TMI Thursday – The worst sex I didn’t know I was having
Welcome to TMI Thursday. As Lilu says ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
Pam, for the love of all that is holy, please don’t read this. Go along your business. K, thanks.
When I was in college, I dated a wonderful guy (well, he’s wonderful now) named Lee. We were in love and it was gross. And then we broke up. That was his choice, not mine. A choice that he regrets TO THIS DAY, so in the end, I win.
After Lee and I broke up, I started going out with this guy named Patrick. In all honesty, Patrick was lovely. He was cute and sweet and very nice. That was his problem though. He was too nice and I stomped all over him, partly because I was on the rebound and I was a terror, and partly just because I could. I never said that I was a nice girlfriend. I kind of used my power for evil. I convinced him to drive from Maine down to Connecticut to pick me up so we could return to college in upstate New York. Told you.
Anyway, Patrick was nice and I enjoyed having his company. That was only when I wasn’t crying about Lee. One night, Patrick and I were in my dorm room, in the tiny little college bed and we were going to be having the sexy times. Or something like that. He’s kissing me, I’m kissing him and it’s all fine. I hadn’t seen his boyparts yet, so really I had no idea what to expect.
Patrick then starts making noises. Sex noises. As far as I knew, we were not having sex. Then I looked down and guess what? WE WERE. His junk was so…tiny and small that I had no idea that I was having sex. Not even a little bit.
I don’t think that I’m so much of a whore that I don’t know what I’m doing with my parts. I am aware. I can feel things – just in case you wanted to know. But this I could not feel. AT ALL.
So I faked having sex with him. Which is something I had never had to do before then and never had to do since. I’ve faked enjoying sex, but never the entire act. It was weird and awkward and I was totally overdoing it because I have no idea how to fake something entirely. But he bought it and that was that.
That was the first and last time that I slept with him. I broke up with him a few days later, after drinking enough rum to kill someone. I then slipped and slid down a muddy hill on my ass after telling him that he should just stop talking to me. That’s karma.
I haven’t heard from Patrick since our sophomore year in college, when my friend/his roommate Matt commanded him to walk me home from a party once. It was an awkward walk and he kept on telling me what a bitch I was. Thank you Patrick, I am aware.
The last time I knew, he was engaged to someone? But really, that could have been a lie too.
I thought about this post because I recently had some sexy times with some guy…that said nothing during sex. Nothing. There were no noises or moans or heavy breathing and for a while I thought maybe he was dead. He didn’t seem to be into it, but every time I sort of…glared at him, he said he was having fun. REALLY? IS THAT SO? ACT LIKE IT. I CANNOT READ YOUR MIND. It really shook my confidence because you know, I’ve never had to deal with that either.
Thanks to his twatwaffle like behavior (not just during the sexy times, but in all the other times where he was like “oh yeah, I like you” but secretly did not or something THANKS TIM), he has now become the boy that I had the worst sex with ever. The worst sex that I knew that I was having.
TMI Thursday – It kind of looks like a foot
Honestly, I have nothing but time in my life, but I don’t update my blog anymore because…well, there is no reason. I should really start updating again. Not that anything good is happening (I did go on an interview though!) but mostly to keep myself amused.
Anyway.
Here’s my TMI Thursday story. Lilu encourages us to share some sort of icky thing…and this one is special. Pam, stop reading now. I mean it. You stop.
So when I first got into online dating, I started on a free website. That was probably my first mistake, but what did I know? I talked to several guys and not a one of them was decent. That’s neither here nor there. I did talk to a guy that lived in my hometown.
We ended up meeting up one night. He was nice and funny and kind of cute. He was in his mid-30s and owned his own business and he made me laugh. When it comes to boys, making me laugh is important.
We continued to talk and IM after that. One night, we were talking online about something. It might have been sex. It might have been something else entirely. My cell phone told me I had a text message. He told me that he had sent me something.
Here was where that little voice in your head that says “WHAT THE FUCK?!” should have been screaming. I guess it took the night off. What could he possibly send me via text message that he couldn’t just say on the interwebs?
Oh, that’s right. A picture of his manjunk. And somehow, in the picture of his manjunk, he’s included his face.
Why thank you, weird guy from the internet, just what I wanted.
I was kind of shocked by that. I didn’t ask for any pictures of anyone’s parts and there it was, staring me in the face. Also, exactly what can a picture of junk on my cell phone’s tiny little screen do for me? It’s not like it’s to scale or something.
After that, I went to bed. I couldn’t process what was going on and I just needed to recharge.
The next day, I was dying to tell someone what went down. I mean, how could I not share this? I was out to lunch with one of my friends and I told him the story. I had to. As we were sitting in the car eating lunch (classy!), he asked me to show him the picture. He told me he didn’t want to look at it, but because I had explained the funny angle, he needed to see it himself. Bless his heart.
His reaction? “Well, it kind of looks like a foot….”
And weird guy from the internet was dubbed Footweiner McLovin’.
It became a big joke to forward the penis picture to unsuspecting men that I knew. You know, the ones that get really uncomfortable when you suggest that they are gay. So I did that for a while before deleting the picture entirely. I probably should have kept it though. Footweiner did want to get into politics and really – it would have been a good scandal. You don’t send pictures of your boyparts to girls you don’t know.
Or you do because you’re an idiot. Whichever.
TMI Thursday: Excuse you?
Lilu encourages all to join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
I’ve been saving this story for a while. Pam, I suggest you stop reading now. Like really. Please go.
Okay, a long long time ago, I was sleeping with someone. I KNOW! Amazing. Those were the days. I think back on them fondly. We had just gotten home from dinner (which was super good and tasty and fabulous) and decided it was time for sexy times.
You know how that goes.
He’s getting sexy and I’m getting sexy and whooo, clothes are coming off. He starts kissing my..uhh..parts..and then he burps. In my parts. HE BURPED IN MY LADYPOCKET.
It took me a minute to process what the hell just happened there, but once I did, I could not stop laughing. Who does that? I asked him what the hell that was all about and he told me that dinner was good.
I figured that out, buddy. After that moment, sexytimes were ruined and I was more content to lie in bed and continue laughing. Also to file this story away in my brain for TMI Thursday. That’s how I operate now and that might be a problem.
Then again, maybe not.
Oh, so that’s a city in Germany?
Maybe you have heard of Lilu. She does this thing called TMI Thursday. My story isn’t as stellar as any of her stories are…but whatever.
(Also, if I was as cool as her, I would have 6 trillion readers. But I’m not.)
At least I’m playing the game.
I usually have nothing to contribute to TMI Thursday. I just don’t have that many gross things happening to me. And this story isn’t even about me, it’s about my family. And it’s pretty embarrassing and OMG, my family should probably be locked away somewhere.
In my family, my brothers and my dad like to fart. A lot. Like more than normal human beings. These aren’t just normal everyday farts, these are massive ones. Sometimes they blame on each other or on the dog. But if they are really feeling special, they blame it on a mouse. In their minds, there’s a mouse that runs around our house, farting. Just to confuse everyone. I don’t get it either. My mom has no sense of humor, so she thinks that there really is a mouse. I can’t tell you how many times that I’ve explained to her that it is NOT REAL and she shouldn’t expect the cat to find it. Because you know – imaginary.
When the massive fart isn’t being blamed on a nonexistant animal, something called a “fart walk” is taken. (Additional fun fact: after a large meal for Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter, everyone goes on something called a “wanderloo”. Basically you take your drink and you walk until you don’t feel like you’re going to puke.) It’s exactly what it sounds like – they announce to whoever can hear that they are going on a “fart walk” and off they go to take the toxic fumes in the other room. It’s disgusting, but at least it’s better than when we’re all in the car and my dad and W see who can make the smelliest fart. That’s followed by the phrase “take a big whiff”. NO THANK YOU.
As I’ve mentioned before, my brother J is autistic. This doesn’t stop him from playing the fart walk game. For some reason, one we can’t figure out, he can’t say fart walk. He can say those two words, but just not together. Instead, J calls them fartlicks.
Fart. Licks.
I was thinking about that last night and I couldn’t stop laughing. W came into the living room and asked me what I was thinking about and I told him. This prompted him to sing a song called “I’m going to Fartlick, Tennessee” and dance around the living room.
I told him Fartlick was a city in Germany.
He said “Really? It is?”
No, not really. This kid is going to college in the fall. I sort of think he’s doomed.
