Objectifying Men

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The night couldn't have gone any better. However, I think he may have killed someone... not on the “date,” but that week.

Thanks for voting for a Washington D.C. hookup! You guys picked a great one (Number 1)! And I appreciate those of you who expressed concern over the mold in the home of Number 2. Your concern for my respiratory health is very touching.

I had a narrow window of time to make this hookup happen, as I had a group dinner and a trip to the male strip club to plan around. I decided it would be best to have him pick me up from dinner and drop me off at the strip club.

So Washington happened to be 30-something degrees that night; of course I chose to wear something completely inappropriate for the weather. This would have been fine, if not for the fact that the heater in his car wasn't working (which he told me as I was getting into his car). He assured me that this would be fine because his seat heater was working. This was not fine, as it was still 30 fucking degrees in the car.

He assured me that he didn't live far (he did) and that it was just a suburb away (it wasn't). In fact, we drove out into the woods, which doesn't usually end well for me (or anyone). I started to get a bit nervous when we passed a local farm store and a parking lot full of old school busses in various states of disrepair.

To make the drive more comfortable for me, he told me that he was a police officer. In fact, he said he was such a kindly one that everyone called him “Officer Friendly.” Then he alluded to killing someone. He told me that he had "had an incident" that week, and would be off for the next nine months. When I inquired about the incident, he told me that he wasn't allowed to talk about it. I asked him if he was alright, and he replied that HE was, and that it involved guns.. but he couldn't talk about it.

He then told me that if someone else had just fired their weapon, that he wouldn't have so much leave time... but he couldn't talk about it. Then he added that if he had just discharged his weapon, he wouldn't have so much leave either... but he couldn't talk about it.

I think he killed someone... And that probably should have bothered me. Instead, I stared out the window at rural Maryland and then texted a friend to tell him I might be a bit late to the strip club.

We finally arrived at his townhouse, I was glad that it had heat, but was struck by the fact that he didn't have any furniture. There were no couches or dressers, but there was a mattress (and boxspring) on the floor of the bedroom. I was pleased to see that the bedding was not visibly soiled. #winning

I went into his bathroom (which was mold-free!). Generally I would have showered [or at least rinsed my PTA (Pussy, Tits, and Ass, not Parent Teacher Association) with the bathtub faucet], but I was experiencing that time crunch, so I just used perfume and smelled my vagina to make sure it wasn't that offensive (you're welcome, hookups).

When I emerged from the bathroom, he had Law & Order: SVU playing on his ridiculously large tv. I told him I didn't want to fuck to old white guys and rape scenarios. He asked me what I would prefer, to which I responded, "how about porn." He looked a bit shocked, and told me he didn't think that his cable package came with porn. We settled on music and I told him to take his clothes off.

He had a really great body! His pictures were nice, but didn't do him justice. He had a huge chest and arms, complimented by great tattoos. His abs were on point also. His dick was nice. It was straight, dark, veiny, and uncut. He barely had any foreskin though. As for the size, I have had bigger... but that is going to be true for everything smaller than two soda stacked.

When he got closer, I noticed that he sort of had breasts. They were definitely hard pecs, but they were unusually round and perky. They almost started up at his collar bone and rounded out above his nipples. It was as though he had told his personal trainer that he wanted to lift and separate his bust. It took me a minute, but I decided I was into his firm and fleshy handfuls. You're welcome for that visual. It wasn’t until afterward that I realized they were probably male breast implants (yes, “pec implants” are a real thing). It would probably be rude/unfruitful for me to ask him about them now.

Anyway… While I was digging around in my purse for my gun oil (which I have to keep in a ziplock bag because it leaks a bit), he put on one of his own condoms. I hate that he did that before I could inspect it (for holes and the expiration date), and I was about to ask to see the wrapper before I noticed that that the condom was both too small for him and ribbed. Seriously?? Did he get that out of a vending machine in a truck stop bathroom??

"Why is that ribbed?" I asked calmly.

"I don't know." he replied. "Why not?"

"Because you have a big dick, and that will make me sore in half the time."

He stared back at me blankly.

"For women, sex is a more of an angle and pressure thing, not a scraping thing..." I awkwardly explained.

"Whatever you want," he said.

That is what I always want to hear, because it means I won't have to scream at them to get what I want. So I switched him out to a traditional Magnum.

The sex went well after that! He was competent with his dick, and didn't give me a lot of pushback on the pace I set. It was going really well until about 15 minutes in, when I made the mistake of looking at his face. He was making the most unsexy grimacing faces... which confused me. I know I am challenging to sleep with at times, but I like to think I don't generally horrify people (at least not in the bedroom).

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You don't look fine."

"I'm just trying not to cum," he replied.

"Ok, I appreciate that..." I started, "but if you keep making those weird faces, neither of us is going to cum."

He kept his face (mostly) under control after that. After I came, I gave him permission to finish so I could get to the club. His cum face was just as off-putting as his trying-not-to-cum face.

I put my clothes on in two seconds and pissed (to prevent a UTI) in 5 seconds. Again, I should have washed my PTA, but didn't.

I asked him for a blanket to use for warmth in the car, and he handed me a fitted sheet and small blanket. It was dark in his house, so I didn't inspect them closely, but I asked why the sheet had been given to me. He gave a very vague answer about putting the sheet down first. I later discovered, while inspecting it in the car, that he had given me a dog blanket. When I called him out on this, he assured me that it was ok because it didn't belong to his dog, but his neighbor's dog. What a relief! I couldn’t even.

After fishing for an invite to the gay strip club, I told him that he was expected to tip the swinging dicks and described the different dancers from my last visit, and he decided he would just drop me off.

And at the end of all this, I was only 10 minutes late!

I hated him immediately. And that before the whole herpes thing...

He managed to go from zero to asshat in under 3 seconds. Making me hate him so quickly was actually quite an accomplishment since he was willing to help me carry a hot water heater (150 lbs) up my stairs. He had boasted about being able to bench press 500 lbs, so I seized the opportunity to avoid hiring someone.

From the moment I opened my jeep to reveal the water heater, he tried to tell me we shouldn't move it because he didn't think I would be strong enough. What an asshat.

I was indeed strong enough, but he proceeded to be patronizing for the whole journey from jeep to front door.

"Be careful, Sweetie," and "you sure you've got it, Sweetie?" in his most condescending used-car-salesman voice.

I decided to wait to yell at him until we got the water heater inside.

Once we got inside and I yelled at him for being patronizing, he seemed shocked. I find it very hard to believe that this is the first time he had been told that people dislike being talked down to. What an asshat.

He muttered some douchebag form of apology and I offered him vodka out of the chicken teapot. He drank it, but complained that it wasn't Grey Goose (it was Ketel One).

I also found it peculiar that he chose to focus on the brand of premium vodka, rather than the chicken it came out of. Or the porcelain teacup he was drinking it out of. Or the organic green juice mixer.

Anyway... I also found it odd that he kept trying to take my clothes off as I poured the drinks. I asked if he wanted to skip drinks, and he said no.

But he had pulled by pants down to my knees such that I was just standing in the middle of the kitchen holding the chicken teapot with just my bare ass out. My poor roommate. She deals with so much.

I told him that I would have to pull my pants up to walk to the bedroom, but that I would certainly take them off when appropriate.

Once we got to my bedroom, he pulled down his pants to expose his huge dick, which was already hard.

"Perfect!" I thought!

So I took my pants off and threw him down on my bed. I went to grab his dick for my compulsory visual inspection and quickly recoiled. I stared at the flat white blisters for a second trying to process what I was seeing. Of all the hookups I have ever had, I have never actually found anything in my inspection before (aside from an occasional ingrown hair or sloppy circumcision). My millions of STD google image searches flooded my mind. I'm sure I would have flashed back to health class if I had had it (I got the Catholic school version: "family life").

"OMG he has herpes!" I thought.

Actually, it was probably the strain of HPV`that causes genital warts. There were two clusters of flat white blisters about half way down the shaft. It was like the exact picture out of your (not my) health class textbook (my textbook just had smiling white families).

Then began the most uncomfortable conversation of my life to date:

"Is there a problem?" he asked impatiently.

I though about my word choice carefully, as my first mental draft ("My problem is your disease outbreak") wasn't great.

"Yeah... I'm uncomfortable with these bumps here," I said slowly as I pointed to the largest of them.

He grabbed his dick and looked at it carefully, twisting it to look at the sides of the shaft. He really examined it closely, pretending not to see the blisters on it.

"Oh Sweetie, that's what foreskin looks like," he replied... like an asshat.

I couldn't decide if I would rather punch him in his insolent face or rashy dick. I resisted. Did he think I had never seen (hundreds of) uncut dicks before? If that's what he is banking on, he should really go after much younger girls... like under 20.

"Why are you making this awkward?" he asked.

For the record, trying to hook up with someone while you have an outbreak is awkward.

"I am not comfortable with this," I stated.

"Are you trying to say I have some sort of disease or something?"

Actually, his doctor should be the one to say that, but anyway...

"Do you want to see my test results??" he demanded.

"Yes please," I replied, knowing he wouldn't have them. BTW there is no CDC-approved test for HPV in males (there is an anal swab test however). Diagnosis is more like a doctor looking at your dick warts and recommending treatment.

"Well, I don't have the results with me right now! But I've had those bumps since I was born. They are nothing!"

I tensed up a bit as I wondered whether or not this would go badly. And by that, I mean whether he would try to force himself on me and I would have to shank him. I decided probably not. I relaxed a little.

"Well if you aren't comfortable, then we don't have to do anything."

Of course we weren't going to do anything! You have a fucking wart outbreak! But I was glad that he came to that on his own (and that I didn't have to stab him).

"Great!" I exclaimed, jumped out of the bed, and started putting my clothes back on without making eye contact.

"So we really aren't going to do this??" he demanded.

"No. I am not comfortable." I replied with conviction and lessening patience.

After finally standing up, he tried to convince me to fuck him a few more times in various (idiotic) ways, but I wasn't having it. He tried to hug me in a way that his dick would touch me, and I awkwardly dodged it.

I walked him out, locked the deadbolt, and gave my hands several thorough washings.

Upon further contemplation, it's kind of amazing (statistically speaking) that I haven't encountered visible STI's before now. But still, who shows up with that shit going on??

So remember kids, 1 in 6 Americans has genital herpes. Always do a hooker-style dick check and always make him wear a condom (that fits him properly).. because straight men will try to fuck everyone (I would know) unprotected and then be mad and indignant when they get bumps on their dicks and unwanted children (straight men are stupid). This hookup had both these things.

What an asshat.

I put it to the vote, and you all (narrowly) chose number 1. And what a great choice that was! It went so well that I'm afraid the story won't be very entertaining. But I will try! Here goes:

He was insanely ripped! He was a 23-year-old security guard and amateur power lifter who used to be in the Army. I may have made some of that up. I'm not sure. It sounded right.

Anyway, I do know for sure that he had a nice dick! The pics he sent were good and a very accurate representation. It was about 7 1/4 inches long with proportional girth and a large head. He was uncut, but he had so little foreskin that, in the dark, I would have believed that he circumcised. Not that I am ever in the dark with them... Feel free to text or email for the dick pic I took.

He was much less effeminate than his tinder pics suggested. That said, he did have three little Chinese characters tattooed on his stomach... which wasn't the straightest thing I've ever seen. I wasn't interested enough to ask what they meant, and I was sure the answer would have been some buzz words off a placemat at a vegan restaurant (e.g. harmony, tranquility, balance, prosperity, health, love).

But he had a great body, a good dick, he was young, and seemed slutty. #winning

As for the actual dicking part, it was pretty good. He required some direction, and I wasn't shy about giving it. Some examples of my constructive feedback include, "faster," "slower," "don't do that," and "never do that again." And of course, "No!" with a Cesar Millan-style hiss.

He wanted to keep his necklace on during sex. I found it odd, but tolerated it because it was a short chain that probably would hit me in the face.

Everything would have been normal except that he had a very strange way of touching my body. It was like he was trying to pull on my skin... sort of like a masseuse who ran out of massage oil, but kept rubbing me down anyway. First it happened on my tits. I told him to be more gentle. Then he did it on my sides. I didn't even know how to tell him what he was doing wrong with regard to my skin.

There were a couple of positions where I found myself just staring at his abs. I don't think it is anatomically possible, but I swear he had 10-pack!

In the midst of fucking on his knees with me sort of sideways (I have no idea what you call that position), he put his necklace in his mouth and kept it there for several minutes. He seemed to be sucking on it a little. I don't make a habit of looking at their faces, but I did find this a bit distracting.

Critiques (and weird skin thing) aside, he handled himself well. Like a man should, he came only when I gave him permission. He asked for a round 2, but I had to get up early and my skin couldn't take it anyway.

He expressed interest in coming over for sex again, and I told him we could probably work that out. I would actually love to work him into the regular rotation as long as he doesn't try to talk to me too much.

So the next day he tried to talk to me too much. He asked me about my day and shared the mundane details about his. I hate that. No one cares about your daily bullshit. I told him so (in a nice way), and he seemed to understand. Actually, it wasn't so much in a nice way as it was giving one word responses hours later. If he hadn't gotten the hint, I would have to have that "don't talk to me except to schedule sex" conversation I keep needing to have with men. How is it that all straight men seem to want relationships of some sort??

I have high hopes that he can stop communicating with me and we can fuck in the future.

Disclaimer: This entry makes me feel like an asshole (probably because I am one)... but I wrote it anyway. You're welcome. I should add that straight men have been shaming women about their bodies for thousands of years.. and most still do it everyday. So fuck them. Enjoy!

As usual, I should have known better than to choose this one. His tinder bio (which I didn't actually read before swiping right) was very clear that he was looking for a relationship. When I finally read it (to try to find out why he was asking so many questions about my life), I told him I was only looking for sex. He said he would be alright with just a hookup, and we agreed to meetup for sex.

I really, really should have known better. From my extensive experience, I have learned that the "relationship type" of straight man has something horribly wrong with him (e.g. small dick, dick that doesn't work right, one testicle, severe emotional problems, adult acne, general ugliness, etc).

Even though he was looking for a relationship, I decided it would be fine because his dick pic was great (ask me for it if you want to see it), and his pictures were all very muscular. In fact, he looked scary-built.. like Flo-Rida (I would pay a lot of money to have sex with Flor-Rida; although I doubt he would be open to prostitution until he runs out of money).

So I chose to ignore my (justified) opinions about guys who are the "relationship type" and set up the hookup anyway.

So the entire evening was characterized by me being disappointed and resentful, but still trying not to make him feel woefully inadequate (which is not unlike the dynamic of my past relationships).

From the beginning... he arrived (an hour late). I was hoping for Flo-Rida, but I got Rick Ross (circa 2008). JK he was more like an amalgamation of the two: built upper body, but fat.

As you all know, I appreciate a good 8-pack (because it is both fashionable and functional), and I get them (with the exception of my thirstiest nights). I definitely need to be the thick one in the arrangement... so let the hypocrisy begin:

I stood in the doorway deciding whether or not to abort the booty call. He was wearing a large shirt, and I found myself trying to decide whether he had pecs or man-boobs. I took an inappropriately long time to weigh the pros and cons. This is what I came up with:

PROS:

1. He was there and willing

2. He had great shoulders

3. He was 6'3"

4. It was probably too late to call anyone else

5. His dick pic was good

CONS:

1. Fat

2. I was very sober

3. Fat

Fuck it... I decided to do it, knowing I could always kick him out later.

I offered him tequila out of the chicken teapot. He declined (probably because it was in a chicken teapot), but I was really only offering so that I could drink without hurting his feelings.

I took him into the bedroom and turned out the lights. I tried to do so smoothly as though I always turned out the lights (I never turn out the lights). There was still enough light coming from my window so that I could make sure he didn't have a herpes outbreak and put the condom on correctly.

He took his big shirt off and left his undershirt on. I generally don't allow them to keep any clothes on, but I was thankful he did in this scenario. It turned out that he had pecs and moobs... like with the moob sort of on top of the pec. It all rounded out to a full B-cup.

Where is a glory hole when you need one? He would have been perfect if I had only had a wall between me and everything but his dick.

I told him my favorite position was that one where he stands and I lie on the edge of the bed (like it's a gyno table) and have no contact with anything besides his dick. He tried to pick up my legs to put over his shoulders and I just yelled, "No!" in my usual demeaning tone. I turned my head away to stare at the wall and think about Flo-Rida (which seemed marginally appropriate).

I can't believe the scenario worked for me! He actually wasn't bad with his dick. Somehow I managed to get off in my weird minimal-contact position that kind of hurt my back. It was a Christmas miracle!

I walked him out quickly after that, citing the fact that it was late because he was an hour late arriving.

Overall, I made it work, despite being moderately appalled by his bmi. And I am really considering cutting a glory hole into one of my walls (I like to keep things classy in my house) just in case this happens again.

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