Thursday, October 22, 2009

TMI Thursday - There's a time and a place

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

TMI Thursday

About a month and a half ago, I did an amazing pub crawl in Dallas with a bunch of great friends.

Later I calculated and I drank 11 beers (not light ones, mind you...), three dirty martinis, and at least two shots of something. And that's just what I recall drinking.

As you can imagine, I was a little bit schmammered. (Read: A LOT.)

My brilliant plan was to take the train to the event and then not have to drive home. So I proceeded to drink with little caution. What I hadn't really considered is that the train is about 1.5 miles from my house. And it's through a really unfortunate part of town. A part of town that little white girls should probably not be wandering around in alone and drunk at 2am.

I also hadn't considered that I might miss the last train.

As it turned out, our numbers had dwindled by the last (of 6) bars, and by that time it was just me, two other people who had been there at the beginning, and some guy that someone knew.

Some guy someone knew had been pretty much hitting on every woman at the pub crawl for the majority of the night. And I had been laughing at his ass the whole time.

I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, some guy someone knew was standing right there. He leaned in and kissed me. Hard.

Um...what the fuck, dude?

Boy was I drunk, though, so all the "what the fuck?" pretty much happened in my head. I must have looked at him like, "Please take me home," because he grabbed my hand and said, "Let's get out of here."

With the compliance of a true drunk-ass, I allowed myself to be led out the door, where I promptly said (without really meaning to say), "I don't have my car. I took the train. I need to take the train back home, but it's dangerous. I'm not having sex with you."

He just looked at me and rolled his eyes. STILL holding my hand, though I had been squirming to have it released.

(I seriously hate holding hands. Even more so with strangers. Somehow, and I realize this is completely bizarre, holding hands is far more intimate to me than sex.)

He called us a cab and we managed to come up with enough cash to make it to his place. I don't like people in my space and we didn't have enough cash to stop at both places. His car was at a different train station, so this didn't really solve the problem anyway.

We walked in the door and he sort of...I don't know what the word is. Attacked is wrong, but he kissed me again. And then we were both on the couch and he was on top of me. He wasn't a big guy, so I could easily have pushed him off, but at this point, being underneath someone felt kind of okay, so I just went with it. Meanwhile saying again, "Seriously, I'm not having sex with you."

Five minutes later, we were making the sex. I'm not sure how it happened.

Well, we were making what he would call "sex" and what I would call "nap-time."

There was absolutely no consistent rhythm. None. And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's getting myself off. But. I. Just. Couldn't. It was like he was trying to stop me.

But the best part?

About five minutes in, and believe me, I've been putting on a show for all I was worth for the last five minutes to get this shit over with, he stopped. He pulled back and said, "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

I said, "Uh...yeah."

He started again. Then five minutes later, same thing. This time I said, "I'm fine. I'll let you know if I'm not okay."

Again. AGAIN.

So finally I said, "This will go a lot better if you will just SHUT THE FUCK UP."

He looked at me, startled. "What?"

"I think you heard me. You don't need to ask me about my feelings. We're doing this, let's just do it."

By this time, I'd made my grocery list, rearranged all my shoes, redecorated my apartment, and written angry letters to everyone who had ever pissed me off (I'm looking at you, poorly edited books) and I. Was. BORED.

I'd stopped even trying to pretend like I was having any fun, as there seemed to be no point.

An hour later, I looked at him and said, "Any chance you're going to wrap this up?"

It was like someone had told him that marathon sex was necessary. And, you know, it's okay, I guess, but not when one member is bored to tears.

He just looked at me, sort of in shock, I guess. And I said, "Let me put it this way. I'm done. If you'd like to be done, too, that would be great. But I? Am done."

He said, "Oh! You finished?"

And I said, "I hate to tell you this, but I couldn't 'finish' if you paid my vagina up front in cash. I am, however, done. Please do your job."

A few minutes later, he finished up. I'm not sure if he actually finished, or if he was just so scared of me that he stopped.

The next morning I got up early and he called me a cab. I managed to find enough money in my purse to cover the ride home (in last night's pub crawl T-shirt, it was quite the walk of shame), and as he leaned over to kiss me and possibly ask me for my phone number, I jumped away and said, "Oh look! Cab! Gotta go!"

A note to men everywhere: Do NOT ask women about their feelings mid awkward sex. It's just wrong. There's a time and a place to talk about feelings and in bed with a stranger is not it. If she's there doing it, take it for what it's worth. At least try to blow her mind. And sometimes a sprint can be just as satisfying as a marathon. Particularly when everyone is drunk and possibly no one is sure what the other person's name is. Sprint, baby, sprint.


  1. You took one for the team, my dear. And we all thank you for edumacating him.

  2. While your advice in the last paragraph is solid, I'm pretty sure this guy never stood much of a chance, regardless of how he approached it. Or you. Or your vagina for that matter.

  3. I think the problem here is that he had no idea it was awkward sex. Which is baffling, but based on your description of the night in question, seems pretty clear he had no clue.

    Next time you can call me and I'll come get you!

  4. "sometimes a sprint can be just as satisfying as a marathon."

    Amen to that. I have been in situations where I've faked, and I wished to God he would too.

  5. If you have to stop and ask her halfway through how she's feeling, then you're doing it wrong, dumbass.

  6. I love you, my darling skankface. I've totally done the "Yeah, it's not happening for me so hurry it up" thing. Depressing...

  7. It's always the bad lays that ask how you're feeling. Like, hurry up and finish! There should be a rule that marathon sessions should only be had when people have already had sex before and both agree that it was good.

  8. AWESOME!!!!
    Can totally relate! Think a lot of girls can! LMFAO!!!!! GREAT TMI! I love your stories

  9. OMG...he is suuuuppper lame...I mean, I would have hoped that since he'd practically kidnapped you that the sex would have at least been good...geez...

  10. that is too much, girl. i'm forwarding to everyone i know haaha. where do i start?
    1. awesome job making a drunk plan. so sorry it didn't work out :(
    2. why does it always work out like that? (referring to going home with boy)
    3. i love how you got so much acomplished during the marathon lmfao!!
    Awesome story!

  11. "How are you feeling?"

    What the fuck?

  12. Honestly, it sounded like rape to me. Once he actually asked how you were feeling, it gets gray to me but still sounds like rape.

    You already told him you were not having sex with him and you were so wasted that you did not realize you had enough money in your purse for a cab ride from his house to yours until the next morning once you were more sober.

    I do not know how you could have given consent in your condition.I do not think that is lame for a man to check in during sex, although I think he should have asked you if you wanted sex since you said "Seriously I am not having sex with you." before said sex occurred.

    As you describe it, that was rape.