Objectifying Men: 2016

Thank you! I appreciate everyone voting! People voted for the Cuban... and I tried so hard!

Long story short... I may have yelled at him and called him homophobic... And he blocked me. <Womp womp>

So I jumped back on tinder to find a suitable replacement penis, which was not easy because the men in Budapest are not very attractive to me.

I was thrilled to find a very buff (and young) boxer (and former professional soccer player) who was willing to meet up for "dinner."

What he neglected to mention in his tinder messages was the reason for his trip to Budapest: getting dental work done. Apparently, he had lost his front 2 teeth in a boxing match.

He was mid-way through the process (of getting implants, I assume)... So he had temporary crowns or something for the front teeth... Which were super fucked up. They looked like chicklets to me. They were way too big for his mouth (and also too big to resemble human teeth). As such, they fit in his mouth at an angle. Well, not just one angle.. More like one was going one way, and the other another way... At 45 degree angles.

He reminded me of the landlord from "Breakfast at Tiffany's." If you don't remember, it was a white guy doing a very racist buck-toothed impression of a Chinese person... which was apparently ok in the 1960s (I'm referring to the racism, not the dental problem). #makeamericagreatagain

Thank God I'm not a face person! But even still... Holy shit was it distracting.

While he was from Switzerland, he had come to Budapest because the dental work was more affordable (perhaps because they give you plastic chicklet teeth to wear around).

He was actually quite pleasant (a quality I find very underrated in men). We did legitimately have dinner, only because I was traveling and was sure he wouldn't get the wrong idea about my intentions.

I chose a Mexican restaurant (very smart in a city with no Mexican population, I know), only because I could not eat Goulash for one more meal. My burrito (I think me eating burritos before sex must be a passive-aggressive thing I do) was surprisingly edible, although I had more margaritas than food. Also my standards for food were quite low after eating Hungarian food for a week (it is my humble opinion that there is a reason Hungarian restaurants are not thing elsewhere). I digress...

We went back to his room, which was in a very cute boutique hotel. Unfortunately, the prematurely bald white guy working reception was seated exactly 4 feet outside the hotel room door... And I'm sure he heard everything...

Keeping it classy, I pulled out my off-brand ziploc bag full of condoms (of various sizes) and lube packets.

I realized my hookup was not as slutty as I had hoped when he asked me about the bag.

"Why do you have that?"

"Why do you not?" I asked, although it was more a (judgmental) statement than a question.

While I didn't answer him on principle, I will answer it for you: it is because traveling with lube is a bitch. I used to have packets loose in the bottom of my purse, but they have exploded all over the contents of my purse on more than one occasion... Hence, the children's lunch bag.

"Do you always have that with you?" He pried.

"Most of the time," I replied, staring at his (ridiculously nice) abs.

He had an acceptable dick. It was probably 7 inches, with moderate girth. I didn't regret my decision to be there, but I also didn't think it was worth taking a picture of... Especially since he didn't seem slutty, I suspected it would have upset his delicate sensibilities.

The sex was mediocre at best, as he was clearly not very experienced.

When he was on top of me, he tried to support himself with his hands on my chest... Like a woman would.

"No! Off!" I said in the same tone I use with dogs when they jump on me or the furniture. If I had had a squirt bottle to spray him with, I would have.

He came too fast (maybe 10 minutes), despite me yelling at him I yelled at him a little, and told him that I expected him to get it right back up... which he couldn't... probably (at least partly) because I had scared him (and scarred him) and was then glaring at him.

I turned my head away and glared at the wall. It didn't work.

He eventually got it back up. He gave another mediocre performance during which I barely managed to get off.

That said, for the benefit of Mr. Clean outside the door, I made sure to keep my language colorful. Some excerpts included, "I want to see you stroke your black dick" and "fuck me with your big black cock."

After that, I told him to stop because I had to go back to my hotel.

He offered to walk me back to my hotel.

"No, thank you," I replied as nicely as I could manage.

"Aren't you scared to walk across the city by yourself at 1am?" he asked.

"No. I am very tough."

I guess I appreciate his concern on some level, but I was torn as to whether I would rather be mugged or have to talk to him for another 30 minutes. Well, not so torn. I chose the mugging scenario (although I did not get mugged). And anyway, I could have taken a taxi if I had actually been worried.

I don't think I'll be returning to Budapest unless I bring my own hired penis (when I'm ridiculously wealthy and can afford to pay for sex).

OMG thank you all for voting! You guys picked a really good one (on my @objectifyingmen fb page)! It went really well! Especially considering I did everything I could to give zero fucks.. such as eating the world's largest burrito beforehand. I also hadn't (and still haven't) shaved my snatch in way too long.

Seriously, my vagina looks like a Portlander's face... Patchy, effeminate, and homeless... But it's actually employed part-time at a coffee shop. I don't think I'm talking about my vagina anymore...

In addition to my burrito gas and scruffy vagina, I was also on my period. Well I wasn't exactly on my period, but I wasn't exactly NOT on my period... But it was fine; we were in his bed!

I also made him pick me up from the best/worst gay bar on the East Coast... Secrets!! if you love dick and haven't been... go! Go now!

But he picked me up and was even more muscular than his pictures... Yassssss!! I love it when that happens!! I didn't think he was as tall as he told me (6 ft), but... fuck it.

In case you didn't see the dick pic (you can still email me for it)... It was pretty great! He was probably 7 1/2 inches. I was pleasantly surprised to find it was girthier than I thought it looked in the pic.

His apartment was filthy to the extent that I didn't want to be barefoot on the carpet. Since I left with him straight from the bar, I asked to use the shower at his place (because I'm a nice person). I regretted it immediately. His shower was appalling. There was mold growing on older layers of mold which I can only assume had died of old age years earlier. (You can also email for a mold pic if you are so inclined)

Surprisingly, this was not the worst pre-hookup showering situation I've ever had (Africa comes to mind). At least I wouldn't get typhoid if I opened my eyes or mouth in the shower. That said, I do have a mold allergy, so I kept the shower very brief.

Omg it was all worth having to take Benadryl! He fucked me like the slut I knew he was. He even had his own condoms (which I inspected for expiration date and evidence of tampering)!

It started out with him touching himself (at my request) for my entertainment. Then it went into a 3-minute process of breathing and lubing to fit it in. #worthit

I would say he knew how to hit the spot, but he was so large that he was hitting every square inch of my vagina anyway.

I made him stay on top for an inordinate amount of time so I could stare at his ridiculous pecs. Oh. My. Gawd. He was dripping sweat literally all over me. It was amazing. He didn't even try to pull any shit that would warrant me threatening to hit him.

This is embarrassing... At one point, I remember listening to myself and thinking I sounded asthmatic. #hotchick

We fucked for over an hour (and multiple orgasms) before I really couldn't continue (and needed to sleep). Actually, I probably could have gone longer (and I know he could have) if I had been willing to walk bowlegged the next day.

He drove me to my hotel afterward. Which was nice. I guess it would have been nicer if it had been in silence...

I can't exactly remember why, but at one point he was impersonating me using a British accent...

"So did you know you were going to sleep with me when you first messaged me [on tinder]?"

"Of course!" I said without hesitation.

I paused. "Ok actually," I began, "sort of. I did have my gay friends vote on you."

"So they voted yes?" he asked, surprisingly nonchalantly. Maybe he thought I was joking?

"Well, they voted for you over another guy."

"So what do you do for fun?" he asked.

Oh boy. "Well, I write a feminist blog," I said, hoping that would make him want to stop asking questions. It didn't work, although his question was not what I expected:

"What do you think of that woman who made her own bread from her yeast?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, that news story about the woman who made sourdough bread from her, you know, pussy yeast. I thought you would like that."

I suddenly remembered why I prefer to pay for ubers than to let them drive me home. That said, I was beyond amused that his one talking point around feminism was vagina-related leavening...

Overall, I can't imagine this was a great experience for him, but it was fantastic for me!

This is the first MBA player I have slept with this year. Probably. And really, I don't follow sports... so he could actually be just a random 6'7" guy who has a great body and claims to be in the NBA... Doesn't matter. My vagina doesn't know the difference.

It started with a lengthy conversation with this very tall gentleman on tinder. The whole process took over an hour, but the highlights were as follows:

Me asking for a dick pic, him denying me the dick pic, me asking how tall he was, me telling him to uber over to my condo, and me calling the gate guard with the name of the gentleman caller (which I have forgotten completely).

Now the gate guards at my condo complex all know as much as you do about my sex life...

Anyway...when the basketball player gave me his number, I discovered that we had a text message history... Apparently, I had talked to him two years ago when the summer league was in town. It seems he had refused to send me a dick pic and I stopped talking to him.

This year however, I was feeling lucky.

By "lucky," I really mean "thirsty."

I also felt justified in not shaving anything (meaning my vagina) because I was still a little mad that he wouldn't send a dick pic. I had about 2 1/2 weeks worth of bush grown out... so maybe like 1/6 of my potential bush.

When he arrived, I served him tequila in my porcelain teacups that my godmother gave me (because that seems to make men uncomfortable and I love that).

I have a teapot shaped like a chicken (that is another story), but I forgot to use it. :(

I generally find it difficult to write about those sexual encounters that go well (as the entries are more like erotica than commentary)... but I'll try.

His dick was much bigger than I thought it would be. It was probably 7 inches long, but had substantial girth.

While I generally appreciate an uncut cock, this situation seemed different. He had too much foreskin... and it was way too tight around the head. I wasn't sure if it was even loose enough to push down. The skin was so long that it covered the entire head and then gathered a bit at the top. Somehow the dick in the tight skin reminded me of a youtube video of putting a diabetic foot into a compression sock... which is probably why he doesn't send dick pics...

I decided to not even try to move the skin. I just asked him to get a condom immediately.

Of course, he didn't bring any. Charming. And so unexpected <exaggerated eye roll here>.

So I grabbed a magnum from my top drawer and put it on him carefully so as not to disturb the foreskin situation.

It took me a minute (and a lot of gun oil) to get it in. But then, it was awesome!

I love love love slutty men! They aren't afraid to get up in there and beat it up. Also they don't cry if I have to yell at them (which happens fairly frequently).

I'm not saying all athletes are sluts... but... I'm not not-saying it...

I made him stay on top for an inordinate amount of time because the view from below was amazing (also I am lazy). His abs were on point, his shoulders were broad and his face I was ignoring. Because of his low body fat percentage, I could see every muscle engage, and that is one of my favorite things in life.

He got me off twice along the way, with him doing most (like 90%) of the work. #winning #nbasummerleague

It wasn't awkward until I almost had him out the door and he turned and said, "I am going to call you."

I stared at him for a minute, then just closed the door slowly with an uncomfortable look on my face.

Very smooth, Cristina.

Email me for the dick pic :) objectifyingmen@gmail.com

"So am I in your top 5?" he asked.

Um... thanks everyone for voting (on my @objectifyingmen fb page)! You helped me break a tie (and rob a cradle)!

Background: I was between fucking a 19-year-old NCAA football player and a 24-year-old Air Force guy. The teenager had better abs, and ultimately won the vote by a landslide. So I invited him over for sex.

I keep forgetting that teenage males make me want to punch them in the throat. This desire was elicited in me on a couple of occasions that night.

Now, as I'm writing this at a coffee shop, I am ignoring his texts like:

"So am in your top 5?"

This isn't the first time he has asked me this... it is probably the fourth. The first time (which was right after sex), I just laughed (which should have answered his question).The second time, I tried to deflect by asking why he wanted to hear about me sleeping with other guys... And the third and fourth times, I have just ignored the messages.

The only reason I haven't been forthcoming with him is that he seems too young to crush his spirit. I also feel badly blocking his number... but it will probably have to happen.

But, really?? Top 5??? Like ever?

Bitch please.

That said, he did have a really, really big dick (email me for the pic I took). It was big enough to make my gay friends wince a little!

He started the encounter by biting my neck... which was not as sexy as it sounds.. it was more like a painful predatory bite <occasion 1 of wanting to punch him in the throat>.

I yelled at him, and told him I would punch him if it happened again. And i kind of wish he had done it again so I could have (I should probably talk to a therapist about that).

I started on top, so I could ease onto his enormous dick at my own pace. That went well until my thighs got sore. I would like to say it was 15 minutes of me being on top... but it was probably more like 4...

He was not good from behind. He kept sticking it in too far and pounding on my cervix. After the second time I told him to knock it off, he lost his doggie-style privileges <occasion 2>.

I made him get on top. That wasn't the best either. I could work with it, but the rhythm was no bueno. I can't exactly articulate why it wasn't working better...

He tried to put my legs up behind his ears. I wasn't about to give him control of the depth with a huge cock and bad rhythm...

He tried again. I said "no" in a tone that should have been followed with a rolled-up newspaper. He also had the balls to announce, "When I tell you to do something, you do it."

Bitch please.

I laughed in his face. If he hadn't said it so timidly (like this was the first time he was trying out the line), I might have actually been mad. I gave him enough pointers while he was on top so I could get mine (twice).

Afterward, he insisted on flushing the condom down my toilet in stead of throwing it away like I asked.

"It's a fraternity rule!" he announced. <occasion 3>

I consoled myself by thinking about how much cheaper a plumber would be that if I had had to pay to sleep with a teenage prostitute. I don't know exactly how much that would cost, but I mean to find out before I let my appearance go.

Afterward, he kept lying naked on my bed.

I got up and put my clothes on... and he kept lying in my bed.

I brushed my teeth... and he kept lying in my bed.

"So..." I said as gently as I could (to avoid scarring him more than I already had), "I have to get up early in the morning..." He kept lying in my bed.

"Can I walk you out now, I stated. It should have been a question, but I really wasn't asking.

He finally got up and started getting dressed. And that's when it happened the first time:

"So am I in your top 5?"

I laughed and walked him out.

"So we can do this again next time I'm in town, right?"

Bitch please.

While his skill was lacking, he was still able to stay hard for something like an hour and a half (and had a huge dick). So thanks for voting! And please vote next time I can't decide! :)

Referred cocks don't always work out... but neither do the regulars or the bar hookups or the tindered hookups... because, let's face it, many of them couldn't fuck their way out of a paper bag. Or (like this case) they could, but the level of crazy that they are makes the whole experience a pain.

So... I have a very good friend who has similar taste in men that I do (rule of thumb: 8 abs, 8 inches). And she was sleeping with a particularly attractive former (but very recent) college athlete. When she became aware that he had a friend who looked just like him, I told her I was VERY interested in sleeping with him.

So we made a plan to meet them downtown after a long bar night.

He was just as hot as promised! Maybe even more so.

So far, so good...

He was so tall and built! His arms and shoulders were enormous and defined! In hindsight, it was probably because he was recently out of prison... which would also explain the bad tattoos he was riddled with.

I told him that he should take me back to his place. That was a big mistake. It turned out to be one of the experiences that has taught me to always hookup at my place if at all possible.

I got in his (muscle) car, feeling great about the situation and doing some tipsy flirting with him. Then he started to drive me into the woods.

Well, shit.

While he was potentially driving us out to somewhere secluded to murder me, he started telling my about his most recent ex. Specifically, how mad he was that she had filed a restraining order against him...

Well, shit.

I'm not sure which is worse, having a restraining order filed against you, or being too crazy to realize that you should never ever bring that up with a girl you are hooking up with (or anyone who isn't your parole officer).

I have no idea what possessed me to ask him why his ex felt she had to do that.

"No reason," he replied.

"Bullshit," I said, because apparently I had a death wish.

"Well, nothing really," he tried again.

By the end of our conversation, I discovered that it was indeed something... apparently he had shoved a loaded gun in her mouth.

Well, shit.

I should note here that I don't find dangerous situations exciting, so much as I just accept that they happen sometimes in my eager pursuit of the D. Thank God I am very tough.

However, I resolved to be more polite that evening (so as to not have a gun put in my mouth), and then never call him... no matter how good the sex was.

We finally pulled up to a small house in the woods. I felt some relief, but that was quickly negated by the fact that the house didn't have power or water.

He mumbled some excuse that seemed unlikely. Looking back, I'm pretty sure the house was in some stage of being abandoned... and definitely not his.

He was really, really built though. I could still see every chiseled muscle and prison tattoo (of which there were many) in the candlelight.

Ok, it wasn't candlelight... it was the light of a big camping flashlight.

He had a nice dick. It was probably 7 1/4 inches long. Cut. Straight. Medium-sized head. But the shaft wasn't as thick as I would have hoped for.. but still thick enough to get the job done.

He was nasty, and I love that... but I refused to let him play with my ass (on account of the lack of running water).

I also have a fleeting memory of us standing on his bed while he fucked me from behind. I don't know why that happened. Other than that, the sex was surprisingly normal (by my loose definition). He got me off twice.

Afterward, he refused to drive me back to my car until the next morning, citing his exhaustion. In fact, he even found his car keys and slept on them... I'm assuming so that I wouldn't steal his car.

I hate sleeping in the same bed as my hookups, even when I'm not concerned about being murdered in my sleep (which crossed my mind this time).

That said, my phone was dead and I had no idea where I was. I didn't think harassing him to take me home (or about anything) was a good idea... so I slept there. Somehow I didn't even get lice!

The car ride back to town the next morning was, of course, terribly awkward. That said, I don't think I felt it deeply, as I was just happy to have come away from the experience unscathed and sexually satisfied.

I am very tough, but I really should consider mace.

Have you ever thought you might die on your quest for the D? I would love it if you commented below and told me about it! :)

Let me start by saying that I am not proud of this story. It is from the distant past (not distant enough)... a past in which I hadn't yet realized that I didn't have to be in a relationship to get laid.

So I was in a relationship with a crazy person... He meant well, but he had done too many hallucinogenic drugs (like WAY too many).

I'm not being a bitch... and while I'm not a doctor, he was clearly touched. He would have fleeting episodes where he believed he was Jason Bourne (presumably because he had never read any other book series). While his Matt Damon episodes would come and go, he always believed that the government was watching him.

The only defense I have for dating him is that he had the largest dick I had ever seen on a white guy. It was an honest 8 1/4 inches and got rock hard.

Now for the embarrassing part (as though dating a burned-out lunatic is not humiliating at all)...

Let's call him Bane (not because he was ripped like Tom Hardy in Batman, but because it is close to his actual name... and he was the bane of my existence for a few months).

So Bane would stay at my apartment sometimes, but would always be showered and gone before I awoke because he had very early college classes.

On one particular morning, I got up groggily and stumbled into my bathroom to turn the shower on (as usual). However, that morning, I noticed something in the bathtub/shower. It was small (maybe marble-sized) and brown. I reached down to pick it up.

The moment I touched it, I knew. I just knew...

To confirm, I smelled it (worst idea I've ever had). Yes, it was definitely human feces!

You might think that this would be the most disturbing part of this story... but (sadly) no.

I scrubbed my bathtub and hands with chemicals that shouldn't have touched my skin.

Then I sent him a text I thought I would never have to send to someone I was dating:

Me: "Did you poop in my bathtub?"

Bane: "Why? What happened?"

Me: "One of us pooped in my bathtub, and it wasn't me."

Bane: "It was an accident."

I hated him (both in general and at that moment).

Me: "Ok. But why didn't you clean it up?"

Bane: "I thought I did."

Me: "With what? All my cleansers were still in the back of the cabinet."

Bane: "I tried to mash it down the drain with my foot."

There are no words. None.

I would love to be able to end this story with, "And so I broke up with him." Unfortunately, I didn't.

In fact, I kept dating him (i.e. being his keeper) until I hated him so much that I (albeit briefly) considered running him over with my car.

For the record, I'm not proud of that either.

PART 1 (Written in Uganda, mid booty call)

I haven't slept with anyone who made me question the direction of my life in quite a while... This one, however... I'm really thinking hard about my life choices.

So this started out as a refreshing nod to when sex had to be arranged the old fashioned way. In this case, he was a referral from a friend. That lovely friend had unwanted attention from a certain 6'5" personal trainer. I told her that he sounded like my type.

So she gave me his number, and I texted him something like:

"Hi. This is Cristina. I'm Carlie's friend. You sound like my type. Let's meet up."

He responded a little too eagerly, and we set up a meeting the following day.

Then he called me. I don't know why...

He said many unfortunate things, such as that he lives with his family and doesn't have a car. I'm not being judgy, I'm just saying that those two things make my life harder.

But... He was 6'5" and I literally had nothing better to do (on account of the Ugandan political unrest not allowing me to venture in to the city).... So I decided to meet up with him anyway.

About an hour before he was supposed to pick me up, I realized that I was out of lube. Where would I even buy that in the Ugandan countryside? I briefly considered cooking oil before remembering that I didn't want to risk a yeast infection without consistent access to running water.

I had seen what I thought was lube during my last grocery trip... But it turned out to be liquid deodorant (like the roll-on kind from the 1980s).

So (keeping it classy), I texted him and asked him to get some (lube, not cooking oil) on the way to pick me up. I also made sure to mention that I already had condoms (so as to try to avoid his requests to have unprotected sex later).

He said he would pick it up on his way to get me.

So he showed up to pick me up with someone else, who was driving. He introduced the man as his brother, Alan. I don't think he was his brother (as he was about half as tall as my hookup). Maybe cousin, maybe stranger. Who knows.

Also, he was not 6'5". He was maybe 6'2". And his body definitely wasn't as stacked as I had hoped for. He was muscular, but not incredibly defined. Maybe the standards for personal trainers in developing countries are different... I hadn't really looked into it.

I asked him where he lived and I got the typical African answer I have gotten for every question: "not far."

Thirty minutes of Alan's reckless driving later, we pulled up to the worst motel I've ever seen.

Don't get me wrong, I've had many hookups in cheap hotel rooms... But this was definitely the worst. It cost 25,000 Ugandan shillings... Which is roughly $7.

It was a 10' by 10' room with cement floors, a drop toilet in the corner (behind a curtain), and a fake plant hanging in the corner. There was a very small bed with sheets that didn't look clean (on account of the hair and stains on them).

FML

I was also motion sick from the car ride on windy dirt roads.

FML

In a very long story in broken English, he told me that he hadn't picked up the lube...

FML

So I asked him to show me how big his dick was so I could figure out if we could do without.

He pulled his pants down, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that his dick was pretty big. Really big, actually. It was an honest 8 inches (hard) with proportional girth. So I told him to put his pants back on and go get lube.

"What kind of lubricant do you need?" He asked.

"What do you think?" I asked with a level-10 scowl on my face.

"Well I would think it would be a special kind of oil."

I googled him a picture of a generic water-based lube bottle.

Then he asked me for money.... For the lube, not the sex.

FML

I gave him $6 and sent him out.

Now I'm sitting in the world's shittiest hotel room... And I'm retracing the events of my life that led up to this moment. I concluded that, while I realize my behavior is often risky, I believe that living an uneventful life is the biggest risk of all.

That said... as I'm writing this, I am hearing farm animal noises from outside my window. The window is covered by the world's dirtiest curtain... So I would rather not touch it to peak outside.

Fuck it. It's probably cleaner than the bed.

Yep, the back of the motel is a small farm... I see chickens and a cow.

I can also hear someone calling out in Arabic over a loudspeaker... I guess it's time for the final prayer of the day (not for me).

And he just came back (hopefully with lube).

PART 2 (Written from home)

Yes! He did manage to find lube... a medical-looking package of KY Jelly. I was instantly reminded of my teenage years (because of the KY usage, not because of the unclean plumbing-less setting for casual sex).

Whatever. It was lube.

He pulled his pants down and I was suddenly able to forget that I might be getting lice from the bedding.

The sex really wasn't bad, although it definitely wasn't great. I should say that it was pretty good for a short time (I was surprised I was able to come). He came in about 5 minutes. Unacceptable, but I was hesitant to yell at him, as I had no idea where in Uganda I was, and would have been pretty screwed if he had left me there.

I decided to call it a day since I got mine. I asked him to call Alan.

"Oh yeah, well it might be awhile," he replied.

"Please call him now," I asked with very fake pleasantness.

He finally obliged, and told me Alan said he would be at least 20 minutes (this quote was in African time, which is about 45 minutes in Western time).

He started to take pictures of me and tell me how much his mom was going to like me.

FML

He then started talking about how he imagined "our life" after we got married.

No matter how many times this happens to me (and it happens a lot), it is equally horrifying each time.

I told him that I had no interest in a relationship, let alone marriage. I went on to tell him that I would not be meeting his family.

He ignored this and started asking me how many kids I wanted to have with him.

FML

He started to try to show me pictures of him on his phone while trying to hold my hand (which was absolutely as awkward as it sounds).

I suggested we have sex again. And it went exactly the same was as the first time. And then he resumed telling me about "our" future.

His wedding planning was interrupted by Alan's arrival. I have never been so happy to see a grumpy child-sized man before.

The entire (very long) car ride back involved him holding my hand in his sweaty hands and trying (unsuccessfully) to get me to commit to seeing him again.

FML

As soon as he dropped me off and drove away, I breathed a sigh of relief. I thanked my lucky stars, filed his dick pic away in the appropriate iPhone folder (called "dick pics"), and went to yell at Carlie. JK. I love her.

I am typing this story into my phone (under the covers) while I am pretending to be asleep. So far, the pretending is working.

So... I'm going to start off this story by saying that I was not as off my period as I thought I would be... whoops! I found this out hours before he was supposed to come over... and I decided to proceed anyway.

You see, what had happened was....

I had asked a particularly attractive student (or something) to come over and bring a friend for my roommate (who has similar taste in men). He brought his attractive brother... or cousin or friend... I'm not sure, as he referred to him as all 3 at various points in the evening.

Both he and his "brother" were very built, and 6'3" or so. #winning

Since I had no idea where my cocktail glasses were, since I still hadn't unpacked from my move (6 months ago), I decided to serve them sweet tea vodka in the ornate porcelain teacups (and accompanying saucers) that my godmother has been giving me every Christmas since childhood.

I was completely unable to look at them without laughing while they drank with their pinkies up.

I couldn't even.

I finally got him away from the slutty/bazaar tea party and into my bedroom.

I was feeling really good about the situation when he took his shirt off and revealed his 8 abs. I felt even better when he pulled a few magnums out of his pocket.

Then he pulled a 45 caliber pistol out of his pants and set it on top of my makeup organizer.

Holy shit! That took a turn I wasn't anticipating. I have never had a man pull out a gun in my bedroom before (surprisingly).

"Um..." I started. "Did you think I would be a threat to your safety?"

He laughed. "I'm a street n*gga."

"What does that mean?" I asked sincerely.

"I dunno, it just means shit get rough sometimes."

I just nodded because I wasn't going to judge his journey... and also, I was afraid of upsetting someone with a loaded gun.

Despite the fact that I should have been more frightened than I was, I thought that things were still looking ok... until he took his pants off. Then things were just looking small... Like maybe 6 inches... And not overly girthy.

Shit! Not only was I not nearly as attracted to him anymore, but I was also going to have to insist that we use a smaller condom than the ones he brought.

I chastised myself silently for not asking for a dick pic first. That never ends well for me! And yet, I did it again!

And now I was going to have to tell a man with a loaded gun that his dick wasn't as large as he thinks it is... I decided to wait until the last possible second to switch it out for my own condom (which I thought I had a few regular-sized condoms somewhere in my condom drawer).

He asked me to suck his (little) dick.

"Nah bruh..." I said awkwardly.

"Come on, just put it in your mouth," he requested.

"I'm not really into that," I replied. And by "that," I meant "tiny penises," but didn't want to hurt his feelings (because I am a nice person... and also because of the gun).

I started to touch myself, hoping to shift the action to something that didn't involve his dick at all. He played along, fingering me poorly.

I made it work. And by that, I mean that I touched myself until I came.

Then I pretended to be asleep. I know this wasn't the best way to handle my situation... but I wasn't/am not currently sure what the best way would be.

And now, here I am, hiding under my rainbow blanket, listening, and hoping that the armed stranger in my home doesn't steal anything or try to be inappropriate with my roommate.

Finally, I heard the door open and close. I jumped out of bed to go lock the door after him.

Unfortunately, 5 minutes later, he rang my doorbell. I let him in, and he gave his brother the key. He gave me an incredibly awkward one-armed hug on the way out. I could not turn the deadbolt fast enough.

I had high hopes for this one. He was ridiculously hot. He played rugby professionally (or something). More importantly, that meant that he had to work out A LOT. And his 8 abs were on point.

Unfortunately, sex with him was like a (short) series of unfortunate happenings.

But first...

We went out to eat dinner. I know this isn't my SOP, but I am less confident in my ability to problem-solve in different countries... so I figured being in public first would be safer.

While it was safe, it certainly wasn't enjoyable. He is one of those men who thinks he is brilliant and has the answer to everything. So he proceeded to tell me what's wrong with everything, from African politics to sports regulations to race relations.

In case you want to give him the benefit of the doubt... No, he wasn't an activist. He wasn't doing anything about any of the problems he was so passionately bitching about. In fact, when I asked what he could do about it, he always answered with "Nothing can be done about it because <insert bullshit rationalization here>."

I ordered a small bottle of vodka and began drinking it immediately.

However, since I could really only understand about half of what he was saying (on account of his thick accent he claimed not to have), it really wasn't too bad to sit there and stare at his well-muscled arms.

"Women have it better than men now. The government went too far. We need to have affirmative action for men now." It is so great to know that straight male privilege is thriving everywhere (that was the thickest sarcasm). I wouldn't have believed that even if I hadn't just spent the last couple of weeks working with a local women's empowerment group.

At one point during dinner (which seems to take several hours in Africa), he grabbed by hand, looked into my eyes, and asked me:

"Are you sexually active?"

WTF. So no one besides my doctor has ever asked me that.

"Do you mean to ask me if I intend to have sex with you?" I asked.

"Well... I was wondering because some people aren't sexually active," he stammered.

"Do you mean children and the elderly?" (The vodka had started to kick in).

"What?"

"Never mind," I stated slowly. "I didn't offer to buy you dinner and drinks so that I could not get laid."

He just stared at me blankly. I started to think I was wasting my time (and considerable effort).

However, after dinner, he invited me back to his condo (which was surprisingly nice)! It was on.

So the first weird thing was that he was wearing two pairs of underwear (both of them briefs). Stranger yet, he left one of them on when he got into the shower.

Thankfully, he emerged from the shower naked. His dick was pretty nice. Circumcised. It was probably 7 inches with commensurate girth. However, it was one of those where the shaft is wider in the middle... which is not my favorite.

Unfortunately, the sex was pretty tragic. I started on top, but he insisted on throwing off my rhythm. He was trying to thrust from his back, but completely off-beat.

Fine, so he got on top... and that was much worse. He insisted on wrapping his arm around under my back and holding me too tightly, which kind of squashed my boobs. And (somehow) his arm was digging into my spine. How does that even happen?? Furthermore, he kept trying to rest his forehead on the side of my face.

I kept telling him to give me some space, but I think it was lost in translation. Then every 30 seconds or so he would thrust really hard once.

"Ow! Stop that!" I said. It didn't really hurt (because his dick wasn't large enough to hurt me), but it was odd and disconcerting.

I don't know who ever told him any of the things he was doing were a good idea.

The sex lasted about 5-10 minutes. Unacceptable.

I yelled at him. He tried to go to sleep. I yelled at him more.

He finally agreed to go again (it took like 30 minutes for him to get it back up). I see this as him being less of a man.

"I want to have sex with you without a condom," he stated.

I laughed.

"I want to have sex with you without a condom," he repeated.

I laughed again, less amused this time.

"I want to have sex with you without a condom."

I was too drunk to deal with his shenanigans. "WANT in one hand. SHIT in the other. See which hand fills up faster."

He looked at me like I was crazy (he wasn't wrong about that) and then put the condom on.

The second time wasn't much better than the first, except that I made him stay on his hands (instead of his elbows), giving me room to breath (and have my spine remain out of the action that time). I basically touched myself while looking at his abs.

Afterward, he asked me how it was.

The nicest true thing I could think to answer was, "I made it work."

He drove me home in the morning, which was probably the most awkward car ride of my life. And it was a 2 1/2 hour car ride (thank you rush hour).

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