Hey hey Lovers!
We know each other pretty well by now don’t you think? I mean, we’ve been going steady for over a year now. Therefore I think it’s time we get some of those skeletons out of the closet. So grab a comfy cushion and take a seat Lovers, it’s time to spill.
As the title so eloquently suggests, this story is all about sex; and terrible sex at that.
After I broke up with Callum I was understandably put off men for quite some time. However, although the mind can be tamed, the loins cannot be ignored. Which is how I found myself trawling three different dating websites for the perfect ‘quickie.’
Up until this point in my life I had been very much the serial monogamist. No man shall enter the sacred garden of lady land without the spare key to my heart.
This theory was all well and good up until the point where the lady garden in question was looking particular sparse. Nobody had taken their haloumi hose to my nethers for over six months!
The situation was simply untenable, and my mission was simple; get that bad boy moist.
However, considering I had only ever tried dating sites in my search for ‘the one,’ I wasn’t sure how to separate the future fiancé’s from the fuckboys. With names like Shadypants69, Hummer25, Nofudgepackers, Bedmasterurwelcome and The penetrator 88 there was quite a choice!
The main goal was to find a guy who was not too bad in bed, (I wasn’t stupid enough to think I would find some miraculous sex god on the first go) fairly attractive and not a total douchebag. As it turns out that is a hard combo to come by!
Eventually I settled on a guy called Shopping 27. He had brown hair, blue eyes, was a non-smoker and best of all he was a fly in/fly out mining worker. What could be better? I figured if the first time went well we could continue our little arrangement every time he was back in town.
Sex on tap here I come!
I spoke to him on the phone a few times and after the obligatory “hello, how was your day,” he was always keen to jump straight into the sexy talk.
I suppose my first warning sign should have been how much he boasted about the size of his yogurt slinger and how great he was in bed.
Here’s a general rule ladies; most guys who are actually great in bed don’t need to race around screaming it from the roof tops, they’re just happy to prove it to you when the time comes.
But back to my boastful bull-shitter.
We arranged to meet when he returned from work in a couple of weeks and I pencilled a great night of sex into my diary, hoping for the best.
The day came early however, as I received a call from him a week before he was due to fly back.
“Hey, so you free?” he asked curtly.
I was at a friend’s dinner party at the time but it was wrapping up fast, so I said, “Sure, what did you have in mind?”
Another warning sign I probably should have mentally jotted down was when he suggested we have sex in a car-park.
Wow. Classy dude.
I politely declined his gentlemanly offer and instead suggested we meet in the car park he so gallantly suggested and see what happened from there.
He gruffly agreed and I left the dinner party, careful to let all my friends know the exact address and every minute detail of his profile.
When I pulled up next to his Landrover and caught sight of his profile through the window, things looked promising. Then he stepped out.
Fuck a duck he was tall!
I don’t mind a bit of height on my men but this guy towered over me! When he gave me a kiss on the cheek he practically had to drop to his knees. My mind reeled at the sexual ramifications this height difference could cause, but I swept those away quickly. Never judge a man by his length people (that goes for height and the pork sword obviously.)
We chatted amicably for a few minutes just so I could feel out his vibe. After confirming that he was in fact, not a serial killer, we jumped in my car and I took him to my favourite place in town.
Along the way we kept up a steady stream of conversation. Although Shopping27 wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he seemed nice enough.
That was until I asked him why he was back early.
I assumed work was slow or some vital piece of machinery had broken down making work impossible. What I didn’t expect to hear was, “My Grandad died.”
I sat silently for a moment, flabbergasted not only at his statement, but at the matter of fact way he said it. He could have just as easily been telling me the footy scores. How could he care so little?
I chastised myself inwardly at my lightning fast judgement. Everybody grieves differently, I thought, maybe he just needed someone to talk to, or some time to process it.
However when I questioned him about it I was met with a very nonchalant, “Whatever. Everybody dies.”
Whatever? Whatever?! Who was this guy? Bruce No-Feelings?
I asked him if they were close and he nodded. I asked him if he was going to the funeral and he shrugged. I asked him why he had come back if he wasn’t going to the funeral.
He replied, “Time off is time off I guess.”
You unfeeling bastard!
When we arrived at the park I jumped out and hurriedly took my shoes off so I could feel the delicious crunch of fresh grass beneath my feet. I had to remind myself that even though he was dead inside some things were still alive and kicking.
I took Shopping27’s limp unfeeling hand and led him through the maze of massive trees and native brush. Eventually we found a comfortable looking mound and sat down.
The minute my butt touched dirt he was lunging at me, mouth agape.
Woah! Down boy! I jumped backwards, surprised by his amorous attempts. As I did however, I noticed just a glimpse of hurt in his eyes.
Aww the poor boy thought I was rejecting him!
That was when I remembered; I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to start some fabulous new relationship that would last through the ages.
No; I was here to fuck.
So instead of leaping away from him like my instincts (and possibly the angry spirit of his Grandad) told me to, I instead leaned forward and locked lips with him for our first ever kiss.
It was not good Lovers. His lips were thin and dry, not a deal breaker in the slightest, but god the way he used them! It was as if he was trying to keep his teeth in, the way his lips curled inwards on themselves. In fact he probably could have made quite a bit of money handing out blowjobs in the city if his mining gig ever fell through.
I stopped the kiss and tried to collect myself. This was just insane! How did other people make hook-ups look so easy? All I wanted was no strings attached mediocre sex and instead I got the ghost of Grandad past!
Now Lovers, I have always been of the opinion that is someone is bad at something sexually, you should always tell them.
Nicely of course. Nobody wants to hear “You’re shithouse!” in the middle of sex. I gently informed Shopping27 that his kissing style wasn’t exactly for me and that maybe we could try something different.
(That’s the key Lovers, if you’re going to let someone know they’re not the best at something, you’ve got to let them know how to improve. Nobody should have to commit sexual suicide and become celibate due to lack of confidence!)
This did not go down well, and I was met by quite the litany of ladies names who apparently loved his kissing style.
Another thing Lovers, if you get advice from someone, never take it as a bad thing. It’s advice, not gospel. It’s somebody trying to open your mind to another experience. Learn a new style. Explore different methods. Try everything you can. If you don’t like it, don’t use it again, but never refuse to budge on your method.
Shopping27 didn’t budge.
I put up with his awful slobbery kisses (his lips were dry but his tongue was on a mission from god to explore every inch of my mouth) until I couldn’t take it any more. I grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides before jumping on top of him. If I was on top then hopefully I could referee the tonsil hockey a little more appropriately.
That was a negative.
He just thrust his tongue even harder into my poor innocent mouth. I rolled off him and heaved a sigh of regret. I really should have stayed at the dinner party. They were probably having a second serving of dessert by now.
My thoughts were rudely interrupted by a hairy hand groping none too gently around my thighs.
I sat up to protest but he pushed me back down with a “shhh” and continued his quest upwards into my shorts. I shrugged and decided to let him continue. Maybe he was such a shit kisser because he spent all his time and energy pleasing the punani?
Aaand that’s another negative.
The boy had no skills. Honestly I didn’t know how he had gotten through puberty with a fingering technique like that. I had to make him stop before he yanked out my ovaries with his fingernails.
The only way I could think of ending it was to take him home.
You. Are. A. Moron. Claire!
It gets so much worse Lovers, don’t miss next weeks post, it will make your sexual disasters seem minute in comparison!
Pickup line of the week: The word of the day is ‘legs.’ Let’s go back to your house and spread the word.