Archive for the 'Foot In Mouth' Category
Submitted by Claire E., Age 22, San Francisco
If you want to sleep with the girl…
…spend less time brooding about your luck with women, and more time touching her goodies.
…spend less time vocalizing your concerns that she doesn’t want to sleep with you, and more time touching her goodies.
…spend less time arguing that you deserve sex because you are a decent person, and more time touching her goodies.
…spend less time bragging that you nearly never come because you like to please girls so much, and more time… yes, touching her goodies.
Try on some positivity, try to have some fun, and enjoy her company. Quit fussing out loud over whether or not she’s going to fuck you and quit trying to uncover the mystery of why not when she doesn’t.
Most of all, quit calling me. You blew it.
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Mr. Romance texted me a picture of his penis.
Submitted by Jenny, Age 33, Knoxville
***
He kissed me like he was trying to massage my esophogas with his tongue.
I suddenly remembered I had laundry to do.
Submitted by Deb, Age 23, Michigan
***
He wore pleated pants and no deodorant.
Submitted by Mabel, Age 29, San Francisco
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Submitted by Jackson, Age 25, Philadelphia, PA
I was two years out of college when I found myself on a date with this younger girl who was still going to school at my alma mater. I’d always thought she was hot, but I was being realistic and not really expecting too much from this date. She seemed like a good girl, and I doubted that she would put out unless she was in a serious relationship (which I was not about to enter into with her). So, I figured my chances of getting play were pretty slim, but I went out with her anyway because she was a nice person and, hey, hope springs eternal, doesn’t it?
It was an enjoyable evening, but nothing to write home about. I had never thought much of those guys who graduate and then stick around school to poach underclass ass rather than moving on with their lives, so I will admit to being a bit self-conscious picking her up and dropping her off from school. When I pulled up in front of her dorm to drop her off after our dinner, I was ready to cut my losses and call it a night. That’s when she invited me up to her dorm to hang out.
“Hang out”? As in: “hang out with all her underclassmen dorm friends and be that lame guy who graduated but still needs to slum at school just to flirt with some girl who isn’t going to give him any action anyway?” No thank you. And if you are screaming right now as you read this, wondering how I could be such an idiot and miss such an obvious invitation for booty, you are absolutely right.
“Do you want to come up to my dorm room and hang out?”
“Oh, man. It’s tempting, but I’m afraid it’s getting late, and I do have to work tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
Yes, yes, I know, I know. Sometimes we miss things even when they are staring us right in the face. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am a moron.
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Submitted by Lynn, Age 36, Atlanta, GA
It was an evening of firsts. The first date since my divorce, the first with a gentleman I’d met online, and the first with a man over forty. He seemed great on paper: tall, chiseled face, a banker. But from the moment we said hello, I could tell there was something not quite right about him. When browsing his online profile one last time before our date, I wondered: how does a man like this get to be forty-three without ever being married? I soon found out.
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(I find it curious that, all of a sudden, most of my stories seem to be coming from women. Will this trend continue? Or will the boys start fessing up to their mistakes again? Anyhow, here’s another international entry for you. This story is a little racy and all sorts of wrong, but who am I to judge? Enjoy. — SF)
Submitted by Alexandria, Age 21, London
This actually happened! I still find myself wondering if it really happened or if I just made it up. A bunch of years ago when I was sixteen, I’d made it into a night club. Two years before I was supposed to get in there. The bouncer had been more interested in looking at my boobs than my ID.
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Submitted by “Tall Girl”
I’m 6′3″. He’s 6′2″. We’re making out.
He says, “This is great. You know, I’ve never slept with a girl who is taller than me.”
“Well, you haven’t yet,” I say.
“Oh, I will. Definitely,” he says, his confidence suddenly taking on a creepy tone.
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And what makes you so sure?” I ask.
“Well, because I’m tall and charming and good looking. And you’re . . . tall . . .”
“Yes? And?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” he sputters. “It’s just . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, you’re a big girl, that’s all. And let’s be honest: I doubt that guys like me come along very often for you. Guys of my size, that is . . . Who are interested . . . You know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I do know what he means. I tell him:
“No, you’re absolutely right. It’s very unusual for me to sleep with a guy as small as you. Unusual and unlikely.”
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Submitted by Ed, Age 28, NYC
When I was in college I had this big crush on this girl in my psychology class. One day I’m walking to the door and she comes out of it, and she’s kind of standing in the middle of the door, but still holding it open for me, so I have to squeeze by her. And I get nervous and confused whether to say “Excuse me” or “Thank you” and you know what I say?
“Skank.”
That’s what came out. No joke. And she looks at me like I…uh…well…just called her a skank. Which I did. So…I just busted into the room and pretty much had to let that one go. I don’t think there was any recovery from that.
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Submitted by Sarah
So, after a somewhat promising email chain, I finally went on a date with the guy I’ll call Train Wreck.
In a period of an hour or less, he proceeded to do / ask me / tell me all of the following things:
1. He’s so glad that he joined a fraternity in college so that he could finally lose his virginity at 22. (This is in itself, not horrible, but something you keep to yourself.)
2. He injected himself with insulin at the table, and didn’t ask / mention what he was doing, or why, and then got irritated when I inquired as to his intravenous drug use.
3. Asked if my breasts were real.
4. Asked if I had an STD. Because apparently all the girls he had met from the internet had had STD’s lately.
Seriously, as little interest as I had had before, he really hit it out of the park and out of anywhere near getting into my pants. CLASSY!
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Submitted by Shawn, Age 26, Brooklyn, NY
when she asked me why I was making *that face*, I told her she put on a few pounds and I was just noticing.
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Submitted by Mr. December, Age 28, Flagstaff, AZ
My crush on May was destined to be unrequited. I knew that, I’d accepted that, I really had. I was in a rebuilding and rebounding phase, and I was as horny as a 20 year-old virgin could be.
April was one of May’s best friends, and she knew about the whole May crush and how it didn’t work out, although she had no inkling as to the depth of my affections or the magnitude of my young heartbreak. This was a good thing, because I’d very quickly started noticing that April had striking blue eyes and a luscious figure. And she was flirting with me like nobody’s business. Hey, hadn’t I always kind of fancied April? Why hadn’t we hooked up before?
She could be the one. She could definitely be the one. Suddenly, in my mind, she had to be. I asked her out, she accepted, and I got the vibe that we were both looking forward to taking this longheld mutual appreciation into the realm of the physical.
But first we had to get through the pretense of a romantic Italian dinner out. And when it came time to order, I said, “What are you having, May?”
Shit. I’d called April “May.” She pretended not to make a big deal of it. But it wasn’t too long before discussion went to the whole May issue. “What was the deal with that?” April asked, wanting to hear my side of the story. I told it, albeit in sanitized form. I explained in no uncertain terms that I was absolutely so totally over May, and that the whole thing was in the past.
But then, I accidentally called April by May’s name AGAIN. No big deal, you’re thinking, easy to explain that mistake away, right? Sure. Except that I kept making it. Unbelievably, I managed to call April May a total of five times over the course of the night! And by number five, I’d say that April got wise. Heartbreak, horniness, virginity, and April. Only April was lost that night.
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(Was it too much to hope that our 69th story would be about, well, 69? In a word: Yes. No 69 stories this week. Fortunately this little nugget is not too far afield. So enjoy! — SF)
Submitted by Bill, Age 22, Atlanta, GA
Last week I was out with my buddy John, and he’s trying to get with this hot girl he’s been working on for some time. She was with her equally hot friend, and it was the four of us at this bar. We were having some brewskies and things are going well. We boys are throwing down the charm, and it seems to be working. Laughs all around.
The subject then goes to sex, and then oral sex, and I’m thinking this can only be a good thing. That is, until John, starts in about how bad it tastes to go down on a girl. Now, John is normally cool, but his charm and comedy is definitely of the non-politically correct “I’m the guy who tells it like it is and fuck you if you disagree with me” variety. It was soooooo wrong for this moment. He goes off on this bit about how he’s never going to go down on a woman again. Was he being serious? Doesn’t matter, it was a stupid move. Whatever interest this chick may have had in him . . . gone. She did a 360. John, needless to say, did not get laid.
On the flip side, thanks to John’s little editorial, I got to be the guy who valiantly defended the cause of cunnilingus, and, I will say, the ladies were much more sympathetic to my position. I got my reward later. But then, that’s another story . . .
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Submitted by Certified Douchebag, Age 19, Pennsylvania
How about this one: You’re dating this girl, and things have been going well. You’ve fooled around naked before, but haven’t had sex yet. You’re thinking it could be any day now.
Then her grandfather dies. She leaves school for a week. She comes back and keeps having other plans, so it takes you forever to see her again. After a long while, she invites you to her dorm, you have a couple beers, and FINALLY you’re making out on her bed. But she’s still kind of sad about the whole grandfather being dead thing. You kiss her and touch her as she talks. Your patience is getting short, your balls blue. She says, “I think my grandfather would have really wanted to see me graduate.”
You say, “I think your grandfather would have really wanted you to take off your shirt.” She says nothing, and because you’re fondling her breasts, you don’t see her eyes, which probably look shocked, not believing you said what you just said. So you go even further, guiding her hand to your crotch, saying “I think your grandfather would have really wanted you to touch my penis too.”
That’s when she tells you to get the fuck out, and you realize how stupid, insensitive, and not at all funny you’ve been. You want to kick yourself in the head. But you don’t, because your legs don’t work that way. So you go back to your room, look at internet porn, and then tell the world about your stupidity on some site about not getting laid.
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(4.74 out of 5)
