Oh Lordy Lord Lovers!
What an emotional rollercoaster of a weekend I had! See that’s why I’m just writing about it now, I’m still recovering (that and I’ve been too busy eating all the ice cream out of the freezer so it will be empty when we eventually move… in three weeks.) But I digress, I sit here with a tub full of cookies and cream and I am ready to write!
So, it’s Saturday night and myself and my friend Homie had booked ourselves a little treat. Or should I say a big treat? Strippers! Much to Homie’s dismay they were of the male persuasion. (She says she’s straight but man does that girl love a good nipple in her mouth!) Luckily she decided to bite the bullet and try it my way for a night. And boy was she glad she tried it! We arrived at the club a few minutes before the show started and Homie wanted to nip out the back for a smoke, so drinks in hand, we shimmied our way through the throng of brides and horny bridesmaids to the deck out the back, with Homie getting a few appreciative smacks on the ass from the male wait staff as we did. Not long after we sat down the photographer for the night approached us for a cheeky snap. After he’d done the deed he sat down next to us and started chatting to Homie. Well when I say chatted I mean more like knelt at the alter of her perfection and offered himself up as sacrifice. He was smitten. He complimented her on her eyes, her dress, her skin tone, I think he even complimented her cigarette! Homie, ever the good girlfriend, then graciously turned his attention back to me. I could see his eyes scanning my profile, looking for something, anything to comment on. Finally he blurted out “ I love your… sandals.”
Ooh low blow.
I smiled thinly at him and took a gulp of my champagne, the bubbles tickling my throat like acid. I choked my gulp back up but hid it under a very unladylike sneeze. Luckily photo man put me out of my misery and left me to splutter on my lonesome as he made his excuses and returned inside. I opened my mouth to say something to Homie when suddenly the music flared up and there were men on stage! With a scream and a squeal we rushed to the bar where our seats were. Technically we didn’t have seats but we stole one off an unwitting bride who spent the rest of the night perched on her friends lap. Hey woman, you snooze you lose. The strippers were amazing. Just enough giggle, with generous lashings of sexy all topped off with a good dollop of stud. Homie and I worked our way through three glasses of champagne each before we decided to be real women and just buy a whole bottle. This was probably not the best idea, as I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was getting over some dodgy ‘virus’ or whatever, but when you’re at the strippers there are NO rules! (Well except for no grabbing at the artists, but that’s more of a request.) So after a bucket-load of champagne and a shot from a strippers pants, (because hey, you only live once right?) we were well and truly on our way to that place where all drunks go at the end of the night, the gutter. But as much fun as I was having, one thing kept bothering me. Every time I turned around Homie was being chatted up by another dude. And not just the uggs and the wierdo’s but the strippers too! Now don’t get me wrong, I love it when a friend is on her game, and often it’s me getting the ball rolling, but what I don’t like, is being completely ignored for long periods of time. I usually give the guy a good five or ten minutes of talk time alone and then I’ll step in and gauge the situation. Is she still enjoying talking to him? Is he creeping her out? And most importantly, does he have a cute friend? On this night though, as there were pretty much no men to speak of, no boys had a plus one to distract me. After sitting for a good twenty five minutes, talking to the bartender, two brides and a bussie I was starting to get a little bored. I didn’t begrudge Homie her flirt time, Lord no, she’s about the sexiest woman I know and men are no match for the Venus fly trap that is her body/face combo, but this was supposed to be ladies night! Luckily at that point Homie got yanked up on stage by a stripper she had earlier befriended and had to pop a balloon with her ass cheeks, so that cheered me up no end.
After the big balloon popping finale it was time to head off and we made a beeline for the place where I always get lucky, Macca’s. Oh yes, with that saucy cheese burger between my lips I felt ready to conquer the world once more.
As soon as I threw up.
Yes Lovers, I’m not proud of this, but I chundered in the Macdonald’s bathroom, flushed, and then went straight back to my happy meal. Urgh.
But enough of chunks, lets get back to the hunks! Homie and I stumbled into the club that was the official ‘after party’ venue and started to get our groove on. Apparently my groove was a little too much for me as it was a quick dash to the toilets once more. But the best way to get over throwing up is to have more beer right? Ah the drunken mind, so useless and yet so decisive.
After my coming out of body experience I headed back to the d-floor where I found Homie grinding on a particularly cute boy. By this point I was so past caring about men. I just wanted to have a good time and dance. But then Homie grabbed me by the hand and yelled “He’s got a friend!” My interest was of course piqued. I may not have been that interested anymore but one never looks a gift horse in the mouth, although at that point everyone’s mouths were kind of blurring together into one. She yanked me around to a group of boys and presented me to one in particular. Even through my drunken haze there was no mistaking his disgusted grimace and the furious shaking of his head.
I turned and ran. Homie was beside me instantly, cooing quiet words into my ear to try and stop the tears that were running down my face. Was I so undesirable? Yes I was standing next to a major siren in Homie but surely I didn’t scrub up that badly? I wanted to march up to that boy and scream “Yeah ok I’ve got a bit of a potato head and yeah my eyebrows aren’t plucked as well as they should be and sometimes when I eat a lot of lasagne my farts get really bad, but you know what? I’m the nicest person you’re ever likely to meet, and I could make you piss your pants with laughter if I wanted too, and I hope that’s how your night ends! With piss all over your pants!” Thank god I have a good friend in Homie who didn’t let this drunken rant reach the surface. She steered me outside so she could have a smoke and I could let off some steam about how all men were bastards except for the ones I liked.
Once we reached the smoking area two things happened, Homie bumped into a guy she knew, and I decided I was taking him home. And so I did.
His name was Ryan and he was twenty two years old. He had just the body I loved, lean and wiry with an ass you could cook pancakes on. We chatted for a while on the cab ride home but honestly I don’t remember what about. He could have been telling me the secret of how to turn semen into sapphires and I still wouldn’t remember. When we got home he suggested a shower. I love showers! Or at least I do when I’m that drunk. I clumsily pulled off his shirt and jeans and reached for his underwear. (Bonds, not bad) Ryan stopped me. “ Just so you know, its’ a bit hairy down there.” I snorted and made a face at him. If only he’d known where I had been the week before, then he wouldn’t have worried about it at all. I pulled down his jocks in one quick motion and stifled a scream.
Dear Lord in Heaven! How was this achieved?? Staring at me square in the face was the biggest wad of pubes I had ever seen. I couldn’t even see his skin through the layers of the curly monstrosity! Imagine the hairiest armpit you have ever seen and then triple it.
Yes, triple it.
I pushed him into the shower and went to get towels. Had the man never trimmed in his life? He was like one of those Guinness Book of Records people, never cutting always growing. How did he deal in Summer? If it gets above thirty degrees my ass becomes a swamp and that’s only with a few measly lady hairs! I took a deep breath and stepped into the shower with him, conscious of the fact that his hair was so thick the powerful pressure of the shower wasn’t even making a dent in it. I bet if I ran my fingers through it the bottom half would be dry! I shook my head and tried to clear all pube related thoughts. I was having sex tonight, and I was going to make it good. Hell, maybe all those pubes would give him a bit of extra bounce. We made out for a while under the shower before towelling off and heading to bed. I had one eye on the mound constantly, thanking god it wasn’t a humid night. Christ knows how much my hair puffs up when it’s a sticky evening. Sadly, my brain hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that it was now foreplay time, and what did I do best at FP time? Head.
Lord save me.
I let him go first so that I had time to brace myself for the incoming onslaught my face was about to receive, and to his credit he did a very… enthusiastic job. Eventually though, my time had come. I resisted the urge to put on protective eye wear and instead closed my eyes and got to work. Why? Why me? I thought, as I pulled him in and out of my mouth, his black fronds caressing my cheek, forehead and nose with each stroke. Why can’t I just bring home a normal guy who maintains his patch? “Ooh deeper,” he moaned and I swear I almost bit it off. I was still super tidy after my Brazilian the week before so his time was a walk in the park compared to the jungle I was having to weed through. I tried to go a little faster so he wouldn’t notice me not going deep but the sensation of my forehead bouncing off his curls was just too much. Oh well, I thought, at least if I pass out there’ll be a soft place to land. I sat up and tried to inconspicuously remove his danglies from between my teeth but I don’t think he cared by this point, as he threw me down on the bed with a force that belied his weedy frame. We popped on a condom (Safety first people!) and went at it.
It was… fine. It wasn’t bad I guess, but I wasn’t about to break any sound records either. Ryan suggested I get on top and I eagerly complied. I was just working up a good rhythm all of a sudden the wanker jams his finger smack up my ass! We’re talking knuckle deep people, and not the first little one, the big one! I screeched bloody murder and yanked his finger from the depths. “Never do that again!” I cried. Jesus! No lube, no warning, not even a bloody rissole tickle to let me know what was about to happen! He just smiled lopsidedly at me and carried on writhing underneath me. I decided to forgive him because I suppose anyone could make that mistake. Besides, so much porn is butt based these days boys just assume we love it.
I curse you butt porn, I curse you!
So I was back in my zone, grinding away, trying not to think of what a trolli doll with pube hair would look like when out of no where comes that damn finger again! Smash! Straight up there! I squealed and kneed him in the ribs hard.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, beside myself with shock and now just a touch of ass burn. “C’mon, you love it.” He drawled.
I fixed him with a death stare and informed him if he did it again he could say goodbye to his precious pubes as I would be tweezing them out one by one. This seemed to get the message through and he rolled back on top. I prayed he would be done soon as I was now just tired, hung over and not the least bit horny. And then… it happened.
That’s when I slapped him. Hard across the face. I pushed him off me and stormed into the bathroom, my poor butt in tatters behind me. I sat down to pee and as I did I saw a drop of blood fall into the bowl. That bastard made me bleed! I folded up a wad of toilet paper and held it to my shredded hiney, whimpering as the stinging slowly subsided. When I eventually emerged, seething from the bathroom, ass hat had fallen asleep. I kicked him none too gently to the other side of the bed and flopped down on my side, wincing as my battered booty hit the mattress. As my drunken eyes drifted shut, and slurred dreams of policemen sticking hot dogs into screaming buns flooded my brain, I thought to myself, “No morning sex for you.” And true to my word I had him out the door almost as soon as we woke up. I spent the rest of the day in bed, longing for a donut cushion and a frozen coke.
Pick up line of the week: My love for you is like diarrhea; I just can’t hold it in.