Because A Lady Never Tells... But a Broad Just Might

Friday, September 17, 2010

Happy Birthday to Me

A few weeks ago, it was my birthday. It was one of those alleged milestone birthdays at which one is expected to morph into an "adult," if one has not already done so. My resolution for this birthday was to stop drinking strangers' abandoned drinks at bars at 3 a.m. when short on funds. So I guess you could say I was not entirely ready to step into adulthood as expected of me.

My birthday fell on a Saturday and I managed to wrangle a large crowd for dinner and an even larger crowd at my favorite bar. One of my closest friends had flown in as a birthday surprise and all in all, it was a fabulous night.

Jump to around 3 a.m. and I'm at a karaoke bar with 3 local friends, my sister and my out of town guest. Luckily, people were still buying me drinks so I was not tempted to break my resolution. By 5 a.m. there were four of us left, one of us being a male friend of mine, R. R lives with R2, another friend of mine. It is probably worth mentioning that I have hooked up with both R and R2 on occasion, with a fair amount of overlap in these "relationships." In my defense, they were not roommates when this sordid mess began. They were just very good friends. As a side note, R2 could not attend my party as he was out of town. But he was apparently on my mind.

R hugged me and said, "Oh, (broad)." I responded by saying, "Oh, (R2)." Everyone heard, everyone present knew the situation, and there was a very awkward silence during which R released me from the embrace. He expressed... unhappiness with this mistake. I apologized, then pretended it was not a big deal, and finally told him he could not be angry with me because it was my birthday. We moved on and continued to sing along with the Hall and Oates song being performed.

Apparently R either drank this episode out of his memory, or is truly the forgiving type. We were all planning to share a cab home and I suggested dropping R off first, as he lives nearest the bar. He said, "Oh, I'm not going home. I'm getting laid tonight." I looked at my two female companions and back at him. "Well, they both have boyfriends. I guess I'm your only option." He said, "Looks like it."

Romance is alive and well, people.

He came home with me and we decided to have a beer, which I removed from the refrigerator. We then drunkenly stumbled over to my couch and began to make out. My halter dress was untied and soon around my waist. His pants were removed. We briefly engaged in some form of sex, but the alcohol won as he was unable to maintain an erection. Then, suddenly, he stopped kissing me and grabbed his nose. I don't know what I thought the issue was, but I assured him it was all right.

"No, it's not. I have a nosebleed" he said. And he did. Blood was gushing out of his nose and I ran to get a paper towel. That's my last memory of the night.

I woke up facedown on my leather couch because my dog was licking my foot. It was hours past her breakfast time. My halter top was loosely tied around my neck and I could not find my bra. Then I realized it was on the couch and that one cup was next to R's head and the other cup was serving as his pillow. He was shirtless, wearing his jeans with the belt hanging on the floor. His underwear were next to the belt. The beer was still sitting on the counter, unopened. I remembered the nosebleed incident, luckily, and found the bloody paper towel on the ground before my sister (who is also my roommate/landlord) had a chance to wake up and find it for me. I took the dog out, fed her, and returned to wake up R. He put on his underwear and shirt, called a cab and eventually went home.

Somehow, I managed to avoid staining my new party dress with blood during the drunken nosebleed birthday hook-up. I'd say this decade is off to a great, if somewhat tawdry, start.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Knee Jerk Sex

On Sunday, I was at a sex show. Contrary to what that sentence might lead you to believe, it was more of a literary thing than anything. Or that's what I tell myself. It's a monthly event I attend and sometimes read at; it involves people reading their (creative non-fiction) sex stories, audience participation in sex-related trivia, and audience questions answered by the hosts. The stories I have written for the show actually inspired the creation of this blog. I cannot publish them on my other blog; additionally, I have some stories I would like to share, but behind the veil of anonymity.

I was not reading this particular week and showed up a bit late. It's a bad idea for me to show up a bit late to any event held at a bar, as I'm a big fan of "catching up" on drinks. My friend Samantha had two empty High Life bottles next to her and a nearly empty bottle in her hand. I ordered whiskey on the rocks and started drinking.

Though not necessarily consciously, I was also engaging in a Very Bad Idea; that is, I was involved in some reactionary drinking. I do not always realize that I am drinking in reaction to something until the hangover subsides and common sense kicks in. Late Monday afternoon, I figured this out.

I was drinking in reaction to - what else? - some minor romantic disappointment. Now, here's an equation that results in a few moments of self-loathing the next day: Sex Show + Reactionary Drinking + Single Men - One's Friends.

I was becoming increasingly intoxicated while my friends gradually left. Some went home because they didn't feel well or had to work the next day; others moved on to another bar and I did not have the funds to cover a cab there and then home. I was left at the bar, finishing my "last" drink, when a man I'd noticed at several sex shows sat down on my right and another man eventually grabbed the seat to my left.

Things get hazy here. I know I was talking to them both for awhile. I have no idea what the subject matter was. The job market? Politics? Fisting? I haven't a clue. Then I was outside, sharing a cigarette with the man to my left. Then we were making out on the sidewalk. Shortly thereafter, he walked me home.

He spent the night, which is rather jumbled in my memory. My next memory is of him waking me up and suggesting we fuck again. Though I could not tell whether I was insanely hung over or still drunk, I accepted the proposition. He came on my back and we went back to sleep for about a half hour before I had to wake up and get to work.

My right nipple hurts and I have several small bruises and hickeys on my chest. He's currently texting me and I cannot tell whether he's interested in me or another piece of my ass. I mean, maybe I was a witty, charming woman on Sunday night. I wouldn't know.

Saturday, August 28, 2010


This is a new blog. I have another, but it is only semi-anonymous. I recently realized that most of my best stories are about sex. Some of these stories involve a fair amount of booze and most of them involve casual sex.

For this reason, and for professional purposes, I prefer to remain anonymous. Some people in my life think that I am a lady, you see.