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?"

<Long pause in which I weighed my horror against how big his dick was>

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).
coming soon...
This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.
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.
Powered by Blogger.

ABOUT ME

Empowered female.

PURPOSE

My raison d’etre is to bring about social equality. For women, such as myself, that means being empowered and empowering other women. There are so many aspects of our lives in which we can practice this, but I choose to focus on our sexuality, because it is a particular passion of mine. Men have been objectifying us for thousands of years. So why are we so late to the party? I enjoy sex (a lot), and I think you should too. I respect myself (a lot), and I think you should too. I would like to show you what this looks like for me. I will not embellish nor exclude any significant details, no matter how private social norms say they should be. It is time for women to step into the light, and start living every day exactly the way we desire. We no longer have to live under the thumb of a man. Nor do we have to live in his shadow. We will only live under the weight of his scrutiny so long as we allow ourselves to. Our self-worth is in no way determined by the opinions of men (or anyone else, for that matter), but by our own opinions of ourselves. No longer will our bodies be subjected to scrutiny, without scrutiny in return. No longer will a man with a child-sized penis feel that he has any ground to stand on when making disparaging remarks about a woman’s body. Fuck him and his little penis. We are strong, and we are worthy. We don't need permission.

Translate