My story begins with the classic header of most dating disaster stories; I was at a bar. I went to this bar to just kick back and have a few. Hooking up was the farthest thing from my mind. It was one of those slack-jawed googley-eyed old man bars. Like I said, hooking up was not the night’s agenda. A few [too many] drinks into the night, a young guy stood out of the crowd of old men. He had crazy curly hair, a skinny twig-like body, and no fashion sense. I don’t know why I had to go meet him, but that’s what I did. Shortly after slurring out my name and asking his we ended up in my car heading to my place. He’ll do, I thought. When we got to my bedroom I started right away.

Generous me, I went straight to the point with a blow job. A short few seconds into it he wasn’t hard. Ugh! I slithered up and straddled him. “Fuck me” I whispered to him. With this sorry looking face he tells me he can’t. What?!? “What do you mean you can’t?” He giggled in a way that made me want to just tell him he’s excused and said that he had whisky dick. Come on! He assures me satisfaction as he spreads me open and goes down on me. It felt like I was masturbating with my pinky! I didn’t stop him right away but soon I knew that it wasn’t going to get good. “It’s cool, man. I’m ready for bed anyway.” So the night ended there, but the experience isn’t over.

I woke up the next morning and the guy wasn’t in the bed. Hmmm… I saw him poking around in the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of champagne and tries prying it open! “That’s not for you, man!” I scream as I tear the bottle out of your hands. Who does this guy think he is? Ewww. Right away I took him back where I found him.

-Mama D