Archive for the 'Melancholy' Category
Submitted by James, Age 29
This story is not nearly as funny as most on this site, but I think it’s got something important to say.
I was dating this girl, Tina. She was amazing. Big brown eyes, long blonde hair, hourglass figure. Not only was she beautiful, but she was well-spoken, sweet and intelligent. Even after a couple of dates, I was falling for her. Hard.
One thing bothered me though. At every meal, she would order a salad and water and bust out her diet book to write down absolutely everything she touched to her lips. She even wrote down the number of popcorn kernels she ate when we went to the movies! I asked her why she did this and she said that it was just to keep tabs on what she ate. I thought it was weird, as she was an athletic-looking trim girl, but I let it go.
About a month after I first saw her, I knew that it was going to be “THE NIGHT” when I picked her up. We had a sexually charged dinner and I was just aching to get the bill and get out of there to take this goddess home with me.
I brought her back to my apartment and started kissing her right away, moving straight to my bedroom. She undid my pants and pulled off my shirt. I started to unzip her dress, but then she jumped up to turn off the lights. She got back into bed, and I unzipped her dress. She squirmed out of it and dove under the covers.
I put my hand onto her belly. “Please don’t touch me there” she whispered. I slid my hands down her thigh. “Please, not there.” Her arms. Everywhere.
I got off her and asked her how I was supposed to make love to her if she didn’t let me touch her. She burst into tears about what a “fat cow” she was and how she didn’t want me to see her disgusting “rolls”. It made me so sad to see such a gorgeous wonderful girl so crippled by her low self-esteem.
I spent the rest of the night hugging her close and letting her cry. I’m still with her, and I’m really glad that we didn’t have sex that night because it was the most intimate thing either of us had ever done.
Trust me, ladies, you’re beautiful. There is nothing more beautiful than a naked woman, no matter what she weighs, no matter what her flaws are. From pin-thin to rubanesque, have confidence in yourself and your body and don’t let your weight control you.
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Submitted by Matthew, Age 61, New England, USA
Then, not getting laid wasn’t what hurt the most. Now, forty-three years later, it is. There’s nothing like being in love the first time. Those feelings last forever.
She was in love with me too, in the same way. We declared that, someday, we would get married.
We were both virgins, but hot to experiment. We met during the summer and had a comfortable place to be alone, and we undressed each other and, without intercourse, made love often.
My friend was in nursing school. She had studied the rhythm method and took her temperature each morning. One night when we were in bed together she said, “I’m not fertile. I want to make love.”
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Submitted by Michael, 19, Helsinki, Finland
For some reason I tend to end up dating girls with some sort of self-issues. Because of this, getting beyond third base is an even bigger leap than usually.
We had gone to bed like so many times before and were doing mutual masturbation. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite mutual. I was doing it fairly right from the sound of it, but her idea of masturbating me was still pretty much grabbing my private parts more than firmly enough and jerking them as if she were trying to pull them loose. It hurt. A lot.
She had self-issues and I tried my best to not fuel them, but I had to stop her. It was simply not enjoyable in even the most remote sense. She burst into tears over it, and what started as a steamy evening ended with me trying to awkwardly comfort a girl who was absolutely convinced she was a complete failure as a woman.
I blame Sex and the City for giving her that idea.
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Submitted by Tom, Age 40, Hopkinton, New Hampshire
As a 38 year-old single father, getting back into the dating world was tough enough. Getting laid was even harder. Two years ago, I started dating again, eight months after my ex-wife walked out the door leaving me alone with our two little boys (ages two and six). I knew I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship at that point, but I was lonely, and dammit I was horny! Once the anger, grief, and self-pity subsided, I realized that it had been nine months since I’d gotten laid, and damned if I wasn’t going to change that.
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(Part 2 in our educational series about the dangers of alcohol. Part 3 to come in a few days. Listen and learn, children! — SF)
Submitted by Ron, Age 29, Austin, TX
It’s New Year’s Eve, 2006, and I’ve got a night planned with a very attractive co-worker of mine. She and I have been out enough for me to know I like her, and for her to discover I’m not quite her type… but it’s New Year’s, dammit! Nobody likes to be alone and neither of us had been intimate in ages. It had been two years for her, and almost five years for me. This was going to be a good night and I’ll be damned if I was going to let anything get in the way.
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(Not every story has a funny punchline. I like this one for that reason. A bit more explicit than our standard fare, but also more risky and revealing. Check it out. — SF)
Submitted by Chuck Morgan, 46, Putnam’s Landing, CT
My wife rarely wore a bra and when she did, it was a flimsy sort of affair, not like this push-up thing Rachel wears. Or at least that’s what I think this contraption is because I’ve never felt anything like it. It has metal rings about the cups that do a fine job of holding up a breast to maintain an inviting and sexy shape, but it’s also prevents fingers from slipping in. I try from the bottom. I try from the top, but those breasts are sealed in as if they are under the protection of Homeland Security. We’re still kissing and there’s no way to maneuver about for further reconnaissance, to spot a weakness for entry.
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Submitted by Sue Hale, Caerphilly, South Wales England
I was out on a blind date. Having spoken to the gentleman, I realized he was a dog lover so I suggested he bring his dog and we go for a walk. I chose a local historical castle for our blind date and bought the dog a ball to break the ice! We met up, and I threw the ball for the dog which he brought back. The guy then threw the ball, and it went into a hedge. The dog followed — over a 100 ft. cliff! I was like a chocolate teapot and phoned the fire brigade on my mobile. Several minutes later, two fire engines arrived, with 7 fireman. They rescued the dog and put him at the foot of the drawbridge of the medieval castle. Whilst we were waiting for the vet, a bride and groom came down the drawbridge dressed in medieval costumes! It was really funny: all the wedding guests dressed in medieval costumes and firemen running around everywhere with their helmets. None of the wedding guests wanted to pose for photos - they were all concerned for the dog! Anyway, I didn’t see the guy again. And unfortunately, the dog didn’t make it!
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In my eyes, we really and sincerely were just friends. Three years ago, he happened to show up at my place the night my dog died. Anyone who has lost a pet they loved, knows that you’re in an over-emotional place in the hours/days following. Not wanting to be alone, I begged him to stay. He said, “give me a reason”. Between sobs, I said, “huh?” He said, “you know, a reason,” and he slid his hand up my thigh. I was shocked by this proposal, not a path we’d ever ventured down before, and was kind of offended, but I still wanted him there… Anyhow, I said, “can’t you just stay?” He quickly removed his hand, reached for his jacket, and said, “not without a reason.” Girls, I know I’m not alone here, I gave in, just for not wanting to be alone. (Mental note, next time, call a girlfriend and have her bring ice cream). I hated myself for it, was mad at him, but whatever, the night passed… actually, the extremely unimpressive twenty minutes passed, he passed out, woke up two hours later and left me alone anyway. Wonderful.
The next night he called, asking to come over. I was in my right mind by then, and said plainly, “no, last night was a mistake, it won’t happen again.” He wouldn’t accept it. Told me we had moved from friends to more, that he’d been wanting this for a long time. I said, “no, I was lonely, you wouldn’t stay otherwise, that’s all that happened.” He then called me all sorts of names (let your imagination run wild and then add a few more). Yup, way to sweet-talk a girl. I don’t think I entirely deserved it, I hadn’t exactly seduced him here, I just gave into HIS ultimatum, but call it as you will. We both shoulda played it differently.
Anyway, time passed. For whatever reason, we stayed in each other’s social consciousness. Old habit I guess. Jump to three years later (last week), he showed up at my door with a bottle of wine, and said, “This is it.” Me: “I’m sorry, this is what?” “Three years ago today your dog died, let’s commemorate the occasion.”
Wow. Just wow. I took a moment to look at him dead in the eyes and see that he was serious. He was. I’d like to say I broke his nose when I slammed the door on it, but sadly I think he backed away just in time.
Submitted by Ashley, Age 29, Green Bay, WI
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I had just moved out of my old apartment, but due to some poor planning, my roommate and I weren’t able to get a subletter and ended up paying rent on two places for a month. My wallet still hates me. My roommate had already moved across country, but I was still in the same city, so I planned a party on the final Saturday of our old lease. Since my former landlords were douches (for lack of a term which means more-douchey-than-douches), and since I didn’t have to pay a deposit on that place, I had no qualms inviting over 300 people, supplying a ton of booze, hiring a DJ, and throwing it down in the most down-throwingest style I could. When life hands you lemons, you throw a fucking party and serve the lemons with Jose Cuervo!
A few days before the party, I footed it over to the local pub to down a hard cider (what? I like cider!) and watch a little baseball. The regular drunken clientele were there, but there was also a new woman who appeared to be friendly with the bartender (always good), so I started up the chit-chat with her.
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I was dating a guy I probably shouldn’t have, but I was young (22) and I didn’t know any better. He was 30, he made a lot of money, and he was the sort of guy who liked to show you how much money he made, the sort who would aggressively pay for everything just to show you how little money mattered to him. At this stage in my life, I’d be repulsed by that, but at the time I didn’t know any better (or maybe I did but wasn’t listening to the voices in my head)
Did I mention he was hot? Um, yeah. He was kind of hot, which is probably why I let myself get swept up by him instead of running away.
We’d gone out a handful of times, and while we hadn’t technically slept together yet, we’d gotten pretty close. So when he told me he wanted to take me away for Valentine’s, I was pretty darn excited and very ready for the next step.
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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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I was supposed to meet this girl at 7pm for dinner. I showed up right at 7pm. 7:05 came and went… 7:10… 7:15… Finally, at 7:20, I said to myself, “If she doesn’t show up in 5 minutes, I’m going home. I’m hungry.” Naturally, she showed up at 7:23, begging forgiveness for being late because she had a really good excuse. “I recently stopped taking my antidepressants, and one of the side effects is that it makes me tired,” she said. “And so I slept through my first appointment with my new therapist, and she said that if I couldn’t make the first appointment, we couldn’t have a good working relationship at all so I should find a new therapist, and I was really upset because she was supposed to be really good, so I had to go out and go shopping.”
I should’ve just bailed out there. But you know how in sitcoms when people are just bowled over with information and they can’t process it, so it’s like their brain just kind of skips over it and stores it away to process later? “I’m pregnant!” “Ooookay, what do you want for dinner?” Yeah, like that. I was hungry, so my brain skipped over all that and “oookay, let’s go eat!” came out of my mouth.
Over dinner, I found out the myriad and sordid reasons why she’d been taking antidepressants in the first place. It turns out that (a) her father, who was president of their congregation, was having a public affair with one of his congregants, which in turn made (b) her mother into an alcoholic, which in turn made (c) her sister… well, she really thinks it was more of a cry for help rather than a full-on attempt because she only took half the bottle of aspirin. Yeah.
After dinner, I said my goodbyes and started walking home, and she began walking fast to keep up with me, asking if I was tired and did I want to hang out more — it looked like I lived close by since I was walking home. Yeah, I was tired… of her. I got the distinct impression she was trying to invite herself back to my place for some lovin’, but there would be no joy in Mudville that night.
Submitted by Keith, Age 30, Los Angeles
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