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Most of my early twenties were spent in a dark haze of bad fucking decisions, intermittent recreational drug use, and the worst choices in sexual partners possible. At one point, I went through a phase where I intentionally made the most destructive life choices just to see what would happen. Of course, I’m too much of a pussy to make actual bad decisions, since I live with the paralyzing fear of never achieving success, so when I say “bad decisions”, I mean cheap coke and pregnancy scares; not meth scars and parole.

At any rate, at one point during this time in my life, I was really into not giving a flying fuck what anyone thought – but not in a chic way, in an obnoxious way. For example, I got bronchitis at the beginning of one semester and the teacher was kind of irritating about missing so much class (which is fucking bullshit by the way – kids, if you’re reading this: first of all, call social services on your parents, and second: understand that college attendance mandates are fucking bullshit. If you can get all A’s on the tests, you shouldn’t need to come to fucking class. Thanks a lot, Tucker Max.) So, I spent the rest of the semester chain-smoking Parliament Lights right in front of the door before and after class. I did this so often, that the teacher at one point said, “Should you be smoking so much with lungs that are in your condition?” To which I replied: “Probably not.” and walked off.

Another example of something obnoxious I did just for fun was the time I started banging a semi-friend’s ex boyfriend. I don’t really have any defense for this, and I don’t really even feel that bad because everyone involved in this scenario has since found love of their own, so I guess it’s just something kind of shitty I did a couple of years ago.

Tractor was the kind of guy that was ugly in a sexy way. From certain angles he could look like a fucking basset hound with down syndrome, and yet from other angles (usually over my shoulder as he was, you know, behind me) he was this sexy farm boy who couldn’t tell you what Facebook even was, but could fuck you all night and then again the next day without breaking a sweat.

The thing about Tractor was that he was also fucking dumb as a rock. Not an exaggeration. Kid’s a career busboy with a penchance for pot and blondes. But he knows how to locate and stimulate a clitoris, so whatever. I didn’t keep him around for the brilliant, insightful discussion. Trust.

So one night we got really fucked up. And by really fucked up I mean, “discussing hypothetically dating” – which, if you knew Tractor: was never an option. For him because he had just gotten out of a relationship and for me because no matter how fucking dark shit gets – I still have a reputation to protect. At one point, the conversation traveled down the road of anal.

(I’d like to take a moment here to inform everyone that heterosexual butt sex fascinates me (homosexual butt sex makes sense to me – I’m all good there). Like, I’ve attempted it on three and a half occasions – but something always goes wrong by centimeter one, so I can’t even imagine what the fuck happens at six plus inches. Plus, I can get to the g-spot pretty accurately from the front – so I just find a detour to be unnecessary. I have friends that swear by it, and an ex boyfriend who swears by it, but I just can’t get on board. I will continue to be intrigued and inquisitive by any female who worships it.)

So Tractor and I are chit chatting about anal, you know, the normal pillow talk. I was emotionally drunk that night and obviously loving love – so I agreed to try it.

“Right now?” Tractor exclaimed. Note: this is not a creative flourish, he literally exclaimed it.

“Uh, sure. I guess.” I said.

What happened next is engrained in my drunken memory and will remain there until the Alzheimer’s finally gets me:

Wearing only his boxers, Tractor leapt (again, not a flourish) to his feet.

“Take off your clothes.” He demanded, back turned to me as he frantically searched for something.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“KY. I need lube.” He said demonically.

He was still frantically searching, aaand now the lights were on.

“Oh what the fucking FUCK man.” Tractor sounded displeased. Then, without further explanation, he stormed out of the room.

At this point, it was approximately four am and all of his roommates were home; accompanied by all of their girlfriends. I was still naked and drunk in Tractor’s room, trying to decide if I should just call spade a spade and pass out before he came back when I heard his roommate’s bedroom door bash open.

“Dude. Give me back my lube.” Tractor was now speaking loud enough for the whole house to hear, but not quite yelling.

“What the FUCK man. Don’t just storm in here and take my shit! That’s MY lube I got it at fucking COSTCO, BRO.” His roommate was definitely yelling.

Then I heard a loud crash, two thuds and a bang.

“FUCK IT.” Tractor was officially angry. He appeared in the room about a half a second later, shutting the lights off.

Without saying a word he whipped out his dick, and spit into the palm of his hand.

“Um excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing?” my mind was blown.

“You agreed to try anal so that’s what we’re fucking doing. Turn around.”

“Are you being fucking serious? Like, you just basically got into a bar fight about KY that was purchased in bulk – probably by someone’s mother. That is fucking barbaric. Furthermore, your saliva is not a fucking acceptable lubricant for my ASS. Thanks anyways, though.”

“Whatever. I knew you would never actually go through with it. Wanna just have regular sex?”

"Fuck it, I'm already naked. Sure."



Occurred sometime between 2005-2009

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