I'm a Dirty Secret

We've all had hookups that we've regretted in the morning. You know what it's like.

You wake up, look to your left/right, then slowly recall that you drunkenly made out with / went down on / boned that friend / stranger / ex / illegal immigrant / ugly person in your bed.

Then, you wonder how you can get them out of your place as quickly and painlessly as possible.

So you wake them up and tell them you're totally late for some appointment.

You start to quickly get dressed as they do the same.

There's usually no conversation.

You both feel awkward.

Mere minutes pass but feel like hours.

Finally, you show them the door and hope that none of your roommates heard them leaving. There's no kiss good-bye. If you're lucky, there's no hug either (I HATE when they go in for the fucking morning after hug good-bye).

I think this experience is typical. Also, it's excruciatingly painful but somehow somewhat polite, right? You both realize it was a mistake, but no one says so. You just get your shit together and go.

Well, I recently slept over at someone's place and experienced a whole new way of being shown the door.

Yes, this is my real life, bitches. And for some reason, despite stories like this, I insist on waking up every morning to continue living it.

It was a Friday morning, and I awoke in someone else's bed. No surprise there. Kidding. Ha!

Don't worry. I actually knew this fellow quite well. He was kind of a good friend. Well, up until this moment. So let's call him Ex Friend.

Because Ex Friend was a good friend, I of course assumed that I'd be getting a ride home in the morning. The only problem was that Ex Friend's roommate's car was blocking his car in the garage.

So Ex Friend had to ask his sleeping roommate to move the car.

No big deal, right?

Except for the fact that Ex Friend asked me to GO WAIT IN THE LOBBY of the apartment complex where his roommate wouldn't see me while he woke up his roommate and walked down to the garage with him so that they could move their cars.

Please re-read that last sentence, if necessary. I understand that it's so unbelievable that it might require a second reading.

Fuck it. I'll just paste it again.

Ex Friend asked me to GO WAIT IN THE LOBBY of the apartment complex where his roommate wouldn't see me while he woke up his roommate and walked down to the garage with him so that they could move their cars.

FUCKING RIDICULOUS AND DEGRADING.

Why was I being treated like a dirty secret?! Why was I being smuggled out of his apartment like a 300-pound trannie prostitute?!?!

So what did I do?

I'm sure you expected someone like me to go ape shit on his ass, but I was so shocked and confused that I had no idea how to respond in the moment! I was afraid that if I reacted, I'd OVERREACT like a big psycho.

So I stupidly said nothing except "Thanks for the ride."

Needless to say, I no longer speak to Ex Friend.

Also, I know that you're super pissed off at me right now for continuing to hook up with assholes like this, but, in my defense, .... err... Fuck! Okay, I have no defense. I'm just a total dumbass. Gotta go!

Who Wants A Little Sucky Sucky?

Ew! Get your mind out of the gutter, perv!

I'm talking about lollipops. Duh.

(No, IDIOTS. That picture is not a photo of me. You know I revel in my anonymity, despite the fact that it's holding me back from the fame I yearn for every waking and sleeping second of the day. But that whore IS sucking on a 24 karat lollipop. Only the best, baby! Too bad she's Asian. Oh how I LOATHE Asian girls / competition.)

In my expansive nightlife experience, I've found that lollipops serve as the ultimate I'm A Big Slut Prop (just in case the 5" heels, minidress, black eyeliner, and push-up bra aren't clear enough). I think it's almost impossible for a man to not get turned on when watching a girl work a lollipop.

Because of this noted phenomenon, I've filled my purse with blowpops on many occasions and licked them lasciviously just for the attention. I'll admit that I'm not very good at it because I'm more goofy than sexy, but the effort was there.

In a highly inebriated state during a recent night out, I may have taken this cute little sucky sucky bit too far.

It was Saturday night at around 1 AM. I was, of course, drunk off my ass and wearing next to nothing (my body has experienced no other state during that day and time since I turned 21). I was feeling energetic and decided it was absolutely necessary to begin dancing on a chair (yes, I'm THAT girl. You know you love me.).

Then, my friend handed me a lollipop.

Mmhmm. Just when you thought things couldn't get trashier.

I gleefully unwrapped this lollipop and started devouring it. Unfortunately, I was also in a very generous mood, so (this is where the story turns disgusting or perhaps I should say "even more disgusting" for some of you uptight prudes) I offered a suck to every cute boy who walked by.

It went kind of like this:

"Hi!"

[I hold out lollipop to cute boy.]

[Cute boy puts it in his mouth and passes it back.]

[ I give him a flirty smile.]

[I place the lollipop back in mouth.]

[I wink.]

[I search for another cute boy.]

Repeat 10-20 times.

HOW FUCKING NASTY IS THAT?!?!

So how many licks does it take until you get to the center?

TOO FUCKING MANY.

I wish that fucking lollipop had melted away after the first boy so that I couldn't swap spit with a horde of randos.

And God knows what I thought was "cute" while in that condition. Gross. AND I was in THE MISSION, which I've found has the most unattractive nightlife scene in the city. Yuck!

Also, WHY would these boys put a stranger's lollipop in their mouths? CLEARLY, I was too drunk to know any better, so THEY should have responsibly and politely declined my generous offers to share! WTF?!?! Nastyyyyyyy!

I feel filthy. Filthier than when I hooverize an entire pizza while drunk. Filthier than when I go down on someone just to get the hookup over with. Filthier than when I masturbate to girl-on-girl porn with my curtains open. Filthier than when I lie to my readers about what I do in my spare time (Ha! You suckers have NO IDEA. Am I a big slut? Or am I a big prevaricator? Hmm....).

I BETTER NOT get oral herpes because of this. I mean, I always knew I'd contract oral herpes someday, but I at least hoped I'd get it as punishment for a super hot makeout session with a tall, dark, and handsome rando banker dude in a Bugatti. When you contract herpes like that, it's totally glam and clearly worth a lifetime of humiliating cold sores.

I'm Gonna Phone Sex You Up

I'm a competitive person, and I like to believe that I can accomplish anything if I set my mind to it. Well, almost anything. There's also a list of things where I've realized that NO MATTER WHAT I do, I'll always fucking suck ass, so I'm not even going to bother trying. Like lying. Or not putting out when I'm drunk. Or playing volleyball. Or any other sport on earth.

But I learned last night that there's another thing that I will NEVER do well. And that's making a man come during phone sex.

I FUCKING HATE PHONE SEX! How do people do it?!?! It's so .... AWKWARD. Does anyone actually get turned on?

To add even MORE pressure to the situation, the dude who called me last night called me from Ibiza, so every minute was costing him God knows what, so I totally felt like I had to make the call worth his money! OMG! HOW do prostitutes deal with this kind of pressure!?!?

I told him I'd never had phone sex before, and I felt totally nervous and awkward. So I tried to talk him out of it.

"You're in Ibiza! Why are you talking to me? You shouldn't be having phone sex. You should be having REAL SEX! Get out there and bang any girl you want! I don't care at all. Seriously!"

"But I'm rock hard thinking about YOU."

Fuck. I was totally on the hook for this. So I figured, what the hell? I'll give it my best effort and try it out. I mean, I'm not going to get good unless I practice. And, fortunately, I already have the perfect voice for phone sex (yes, my voice, though manly, can also come across as being very sensual when I'm in the right mood), so I really only needed the content.

I got naked and got down to business.

The next 68 minutes might have been the most awkward 68 minutes of MY ENTIRE LIFE.

Here are my problems with phone sex.

First, it involves me talking. And when I talk, I'm never serious. I can't utter more than three sentences without making some ridiculous smartass remark. And apparently, wisecracks kind of kill the mood during phone sex.

"And there's a girl eating my pussy. She has brown hair because I'm not attracted to blondes. Ugh! And she, unlike me, has big beautiful breasts because she suckered her boyfriend, who is now her ex, into buying her implants. Would you buy me implants? Oh sorry. Off topic. Where was I? Oh yeah. Anyway, this ho is hot and has low self-esteem, as evidenced by her fake tits and willingness to join us for this threesome. It's too bad her skin isn't as soft as an Asian's."

Second, it involves having to describe my fantasies. This is a problem for me because 95% of my fantasies would disturb and turn off a man.

"A 55 year-old billionaire picks me up in his Bentley and throws a wad of hundred dollar bills in my face."

"No, I don't like that one."

"Fuck!"

So I end up having to try to make one up on the spot, which is just way too much pressure!

"Okay, so let's imagine that this girl...uhhh...what do you like? I dunno! Shit... So this girl is licking your dick while I'm making out with you. And then... ummm... Fuck! So... Hmmm..."

Do you feel awkward just reading this? Well, you should. Because I WANTED TO DIE. It was worse than the night I lost my virginity. The first time I had sex, all I needed to do was spread 'em and hold back the tears. This phone sex thing actually required THINKING.

I considered looking up some kind of script online, but I realized that that would mean I'd have my vibrator on my clit, my cellphone in one hand, and my laptop on me, but I was was like, dude, I'm not setting up a fucking phone sex control center to give this guy an orgasm.

About 30 minutes into the call, I came, and he still hadn't. He kept asking me to make him come, and there was nothing that I could say that would work!

Only one fantasy quasi-worked: "Okay, let's imagine that there's a girl going down on me, and you're banging her from behind..."

And before he could come, his phone died.

Worst. Phone sex. Ever.

He would've had a better shot coming if he dialed up Domino's Pizza. Or a Shell gas station. Or his mom.

If I were him, I'd send me an invoice for that phone bill. Fuck! I'll probably just write him a check because I feel so shitty about it.

And so I've added phone sex to my list of Things to Never Do Again Because You Suck So So Horribly.