7 Minutes In Hell.
I wouldn’t call it a pity fuck. No, no. Depending on what mood I was in, every now and then I was actually attracted to this man whom I shall refer to as “BBT”. And I probably would’ve fucked him sooner had it not been for him being super cool and funny one second, then cynical and hypersensitive the next.
The first time I saw him a few years ago, I was with my boyfriend. I remember seeing someone tall with a bunch of tattoos. That usually does it for me. I described him to my friends as a Jessie James, Carey Hart type. Naturally, when I was finally single he wasn’t. But during one of his many makeup to breakup episodes, we exchanged numbers. From there, sporadic texts and occasional flirting commenced.
The day started off with me and my gay having happy hour. We ordered one drink and somehow wound up with four in front of us: tequila, beer, whiskey, and rum. The four basic food groups. Oh, and some calamari that I barely ate, because I was watching what I was eating, but obviously not what I was drinking. Then, I vaguely remember hopping into a cab to drink more tequila. The following is a blur: having margaritas, the Giants winning the game, some dude getting kicked out by security for harassing my girl, and then Facebooking BBT because my phone died. WOW.
Trust me when I say that if I was sober, this shit would’ve never went down. Yes, I’m blaming the alcohol. That, and the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in months, and had thought about fucking BBT sober once or twice before. We all know that raging hormones, boredom and tequila mean BAD DECISIONS. Thus, moments later I’m in his car, drunk as fuck smelling like booze and fried foods more than likely singing itsy-bitsy spider with an English accent, because I am off the hook inebriated. By the time we get to his house, I’m exhausted. I even pretend to resist as he’s sliding off my panties, but then I get too tired to function and think to myself here goes nothing.
And that’s exactly what I got: NOTHING.
Maybe it’s because he had been waiting to fuck me for the past three years, or because I’m practically a virgin again, but that shit happened so fast that I didn’t even know it happened. For the record, I’m not basing the rest of his sexual prowess on this one experience. I’m sure he’s pulling hair and putting bitches to sleep every other day of the week, but that specific night was so uneventful that I didn’t even want to give him a chance to make up for it when he tried to later. It was so unsatisfying that it was even worse than the time I fucked the dude whose penis I kept on waiting to get bigger but never did. It was the one fuck I wish I could take back.
Needless to say, the next time I’m a shot away from horny, I’ll make sure to throw my phone across the street and forget my FB password. Or at the very least take a minute to think things through. It only takes a minute, man.