Objectifying Men: 2015

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I wanted to write this entry in the Planned Parenthood parking lot, but my laptop battery was too low. So I jotted down some notes and went to find food with which to take my Plan B pill (because apparently you will just throw it up if you take it on an empty stomach). Lovely. My life is so glamorous sometimes.

So it isn't exactly right to name this story "Plan B," as I actually took the off-brand (which I hope is just a generic)... EContraEZ. That sounds trustworthy, right? Somehow it sounds like the ineffective precursor to a back-alley abortion... but I'm sure it's fine.

While you already know how this story ends... it began with me bootycalling (yes, I just made up a verb here) the Air Force guy (the one who is afraid of my cat).

The sex was amazing! I mean, like, really great! We fucked for at least an hour (with him doing literally all of the work).

It was so good, until it was so tragic. The problem happened at the end. He came right before I did (the second time). By the time he pulled his dick out, it had gotten half-way soft... and he pulled it out, while the condom was left behind... in my snatch. I hadn't noticed that he was going soft because I was too busy coming.

It was an amateur mistake, and I couldn't believe I let it happen. I berated myself silently for a minute. Then I played out doomsday scenarios in my head... in which my doctor (an old white guy) was telling me I had EVERY venereal disease (of course he used "venereal disease"... because he is an old white guy).

All I could think about was how likely it was that I would get an STI. I know that HIV is not a death sentence anymore, but I would love to avoid it forever anyway. I finally returned to reality.

To add insult to injury, I had to fish the condom out of my vag while my bootycall stared at me (seemingly unfazed). In comparison, the look on my face was definitely horror (mixed with terror and thinly-veiled anger).

"Don't worry, I'll get Plan B in the morning," I said, more to calm myself than him.

Probably the most disturbing part of this whole disaster was his reaction to reassurance:

"Or don't. I think our kids would be awesome!"

"Don't say that word to me," I said, with all of the pleasantness I could muster under the circumstances (which wasn't much).

"Which word? 'Awesome' or 'kids?'"

"What do you think?" I asked, exasperated.

"Well some people don't like the word 'awesome.""

I couldn't even...

"I think this is the beginning of the greatest love story," he said with a huge grin.

I wanted to hit him. Let me also remind you that I have had occasion to interact with him (sexually) 3 or 4 times... total. There is no dialog that occurs in between said occasions... and if had my way, there would be no dialog during our interactions either.

"Don't say that to me either," I added.

I am so thankful to have the power to be the ultimate decision maker in family planning matters. That was my kind way of saying that I don't give a shit about his opinion, and I will do what I think is best for me.

And I need to get back on the pill... like yesterday.

Please allow me to tell you the horrible story of my brief (but not brief enough) affair with Optimus King.

Please note: while I have changed his name for privacy, the name I have chosen is only equally as ridiculous as his actual name.

He and I met at the library closest to my house. He ran after me as I was leaving and gave me his number. He was very built, but had an odd skin tone.

Because I was still deciding whether or not I could look past his skin color, I texted him and asked him to meet me at a restaurant near my house. This was certainly not my standard operating procedure, but I wanted another chance to check him out before taking him to bed.

Not shockingly, it went poorly. I hated him by the time the appetizer arrived. However, he was even more ripped than I remembered. I could see every bulge and ripple of his upper body through his thin Ed Hardy t-shirt. What a tool. Who still wears Ed Hardy??

Anyway, I tried hard to see the outline of his dick through his (bedazzled) jeans, but was unsuccessful. In fact, I spent most of dinner alternating between staring at his biceps and staring at his crotch.

Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice. I suspect it was because his head was so far up his ass. I tried desperately to ignore the ridiculous name-dropping bullshit that was coming out of his mouth.

I should have told him that the fact that he didn't have a car negated any efforts to impress me with the illustrious career and connections he claimed to have. But he was so hot....

He spent (what felt like) an hour talking about his enviable career as a fashion designer. Not only was he "rich and successful" but he was the "#2 fashion designer of sportswear in the world."

I considered asking him whether he was ahead of Reebok or Adidas for the title. I really should have for my own amusement, but instead, I just stared at his crotch.

Then I got to hear about his latest fashion design. It sounded like a terrible combination of a jersey and a quilt. Whatever. His biceps were as big as my thighs, (which are pretty large).

As we left the restaurant, I decided that I did want to sleep with him, but that I needed at least a day to shower the bullshit off of me.

Fast-forward to me picking him up from the bus stop near my house (story of my life). I had a game plan! I blasted the radio in my car so as to remove the temptation for him to talk to me. I chose a country station because I hated him. And I sang along because I really hated him.

The moment we got into my house, I dragged him upstairs by the wrist. I threw open my bedroom door and pushed him down onto my bed.

I immediately removed his shirt (another Ed Hardy v-neck) and pants. I couldn't tell if they were the same pants from our last encounter. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to have multiple pairs of bedazzled jeans.

He was hard by the time I got his jeans off. I love that. Soft dick has never done anything for anyone.

I was thrilled to see that it was almost as thick as a beer bottle. It wasn't particularly long (maybe 6 1/2 or 7 inches), but the girth was amazing! It was very symmetrical, and one of those nice cocks that gets and stays rock-hard. And his body was just the icing on the cake.

Of course he didn’t bring his own condoms, but I had a few (hundred) magnums in my drawer for just such an occasion.

I got on top of him and slowly worked myself down onto the cock. And suddenly, listening to all the bullshit was so worth it! We fucked for a little over 2 hours, with him doing most of the work. And he sure did know how to work it!

I would revisit this cock quite a few times before blocking his number.

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It all started with me getting (very) drunk at Olive Garden. I’m not proud of that, but it happened.

Actually, it all started about a month prior, with very intentional flirting (on my part) with a particularly hot cop who just happened to be my neighbor. In retrospect, dating (or fucking) a neighbor seems like an obvious misstep, but anyway…

I should mention that, not only was he a cop, he was also in the Army Reserves (or National Guard or something) that involved a lot of working out and a sexy uniform. Needless-to-say, I was really looking forward to seeing him naked. And then fucking him.

He finally invited me out to dinner, which I countered with dinner and “watching a movie” at his place (which was 12 stairs away from my place). It seemed perfect… until it was terrible.

He picked me up and announced that he would take me to Olive Garden (which I don’t like, but seem to keep going to somehow). Once there, it quickly became obvious that he was the most boring man in the world. It was almost as though he had frontal lobe damage or something.

So I decided to get through it with two long island iced teas. Both were surprisingly strong. Disclaimer: I had also had a shot (or three) beforehand. I’m not an alcoholic. I think it was reasonable for me to ask my liver to take one for the team. Team Vagina.

Even as drunk as I was, his small talk (about his jogging routine and the trials and tribulations of potty-training his dog) was unbearable. I insisted we skip dessert, which was fine, since apparently he only ate Paleo or something. I’m not sure that sub-par chicken parm and unlimited breadsticks were Paleo… but whatever.

When we finally got back to his place to “watch a movie,” I was instantly struck by how scary clean it was. Like institution-clean. Like I wasn’t even sure he actually lived there. Whatever, he may have been crazy, but he was also crazy-hot.

He put the movie in and we started to make out on his couch. Unfortunately, he was a terrible kisser, which was a horrible shame since I don't even like kissing. So, naturally, I reached down to grab his cock to speed things past the making-out stage. I grabbed around for a minute before I finally felt it. And it was small. Like really small. It wasn’t comically small, but it was close.

Since I obviously was no longer interested in sleeping with him, I decided to play it like I really wanted to watch the movie and “wasn’t that kind of girl.” (For the record, I am totally that kind of girl.)

I pushed him away gently and told him I wanted to watch the movie. This didn’t really dissuade him. We repeated the process twice more before he got an (awful) idea:

“Oh, I know what you want,” he said, smug about his supposed revelation.

“To watch the movie?” I asked rhetorically, unamused.

“You want this,” he said as he moved his face down toward my crotch.

“No thank you,” I said, as politely as I could. Since he was an atrocious kisser, there was absolutely no way I was going to let him try on my vagina.

“I know what you want,” he repeated as he dipped down once more.

“Let’s just watch the movie,” I said, still trying to be nice about diffusing the situation, but definitely getting irritated with his pushiness.

“No, I know what you want.” And he put his head down in my lap.

No means no. And unfortunately for him, I had had enough of his shenanigans. I grabbed him by both ears, pulled his face up to an inch away from mine, and screamed in his face:

“What about ‘I don’t want your tongue in my twat’ do you not understand??”

He definitely looked horrified. I definitely looked like a crazy person. And I was ok with that. I then got up silently and walked out with him shouting after me, begging me to stay.

He texted me to apologize the next day, which was nice. And then he asked me out again....

I declined.

Suffice it to say, running into him weekly at our apartment complex was a treat.

And that’s how I learned my lesson about not sleeping with my neighbors.

I'm writing this from the Mandalay Bay parking garage. I was supposed to get laid here (at the hotel, not in the parking garage), but it didn't really work out that way. Now I'm sobering up in my car, while I write this and try to figure out where the evening went wrong (the shorter version would be figuring out what went right).

It started this afternoon with a few tinder messages. He was 21, ripped, and dark... according to his profile. And he leaves town tomorrow. In light of the time crunch, I decided to forego some of my usual procedures (such as asking for a dick pic). Perhaps this was the first mistake. As we all know, I use that request to screen for small dicks and prudes.

So I told him I could meet him at his hotel at 4:30pm, since I had dinner plans at 6:30pm. I just assumed that he understood it was for sex. Perhaps assuming was my second mistake.

I packed up lube, a change of underwear, and condoms (of various sizes) and headed toward the hotel.

When I arrived (at 4:30… because I’m a functional adult), he told me he was at New York, New York Hotel (down the strip), but that he would ride the tram back to Mandalay Bay. Seriously?? So I took a shot (or 3) of vodka from the half gallon in my trunk and decided to wait.

I finally met him at the tram station at 4:50. I wasn't convinced he was as ripped as his pictures indicated. Furthermore, he couldn't have been more than 5'11". I was not amused.

Whatever. He looked like he would have a big dick, and I was already there.

"Let's go up to your room; I have to leave in an hour," I said as I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

"Oh, well I don't have the room key,” he replied. "My roommate does."

"So what did you think we were going to do?" I asked dryly. Keeping the anger out of my voice was becoming more of a challenge now.

"Well, I don't know... maybe hang out first."

"But I have plans at 6:30," I replied slowly.

"Yeah me too! I'm going to Benni Hana." he said, sounding very excited for his upcoming weird sushi experience.

I laughed (genuinely) and started walking back toward the parking garage.

He walked with me in silence for a few minutes.

"So what kind of car do you have?” he asked.

“No.” I already knew what he was thinking. For so many reasons… no!

"Why not?"

So I laid it out for him in a list:

1. My Accord is too small

2. My Accord is full of clothes, shoes, and books (because I am a slob).

3. My Accord has cloth seats

4. I am not getting banned from this casino (and every other casino owned by MGM)

"Well, how about outside the car?" he tried.

“No.” But that did make me laugh.

We finally reached my car. He got into the passenger seat of my filthy Accord and we sat in silence.

"Would it be too much to ask for a blow job?" he asked suddenly.

“Yes, it would be too much.” I replied dryly.

"What about a hand job?"

I started laughing... not really at him, but more like at my life. I couldn't stop laughing.

"I'll bet you have a really wet pussy,” he said, seemingly unfazed by my laughter. "Do you?"

I replied that I didn't really know, as I didn't have anything to compare it to.

"Well can I feel it?" he asked.

"I'm going to go now." I said.

He remained still while I stared at him.

After almost a minute of awkward silence, he said goodbye and exited the car, telling me he would be free later and to text him.

That will literally never happen... and not just because the air force guy is coming over (which I am looking forward to).

So now I am sitting in my Accord. In a parking garage. With a purse full of lube.

I'm going to start this by saying that I was already irritated that I had to drive to the strip to meet this guy. However, he assured me that he had a room at the Aria that we could use. That didn't exactly end up being true... but more about that later.

When I arrived, he was still at the nightclub. I asked him to come out and meet me, and told him I would be standing at the only pastry shop in the casino (which is like 20 ft away from the nightclub).

I waited there, standing alone at a closed bakery shop (like a jackass) for at least 10 minutes before I gave him a call.

"I am the only 6-ft tall blonde wearing a pink skirt who is standing outside the pastry shop."

"Oh I think I see you. Turn around."

So I turned around and tried to smile, even though I hated him already.

"Oh ok. Now walk forward," he said.

So I walked forward, thinking he was guiding me to him.

"Now walk backward."

"Are you fucking kidding me??" I whisper-yelled into the phone. "Come over here right now!"

"Oh, ok, I'll come over."

When he walked up and said hello, it was apparent that he was at least 3 inches shorter than he had told me. Bullshit!

But I was already there, and the dick pic he sent was really appealing... so I told him we would go right up to his room.

On the way there, he took the opportunity to ask me everything about everything, starting with how I liked living in Vegas. He then started asking me about my hopes and dreams, which I just laughed at.

When we finally got down the hallway, he swiped his room key and stepped in. Just as quickly, he backed out of it and closed the door. So we were both standing in the hallway again...

"What's the problem?" I asked in the nicest voice I could muster.

"Oh, well I think my roommate might be in there," he answered as though it was legit.

"Well... will you find out please?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Well we could just, you know, go in the bathroom," he suggested.

Really??? You would think I would be used to their stupid shenanigans by now... but apparently not.

"I'm not having sex with you in a bathroom," I replied, exasperated.

"Oh no," he said condescendingly, "you don't understand; the Aria has really nice bathrooms."

Actually, this is true. I knew this from my many experiences sleeping with men who were staying there.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have fooled around with a guy in the shower there... but that guy was hotter and taller than this one. And, the action did not stay in the bathroom.

"No."

"Why not?" he asked as though I was being unreasonable in my demands.

"Because I don't have anonymous sex in bathrooms.. because I'm not a truck-stop hooker."

"Well just come in and see the bathroom." As though being bent over a marble sink would make all the difference over a composite one.

"Yeah... no. I can't handle this. I should just go."

"So you need a bed?" he said with a smirk, as though I had just made a Beyonce-esque request for 1000-count satin sheets and down-feather pillows.

"Yes, and don't act like that is unreasonable."

Fucking prick.

"Ok, well what if we used the bed and my roommate turned around?"

"You mean like if he faced the wall? Like a children's time-out?"

If he had looked like Terrell Owens, I would have helped him brainstorm solutions. But no.

"No," I added, just in case he didn't pickup on my horrified sarcasm.

"So, what about the bathroom?" he tried.

"I'm leaving."

"No, don't leave. You can't leave. I'm already hard."

"I don't care."

I started to walk away and he grabbed my wrist.

"You can't leave yet."

I pulled by arm away, screamed at him, and stormed away down the hall.

Then I texted Dr. Big Dick and made arrangements for 45 minutes later.

So... tonight I slept with a guy I haven't slept with for a few months. I remembered that he had a great dick and great abs, but I had forgotten that he was deathly afraid of house cats. More on this later.

Apparently I had forgotten quite a bit about him, unfortunately only remembering the most important details (nice body and the big dick). He is in the Air Force here locally, which is practically a guarantee of a nice body.

However, I had forgotten just how much he talks. He talks about himself... He talks to himself... And he asks me stupid questions. Like really stupid questions. So I know that "there are no stupid questions..." so let's just say that he asked me very childlike questions.

For example: "Did you move?"

"Did I live here when you came over for sex last time?" I asked with a straight face.

"No."

"Then yes, I did move."

"Oh. Is that why there are moving boxes here?"

Seriously??? I can't even...

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

I stared at him blankly.

"Probably not as much as I missed you," he added. This made it even more awkward.

He also wanted to kiss me on the mouth (which I hate).

Not that this was shocking to me, but I was annoyed when he asked me to have sex without a condom. He had already asked me via text message if he could not use a condom. To which I responded:

"Laughing my fucking ass off."

I didn't even abbreviate. I literally spelled it out for him. I figured that he should know that I was literally laughing my fucking ass off at his stupid fucking question. The question could've also been phrased, "Do you think you'd like to get herpes and pregnant today?"

As tempting as that was, I declined (rudely... because WTF).

Once he got naked, I remembered why I enjoyed sleeping with him.

However, during foreplay and sex, he started fishing for compliments. Such as "I like how big my dick looks in your hand."

I responded, "I also like how big your dick looks in my hand." This was definitely one of the more awkward things I've said during sex... but certainly not the worst.

While the sex itself was pretty good, I had to keep giving him explicit instructions, such as "Please don't pull out so far; that's going to end badly." I almost told him that that's how it happened that he accidentally stuck it in my ass last time… However I wasn't 100% sure that that was him, so I elected to leave that part out.

After sex, he took forever and a day to put his clothes back on. It was like he was layering for fall. I didn't know that that was a thing that straight guys did a lot of. It would've been like the world's longest game of strip poker to play with him. Not that I ever would non-sexually recreate with him...

As it turns out, he is also very afraid of cats. Since I have two, this made the evening more entertaining for me. He was especially afraid of my smaller cat. She chased him around my living room at a walking pace. To put this in perspective, he is a 6'4" ripped military man. And she is an 11 lb long-haired puffball who could only be considered medium-sized because of her moderate obesity.

She waddled after him, probably hoping for petting, and he tried to keep his composure as he tried to outpace her (which wasn't hard, on account of the fact that she was walking). She "chased" him around the living room several times, down the hall, through the kitchen, and back to the living room. And then around again in the living room a few times. I let this go on for at least a minute before picking her up so he could flee.

Why was he afraid of my sweet little house cat?

Well... when I asked him why, he said somberly, "they jump up and scratch you."

I asked him why he thought that was the case with all cats, and he responded, "I saw it on Tumblr."

I still can't even.

I told him I would walk him out.

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