Archive for January 2007
(I love this story because it represents exactly what this website should be about: learning and personal growth. Heed the warning, children! — SF)
Practically everyone experiments with some type of drugs when they are college. For me, I was pretty much the “pot guy” who occasionally dabbled in other drugs when offered but never actively sought out or bought any for myself. So, it was on the last night of my college career that I found myself on the losing end of a multi-drug “cocktail”, causing me to lose my big chance (or so I thought) with the one girl I had really wanted to bang throughout my five years at school.
Every year, on the last day of classes in spring, the “hot girl” sorority threw its annual graduation party at the beach. It is THE party of the year with the hottest girls. Even the hot girls who weren’t in the sorority did everything to get in. So, I found myself pre-partying at my buddy’s apartment beforehand, and, naturally, we were all psyched to be ending our days in college on a “high” note.
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Once when I was in college, there was this guy I was kind of interested in. We’d both started flirting pretty hardcore, and it seemed like only a matter of time before things were going to get physical.
He was in my dorm room one day, and he noticed a pink stuffed pig on my bed (one of several stuffed animals, I must confess). I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but he started making a joke about having sex with the pig. It wasn’t the funniest joke, but it didn’t come out of left field either. There was context, I just forget what it was.
My point is, the problem wasn’t the joke itself, but that he acted it out. And the problem was HOW he acted it out. He started thrusting into my poor pig’s backside like his pelvis was having a seizure – like a jackhammer set on warp speed.
I thought: “If this is what he thinks sex is supposed to be like – even jokingly – then I want no part of it.” He left my room shortly after and, needless to say, was never invited back. I had no interest in playing the role of that stuffed pig.
Submitted by Alyssa, Age 26, St. Louis, MO
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Back near the dawn of time, I spent summer and christmas breaks working alongside a smart, beautiful, smart-ass girl. The banter was legendary. Never had I compatibility with someone that devastatingly intelligent, stunning, and, well, dirty. However, due to a high-school-ish lack of self-confidence and cluelessness, I assumed our linguistic sexual interplay was merely in the land of “let’s just be friends”ishness.
Eventually, our friendship progressed into letter-writing and getting together with groups of friends now and then. I think our flirtiness via snail mail and parties got to the point where I somehow indicated my real feelings, for she responded with a “I’d love to go out with you, but [her best friend] has a crush on you and I wouldn’t want to hurt her.” So after much soap opera garbage and letting down the friend easily, I got that first date. And it was spectacular; the specifics were better than I’d imagined (a story for another website?). This was an open-minded girl! But I stopped short of home plate that evening, I don’t know why: I’d never had sex, lack of self-confidence, first date, stupid, etc. And we went on for a couple of weeks, and here’s where the train falls off the track.
Rather than trying to reignite the passion and fun and fearlessness of that first night, I became a supreme fluffhead schmuck. A far-too-expensive necklace for Christmas. Teddy bears. Little gifts all the time “just because.” Discussions at her house, alone, without progressing to making out. Too much obsessive attention WAY too soon. Trying to show her the relationship wasn’t just about sex.
And then, well, it wasn’t. She let me down easy, but she never really explained why she broke it off, to my lifelong frustration. We wrote letters for a while, even with some of the flirty stuff thrown in, halfheartedly, but that was it.
And in twenty years, I’ve never met another woman with that same combination of smarts, beauty, humor, and pure sexuality. How’s that for schmuck?
Submitted by Snake, Age 35, Boston
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It was Sunday in Madrid, and I was on a 24-hour layover. It had taken two hours from the airport to the bus to the train to my hostel, which had a McDonald’s on one side, porn shops on the other, and a shower that fell off the wall. I needed a night out.
Manuel, my only friend in Madrid, was away for the weekend, “would be back to hang out, but probably late”, and wasn’t answering his cellphone. I didn’t have a phone of my own, but figured I could call him from anywhere. So I set out, armed with Manuel’s number, my Rough Guide, and enough Spanish to get myself in trouble.
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One time I went out with this girl who was REALLY good looking, but kind of a basket case. She told me on the second date she liked anal sex. Initially, I thought JACKPOT! But then my mouth said, “Do you normally just mention this in passing on a second date?” Guess what didn’t happen?!
Submitted by Anonymous, Age 30, Boston
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He wasn’t the best-looking guy, but he was confident and charming in an “I’m a nerdy badass” kind of way. That’s why I went out with him in the first place. He was upbeat and weirdly funny, and by the end of our second date, I was still intrigued—not sold on him yet, but intrigued.
We were walking on the Upper West Side, where we both live, and we ended up outside his place. He feigned surprise. “So, I actually live right … here. Wow, how’d that happen? So you wanna come upstairs?”
See how this can be perceived as kind of charming if one doesn’t know any better?
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While I was in college, I was approached by a close friend of mine. She was a very cute girl with a lot of pent-up sexual energy, but you could tell that she hadn’t had much experience. Hell, she broadcast her lack of experience and wore it as a badge of pride, so I was surprised when she approached me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You?! Phil?! At close to 300 pounds, she may have been attracted to my gravity, but, no — that was the best part about it. She wasn’t coming to talk about me. She was interested in my girlfriend.
“I had a dream about Nadine last night.”
“Really,” I choked, “what kind of dream?”
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Regardless of how my romantic life ebbed or flowed for the other 364 days a year, there was always one thing I could be certain of come February 14th: No date. No romance. No action. Relationships started and ended and always managed to carefully avoid this day. Was it a Valentine’s curse? I don’t know. Possibly. The point is this: I have no good Valentine’s Day stories to tell.
But YOU DO!!!
So, let’s raise the stakes, shall we? Starting now, submit your favorite story about not getting laid on Valentine’s Day. Remember, this can be a story about you not getting laid, a story about someone who tried to have sex with you and messed it up, a story about a friend . . . ANYTHING! It just needs to have some Valentine-ish element to be included in the contest. Submit the usual way, on the submit page.
Judging. Stories will be posted during the first two weeks of February. Highest rated story (with at least 10 votes) wins. Winner will be announced on Valentine’s Day. Winner gets the HNTGL T-Shirt of his or her choosing. I will contact the winner via e-mail and ask for their mailing address and T-shirt size and preference.
Ratings - You guys are on the honors system here, because I tend to trust strangers. Vote only once, but get as many friends to vote as possible. The Highest Rated Stories sidebar (as many of you have pointed out) is still not functioning properly, but will be fixed soon. Meanwhile, the ratings interface itself is working fine, so keep rating those stories.
Don’t have a Valentine’s Story? That’s okay. I’m sure you have another story that would be perfect for the site. I’ve been overwhelmed by the positive response and steadily increasing readership we’re getting, but I still need more fresh stories if I want to keep the site going. So if you like what you’ve been reading, it’s time to get those fingers working and start sharing.
As always, I look forward to hearing your stories.
Let the games begin!
— Stewart
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For starters, let me be clear: I’m not a “Use ‘em and Lose ‘em” kind of guy. My twenties consisted of three solid monogamous relationships back to back with little breathing room in between. 10 years. 3 girlfriends. And that’s it. Nothing extracurricular.
So when I found myself suddenly single and 30, can you blame me for wanting to catch up on some of the action I’d missed out on in my twenties? I was ready to have fun, and I made this clear to LA Girl right off the bat. Before we even had sex, I laid down the law, told her I wasn’t about to become anyone’s boyfriend. The rules were: no commitment, no accountability, and no expectations. She could either play ball or sit this one out.
Wouldn’t you know? She chose to play.
We had a good time. The sex was nasty, and the other stuff wasn’t so bad either. She was absurdly hot, even hotter than I was used to, and I’m not ashamed to admit I really dug that. She was so hot, I’m pretty sure I bought her flowers. Call it force of habit. Hell, I even brought chicken soup to her house once when she was sick – but then, that’s the sort of crap you enjoy doing every once in a while. It makes you feel chivalrous. Makes her feel special. Everybody wins.
Those were high times for me. I was playing the field like a man just out of prison and loving every minute of it. I was always upfront about my intentions, and usually the ladies were okay with it. I called them “Baby” to keep them straight, and I became one of those guys who could juggle several dates in a weekend without breaking a sweat.
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In the summer after college, I joined a band in Chicago, and we were all living together in a rented house in a very wealthy northern suburb. Squalor amidst obscene plenty, was my observation of the mansions on the lake compared to my old sleeping bag on a hardwood floor.
The band was full of preening prima donnas, and I was bunking with one. Me and Rich, one of the singers, both slept on the floor of one of the bedrooms of this ranch. One morning, I awoke to find that Rich had a pretty young thing sharing his sleeping bag. He got up and walked out of the room, presumably to take care of business, or even have breakfast. The touseled-haired thang looked over at me and saw I was awake. She said softly, “C’mere”.
I looked at the door. Was Rich coming back? I could just get up and lock the door. I was frozen. I hadn’t gotten laid all summer. Keyboard players didn’t get laid, only lead singers (and guitarists and bassists and drummers and roadies).
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I used to really have a thing for Spanish guys. Why? I don’t know… I guess there’s just something about them speaking in Spanish with that sexy accent that’s a turn-on. Also, it doesn’t hurt that Spanish guys actually let you know that they’re interested, as opposed to American men who just stand in the corner and avoid eye contact. At least, that’s what I once thought.
So I had just arrived in Spain for my semester abroad and was out at one of their hottest nightclubs when I met this very attractive Madrileño man. He was hot. We spoke in Spanish together, I got a little drunk, and before I knew it, we were making out on the dance floor. I gave him my digits. I have to say, I was psyched that I’d managed to meet this really sexy, cool Spanish guy on one of my first nights in Madrid. But then later, he began to text me…
And text me…
…in English, what became a long series of cheesy, lame, slightly incorrect English pickup lines. And the thing was, I could tell he was actually being serious. He actually thought he was using these suave American pickup lines on me. They were hilarious. My favorite was: “C’MON BABY, LIFE MY FIRE”
I had a good laugh, but needless to say, his sex appeal was completely gone for me… I never saw him again.
Submitted by Annie, Age 26, New York City
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(Finally, a gritty realistic portrait of married life in the twenty-first century! I’m not usually a fan of lists, but this entry was too good to resist. — SF)
As a married man, I have learned that there are far more ways not to get laid than to get laid. By comparison, as a single guy, you can pretty much fall down and accidentally have sex with someone. You’ll be walking down the street, trip on your shoelace, and find yourself banging your best friend’s girlfriend.
Once you are married, though, the whole sex thing becomes much more challenging. Despite years of having sex, we marrieds still have no idea what we are supposed to do to get it. So every time we do do it, it is some kind of happy accident, like finding a winning lottery ticket, or learning that your Thai hooker doesn’t have AIDS. So I don’t have the slightest idea how to get laid. But as a married man, here are some ways I have found not to get laid:
1) Fart in wife’s face
2) Remark that polygamy seems like a pretty sweet deal
3) Describe wife’s body odor as “soul-wilting”
4) Perform naked jumping jacks
5) Ask, jokingly, if the secret ingredient is horse vomit
6) Remark that wife’s best friend “should probably be gassed”
7) Note that wife sweats an awful lot for someone who doesn’t move very much
8) Ask about doing it with sister-in-law
Any others I am missing?
Submitted by Gary, Age 29, New York
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(59 votes, average: 4.69 out of 5)
(18 votes, average: 3.56 out of 5)