How Not to Get Laid

Submitted by lola, age 35, mouseville, FL

I had been married for eight years when my husband up & left for… I dunno, greener pastures or something. I was a 32yo MILF who’d finished licking her wounds and crying like a whipped puppy, and had found a great 21yo guy online. Before you pass judgment and make all the “cougar” comments, we were together for a year before I reconciled with my husband. I was only hoping for something casual, too, and got a bit more.

We met on the world of internet dating, and he sent me pics of himself when he was in the Israeli army at the age of 18. I thought that the pics were no more than a year old as he’d just moved to the States. We decided on a chain restaurant known for its great drinks, and met. He was easily 45 pounds heavier than in the pics, but I was OK and decided not to bail on him.

I still wasn’t sold all the way through dinner, but then he flipped the Sex Switch and did the whole “Don Juan DeMarco Finger Trick” (just look for the “restaurant scene” and you’ll know what I’m talking about) and we were back off to his place as soon as I screamed, “CHECK, PLEASE!”

Once back to his place, my stomach was seized by some of the worst, painful cramps I’d ever experienced. It was the food - I’d gotten some bad fish or something. I was literally wishing for death, and basically crapping my brains out. It was one of those deals where you cramp and want to die, you’re not sure if you should lean over toward the tub and puke, but you can’t stop what’s happening at the other end. You think you’re done and get up, hoping to splash your face with cold water, but NOPE! You’ve got to head back and sit down again. Lather, rinse, repeat…

And this goes on for some time. I must have been in that bathroom for a good fifteen minutes. He comes to the bathroom door asking if I’m OK. I’m not, but I am MORTIFIED. I tell him, “Just a few minutes!” He said he’d leave me be. I was dying. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t leave the bathroom.

Finally, I looked at my purse and picked up my phone. I called his cell, and he picked up.

“Umb, are you calling me FROM MY OWN BATHROOM?” Yes, I was. I explained that there was something horrible that was going on from what I ate at dinner, and he just laughed his ass off. He gasped and said, “Oh, NO! No - I am not laughing AT you, but this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me at a date. I’m going to turn on the TV and open a bottle of wine, so you come out when you’re ready. Can I get you a Coke or something for your stomach? Some water?” He couldn’t stop snickering.

I eventually made it out of the bathroom, and perked up enough for some foreplay and a very small amount of penetration, but we both knew that it would have to wait for another night when I didn’t have to spend a half-hour in his bathroom.

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