautiful girls. Now let me just put this in perspective. I am a black woman. I can count the number of times I have bruised in my life on one hand. And all the other occurrences have involved me running into metal objects. So how the FUCK did this guy manage to yank on my titties so hard that he bruised them? I mean I know they're nice but, NO, you cannot take them home!

Really, what the fuck, though? I did proceed to tell every single person I knew this story, to both warn girls of the Boobburglar, and to make sure everyone knew about his major fucking faux pas.

After this unfortunate encounter, he kept sending me ridiculous texts throughout the year. Trying to get me to stay awake to see him: 'You may not sleep long, but you'll sleep much better.' [My favorite!] Trying to get me to come over: 'I can make the trip very worthwhile.' Or: 'Baby, I got what you need.' Alright, Biz Markie. There were many more like this. And, readers, I will admit. I did eventually have sex with him. (I had just had a really good meal. I felt like being generous.) It wasn't, surprisingly, bad. I mean, it wasn't good either, but it did the job. Either way, I wasn't bruised that time, and I'm happy.

Til next time - delightful diddling.


The Guy who Left His Mark, Part 1

Ok, I know I haven't posted in a while. My computer disappeared for about 3 weeks, and I had a hard time getting it to come back home. But, now it has returned, as have regular postings!

This story comes from a few years back. It's first in a saga that lasted 4. Long. Years. (Read: 4 hilarious years, the hilarious part being that this guy had no clue what he was doing, and 4 years later, still doesn't.)

There wasn't anything particularly... thrilling.. about this guy. I met him at a frat party (just once I'd like to hear a story where the people met somewhere less obviously doomed for failure). He was in pledging the same frat as my good friend from high school, and the boyfriend of a future roommate. We hit it off pretty much instantly. Wait. Let me rephrase that. We had both had enough to drink that we were both screaming 'FNAR FNAR FNAR' at each other at seemingly compatible levels. After more drinks, we managed a series of grunts and moans that translated roughly to: 'You. Do me.' 'Ok.' So we drunkenly meandered back to the freshmen dorms to see what we could make of our alcohol-fueled horniness.

This is the point in the story when I pause and outline the numerous problems that had surfaced thus far.
  1. He said we had to go to my room. Umm, what?? Roommates weren't a factor in this decision as we BOTH HAD THEM... What guy goes back to a girl's room that is not his girlfriend? It's not like I had a pimp one bedroom. But it's cool.. I could have let that one slide...
  2. The kid's name. Now, this isn't actually problem, but more of a point of ridicule that I get hounded for every time this story comes up. His last name was a religious denomination. He might as well have been named Jason Episcopalian. Or Mike Jewish. Either would have worked. I would still be getting made fun of. Cool.
  3. He was laying it on waaaaayyyyy too thick. I mean, I am all for confidence. A little cockiness is very sexy. But to paraphrase the wise, wise words of one Beyonce, if he talks like this, he gotta back it up. And I must say - it was not too big. It was not too wide. It did, in fact, fit.
So we stumble back to my room to do the deed. After he's promised me nothing short of mind-blowing sex, I was pretty excited. The sloppy making out seemed promising. The way he was devouring my lower face, I thought at least I'd get some good head. But obviously that would be too much to ask.We were doing well with foreplay - I'm sure nothing was more than passable, but drunk me was satisfied. I wanted to move things along, so started work below the belt - I am nothing if not an amazing head giver.

Now I believe in the mantra 'Give to receive.' The douchebag whose semen I had just willingly ingested did not. Fuck my life. Or at least, fuck me
. But nope. He didn't. Nothing. Nope. Uh uh. After a night of 'You are gonna have a wild ride tonight' and 'You've never had anything like this before' (really, who the fuck says this shit? Oh yea, the people I have sex with). I was expecting great sex. I didn't even get sex! He said he 'didn't do that.' I'm sorry, did you turn into a Jonas Brother post-head? What college guy gets a girl naked and then doesn't have sex with her? It sounds like a round-about ploy to convert me. So I had to kick his ass out, and finish myself off. I had half a mind to go find one of my hallmates to help me out. But I wasn't that hard up.

The best part of all this? This dude didn't talk to me for 2 YEARS. He would go to ridiculous lengths to avoid me. He would literally just walk away if I tried to join a conversation. It was good to be reminded of the 1st grade while I was in college. Really brought back good memories.

But I do have to say I managed to overcome this barrier for another sexual encounter with this guy 3 years later that involved some questionable bruising. All in the name of:

That will have to wait till Part 2 though.. Till then-

Festive Fornicatin'!


The Guy with the Request

I thought I would start with one of my own stories.

I was one of those people who came to college with a boyfriend. First high school boyfriend, lost my virginity to him, true love, thought it would last forever... Yeah, well fuck that shit. I was dumped in November of my freshman year. Apparently true love doesn't stretch the 100 miles from New York to Philly. But whatever. I'm over it. So I decided to get over it then by getting some ass (obviously). It was one of the first nights it had snowed in Philly, and so of course I put on my sluttiest heels and went to a frat party with two of my girl friends, drunk and on a mission. I don't recall the early details of the night. I'm gonna assume it involves jungle juice, or some other rank drink that I could only stomach as freshman. (I had a jungle juice relapse senior year... did NOT go well.) And then my sights land on the guy of the night. He was a peripheral friend of one of the girls I was with, which satisfied my 'someone I know has to know you' rule. In retrospect (because I saw this motherfucker every day for the rest of my life), he isn't the hottest guy if his look isn't what you're into... However, I am always DTF a cute, pale Jewish boy, so I was good to go. I went over and started talking to him, and getting my flirt on. I am naturally a very outgoing person, and when I'm drunk, I think I'm the shit. Which is obviously true, because half an hour later, I get the quintessential college-guy-trying-to-get-ass line: 'Wanna get out of here?' I don't get how that works. Ladies, we all know all he wants is to fuck... Yet, something somewhere justifies it, because the gentle way he says it makes you think he wants more (which he doesn't!) At least I didn't get the other line, typical of freshmen Penn boys: 'I have a single in the Quad.' As hot as that is...

So I get back to this dude's room, and we proceed drunkenly through the motions. Nothing out of the ordinary, but nothing particularly special. But then the first bomb - he wanted to do it on his roommate's bed. Although I didn't think it was a big deal at the time, that's fucking nasty. If my roommate had had sex on my bed, I would've fucking killed her. But that's a whole different issue. Anyways, we're doing the dirty, and we're into it... until this guy opens his mouth and says to me: "I need you to grab my ass!" And he didn't stop there. He said to me that he couldn't come unless I grabbed his (bony) ass.


Now, I'm all for fetishes. I have plenty. And I'm sure some of them are hella weird. And I don't judge other people with weird ones. Whatever makes you happy. Sure. Get yours any way you can. BUT. If I just met you like 3 hours ago, you need to hold back just a little. Cause that's how girls get scared away. You need to be at least a little comfortable with someone before you let it all out there. At least with me. Especially considering that this was the first person I was having sex with in college. What an introduction, right?

So, of course I obliged, cause I need to get this ninja off, and off of me. And he just continued like nothing's wrong... Despite the look of sheer terror on my face. Which probably explains his next action... Instead of going to bed, or kicking me out, he asked if I was ready to go back to the party. I mean, really? We did not just stop at Wawa (how I miss you) for hoagies and RedBull. My ass walked all the way to the Quad for you, so can I at least get in a nap? No?

But it's alright because I was still drunk, and I needed to tell someone about this motherfucker's ass grabbing nonsense. Which I did. For the next four years. I guess I can't really wonder why he didn't talk to me for a while after that...

Healthy ho-ing!

The Introduction

As a recent college graduate, a lot of my time is spent telling and hearing stories about the stupid and funny things that happened during the past four years. And a lot of those stories involve sex. A LOT. I'm a sexual person, and not ashamed - it's fucking healthy. And I not only enjoy the act itself, I love talking about sex, I love hearing about sex, and now I'm gonna love blogging about sex. My closest friends are the same; I don't think I'd have much to talk about with my closest friends if we couldn't talk about sex. Now here's the thing. I went to Penn. Ivy Leaguers aren't particularly known for their sexual prowess. And that makes for a lot of unfortunate, and unfortunately funny, sexual experiences. And I plan on sharing the best of those with you. Stories of my own, stories of my friends, and stories of friends of friends of friends that were passed along. If you have a funny story that I should include, send it along. Otherwise, sit tight, enjoy the ride, and of course, Happy Humping.