Archive for the 'Girl Story - No Sex for Guy' Category
Submitted by Too much head, Age 24
This isn’t a story of how not to get laid, this is a story about how not to get laid a second time.
I had a crush on this guy, small one, but a crush. He made me laugh. And he was always talking about how long it’d been since he had sex. So I decided to sleep with him. I offered him a place to stay when he was in town, did a little flirting, and then he was off. He took my pants down, and proceeded to rub the top of his bald head against my vagina. I was not sure how to respond, so I just sort of laid there. Then he started having sex… I’d say with me, but he didn’t look at me, talk to me, pretty much ignored I was there. I started to have a panic attack, so I asked him to stop for a moment. He did. Then he started again. I asked again, for him to stop. He did, then immediately started again. I finally pushed him away, rather freaked out and feeling like a sex doll rather than a person, and told him I was done for the night. He shrugged, and started finishing himself off, on my breasts, while I was crying.
His advances the next morning were met with complete disapproval, and I finally had to be blunt. “I am never sleeping with you again.”
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Submitted by Meagan, Age 24, New Orleans
Back in college I was dating this total alcoholic (we’ll call him K) whom I was with for 2 years. (Love is definitely blind sometimes.)
Anyway, it’s New Year’s Eve and we went with some friends to a club to celebrate. We’re dancing and everyone is having a good time.
All of a sudden, K grabs my hand and puts it on his package. It’s pretty evident to me that he’s excited. He says, “It’s all for you baby!” I was pretty mortified, especially since he didn’t seem interested in giving my hand back to me and people were staring. I guess that I wasn’t drunk enough or something, but I was pretty annoyed and ended up leaving soon after.
Needless to say, we both slept in our respective beds that night, and a breakup was looming large on the horizon.
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Submitted by Lauren, Age 21, Toronto
When I was in my last year of high school, a very sexy older boy asked me out. Naturally, I accepted. It is a mark of prestige, attractiveness and intelligence for a high school girl to be with a university boy.
We began dating. We didn’t go far for months, never getting past ‘first base’. However, I was crazy about him, and he about me. I decided that he was the one I would “lose it” to. And, being an inexperienced virgin, I set out to create the perfect night for us to “physically express our love” (as I delicately described it to my equally inexperienced friends).
I invited him to my home one night when I knew my family would be gone. I went out, bought special underwear, soft sexy music, candles, the whole shtick. It was going to be beautiful and perfect.
Or so I thought.
He came over. I immediately steered him to the bedroom. The carefully planned ambiance tipped him off to my intention. We began kissing and fondling each other, slowly rounding out the bases.
I was pleased that everything was going so well. I was turned on, ready. He began breathing heavily and whispering sexy nothings in my ear.
Then it happened.
He said “I want you so badly”. which, in itself, is not a bad thing to say. Except that he said it in a baby voice. I’m talking five year old with a lisp baby voice: “I want you so badwy”. A little, horny Elmer Fudd. It caught me off-guard, but I decided to ignore it.
I suppose my silence read as an indication that I liked dirty baby talk. He started saying dirtier and dirtier things and I grew more and more disturbed. The deal breaker was “I wanna spwit you open wif my cock”. At that point, I rolled off him and said I was “too nervous” to continue. It seemed like a backhanded way to compliment him and to get out of sex with little explanation. In reality I was just too creeped out and turned off.
For several days, every time we interacted, all I could think about was “I wanna spwit you open wif my cock”.
The relationship didn’t survive.
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(Rejoice, readers! We have finally hit our 100th story! This one’s from Michelle, who had a story posted earlier this week. This tale is just as good as her first, and I think you will enjoy it.–SF)
Submitted by Michelle, Age 20, California
I am at a pool party. I am single for the first time in two years and flirting with everyone. We are having dinner inside, so everyone takes turns going to the changing room and then going inside. I let myself be last, and when I think everyone has gone to the house already, I go to change. It is starting to get cold, so I run in the room and shut the door — not realizing I am not alone. It is actually an ex that I still had a thing for, and he is naked. We both stare at each other for a minute, and then it becomes apparent he still has a thing for me too. So we start making out, and we get turned around so that he is against the door. I am just about to take my swimsuit off when he moves over a bit and hits the latch holding the door shut. The door swings wide open, and he would have fallen backwards except that some of my friends have come to see what’s taking me so long, and he lands right in their arms. He is embarrassed and grabs his clothes and leaves in a hurry. Not only did I not get laid, but I have to live with everyone talking about it for a month.
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Submitted by Eve
When I was in high school, I was an athletic girl and was on some sports teams. Note: I am not petite, but still, sports are my thing, so I’m not fat or anything.
Then came graduation. I wore a stunning brown dress, and normally I wouldn’t have considered wearing something with that much cleavage, but, I figured, it’s my graduation, I’ll never see these people again, and now I can show off something other than my school/athletic skills. So, ok, graduation.
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Submitted by Elizabeth, Age 25, Austin, TX
I was drinking with one of my really good guy friends (or so I thought). In the past we had hooked up. So why not again? I told him to use a condom. In the middle of the deed, he messes up the condom. He tells me “I did not get off,” then asks me “are you on birth control?”
I said “no.” He began grilling me about why I was not on the pill. To me, this is the kind of conversation you only have with someone you are dating. I actually had another condom in my purse, but by this point I was completely and utterly turned off. Then, not once, not twice, but three times he offered to buy me the morning after pill so we could finish having sex.
I had no idea how to respond. Honestly, I have never had a guy suggest that. For the first time in my life, a guy made me speechless. I would expect this kind of behavior from a one night stand but not a friend. So, I got dressed and left. I have not talked to him since. Maybe, eventually, we will be friends again, but the sex thing is a no go.
So boys/men: never offer a girl the morning after pill unless you are in a serious relationship. Practice safe sex and stock up on condoms.
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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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Submitted by lola harrington, Age 35, Mouseville, FL
it’s the early 90s, and i’m 19 and an undergrad at a college in florida’s capital city. i have broken up with my boyfriend who lived in the same apartment complex, but we still get on really well. so well, in fact, that i hang out at his apartment with his three other roommates. he and i stop sleeping together, but from time to time i sleep with his other two roommates … usually separately. ; )
unfortunately for the third roommate, i’m not into him. he’s overweight, a total loud-mouthed hick, pasty-white, and wore really unattractive glasses. he tried to guilt me into sleeping with him, and then called me a whore when i refused. i explained repeatedly that my involvement with his roommates wasn’t a free-for-all, but a
respectful arrangement that happened when we were available and amenable. guilting me into sex was not going to work, i explained, and neither would flattering me. he STILL didn’t get it. so he tried alcohol.
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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 Cara, Age 24, Ventura, CA
Peter and I dated for nearly two months when I was eighteen. Things were going okay, but I was not serious about it and little things, like his arrogance and unique brand of vulgarity, kept stacking up:
1)He took pride in his unearned wealth that came from his parents’ successful ranching business.
2)My friend overheard him say he would never marry outside his race. He’s half Irish and half Mexican. Nevermind that I’m white and never plan to marry–how does a man (especially this one) limit himself that way?
3)He has a disfigured thumb from a childhood tug-o-war accident, and he once stuck it up my pussy and exclaimed “Stumpy thumb, stumpy thumb!”
4)His screenplay… he asked me to proofread it, and the first page looked like a used overnight maxi pad when I finished with it. It was not only riddled with errors, but it was a badly written rip-off of a movie that I love. To finish the task would have been a waste of time.
Those are just a couple examples. It might sound snobby but by the time he offered me a key to his apartment and asked what I wanted to do for Valentine’s Day I knew I couldn’t continue.
I came down with a convenient cold and didn’t see him for two weeks. I didn’t miss him at all and decided to call and end it. He took it pretty well.
A couple weeks went by and I finally got around to his place so we could trade our things back. He invited me in to talk for a minute and once inside he proudly offered me a seat on his brand new futon couch and asked my opinion. “Yep, pretty comfy. Good choice, Peter.” How much did your parents pay for it?
As he kept scooting toward me, I kept scooting away. When he had me cornered against the armrest, he put one arm around me, the other hand on my thigh, and started to kiss me on my cheek and my neck.
I asked him what he was doing, and he said “I just thought we could have goodbye sex.”
“What? I broke up with you because I don’t want to have sex with you anymore!”
“Aww, c’monnnnn, help me break in the new futon. Please?”
Way to go, buddy.
I grabbed my things, returned his tragic screenplay, and wished him luck on his future futon conquests.
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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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(12 votes, average: 3.83 out of 5)