What Puking? I Don't Hear Anything

I know you guys all think I'm a big slut who bangs a new man every week. Unless you're actually able to count and read actively, which means you've realized that what I actually enjoy is fucking WITH men, not fucking men.

And when I say I love fucking WITH men, this means I love mocking the shit out of them, making out with them, then sending their pathetic blue-balled asses home so I can get my obligatory 9 hours of sleep. This is actually how I would define a hook-up. It's really not about sex or blowjobs. It's more about me having all the power for a few hours until I get too sleepy to enjoy wielding it any longer.

So yeah, I can get a little bossy in bed because I know exactly what I want. It's quite simple. I want us to get naked, makeout, and grope until I get bored.

And I've never been unsuccessful at getting this from any of my targets.

Until a few weeks ago. That fucker! Let's call him Wisconsin. I can't remember if that's where he's actually from, but I have this vague recollection of a thick Midwestern accent, so that's what I'm going to call him.

I met Wisconsin through a friend, and I was warned beforehand that (1) he was shy and (2) he would probably be into my "style." Wisconsin met up with my friends and me at a bar, and he looked pretty fucking cute in the dark. I was at least 4 sugar-free red bull vodkas deep at that point, so I was ready to attack.

After a night of dancing and flirting, I grabbed Wisconsin and my girlfriend to head home. I was staying at my girlfriend's place while I was in town visiting for a little mini vaca. Let's call this girlfriend Drank Too Much. She's not an alchy like me, but on this one night, she definitely drank too much.

The three of us headed home in the cab, and the cab driver stopped at Drank Too Much's place. Drank Too Much paid the cab driver and said, "Okay, this is the first stop. He needs you to take him home next," as she motioned toward Wisconsin.

Wisconsin and I both look surprised and horrified because it was CLEAR - though unstated - that he was coming home with me.

So I actually had to put into words something I've never actually uttered prior to a hook-up and tell the cab driver, "No, he's coming home with me."

I felt so dirty. At that point, everyone in the car knew what was going to happen.

And Drank Too Much finally realized it, too, as evidenced by her very loud "Ohhhhhhhhhh! I'm sorry! Ohhhhhhhh!" during her moment of recognition.

So we all went up to Drank Too Much's pad, and Drank Too Much made us some pop tarts before heading to the bathroom.

Finally, Wisconsin and I were alone in the living room. I pushed him onto the inflatable mattress (super hot, right?) and started making out with him. He was a surprisingly good kisser for someone so shy. I was TOTALLY into it. Soft lips. Good at mixing things up. Responded well to my gentle teasing and nibbling.

All of a sudden, from the bathroom, we both heard an unbelievably loud "Bluuuuuuuuugh! Bluuuuuuuuuugh!"

Drank Too Much was puking. Very very loudly. These were not cute little girly bulemic pukes that one would hear in the stalls of a sorority house bathroom. These were loud ass, bellowing lumberjack heave-hos that made it sound like she was fighting against a rabid ferret trying to scurry up her throat.

"Is she okay?" Wisconsin asked me, clearly distracted by the vomit soundtrack in the background.

"What? Her? Oh she's fine! I'll go check on her. Hold on."

Fuuuuuuuck. I ran into the bathroom and asked Drank Too Much if she was okay.

"I'm fine!" she said. "Don't worry about me!"

I quickly surveyed the scene. She seemed lucid. She didn't have puke in her hair. She had properly vomited into the toilet. She had enough strength to hold herself up against the toilet seat. Check. Check. Check. "She's good to go!" I concluded.

I returned to Wisconsin and assured him that Drank Too Much was fine. We continued making out.

After about an hour of making out, I realized that both of us were still FULLY CLOTHED. This was totally unacceptable, so I took off his shirt.

I waited for him to do the same to me.

And waited.

And made out some more.

And waited.

Another thirty minutes passed.

At this point, I was like WTF?!?! The sun was about to rise, and I still didn't even get to feel his dick yet! And why the HELL was my dress still on?!?!

So I asked him, "Umm... wow. You like to move slowly, don't you?"

He was super shy and said that he always moves slowly and that he was having fun just making out.

UGH. God damnit! I was annoyed. I wanted to shout at him, "Your fucking mommy isn't here, so forget everything she told you about respecting women and start sucking my nipple! If you need to pretend it's your mommy's, FINE! Suck it like you did until you were 7. Just GET TO WORK."

But I kept my mouth shut. It's not like I was TOTALLY miserable. I didn't mind just making out, and he WAS a really good kisser, but I didn't need a man's rough jeans rubbing up against my soft legs all night. And I wanted to feel how big his dick was. Obvi.

Then I started wondering whether I was making out with a gay. I mean, what man would NOT want to take off my dress? There's a bounty of womanly goodness under there just waiting to be groped.

Disappointingly, we made out nearly fully clothed until sunrise.

He asked me what I was doing the next night, and I was like "Uhhhh.... Really busy. Every last minute is booked. But I had fun! See ya!"

I closed that door like I was slamming it on the face of a boy I caught trying on my thongs.

Like I was going to waste another vaca night on a Midwestern prude boy! No one robs me of Naked Time. NO ONE. I didn't spend $85 waxing my pussy before that trip for nothin! Shieeeet.

But if I ever go back to that city, I'll probably send Wisconsin a little booty text just to see how he responds. "So. Have you balls dropped yet? :)" I think he would like that. Don't you?