#10 - The Solo Cup Incident

Post-Coital, I reached for my cup of water – wait, I can't start there. First a little background is needed:

I was living in a new town, totally out of my element, during the worst sexual dry spell of my post-teenage life. I had no car, no real friends, and few opportunities to meet people my age. It was no surprise then that I hooked up with the first girl that came my way at my first state college party.

“Jenn” was, to put it bluntly, nothing to look at. Her face was dotted with pimples and her eyes crossed without the high prescription lenses that were always slipping down her nose. Jenn's hair was stringy and her curves, pale and sagging. She refused to shave anywhere, not in order to uphold a specific ideology, but for sheer laziness. Her halitosis was inhuman. As I have inferred however, I was desperate. Plus, I naïvely convinced myself that her visible flaws would likely be evened out by her other traits: she must have a great sense of humor, right, or a biting wit maybe, a tragic sweetness?

As I got to know her better, I found Jenn to be humorless, cold, argumentative, pretentious, and tactless. I in fact have no guilt about my candidness here (read: talking shit), because as I was later made aware, during the two weeks or so we were hanging out she disclosed to our mutual acquaintances with every minute detail of our sexual encounters.

Jenn also had the worst-kept apartment I have ever seen. Seriously, I've seen some gross apartments, but Jenn's wins this dubious award. It made me embarrassed for her. Her bedroom floor was a deluge of dirty clothes, from which she would compile her makeshift wardrobe. There was a pile of dirty plates, silverware, and ravioli cans hanging out in one corner – theoretically only so organized because she had company. Mold and drain hair and dead skin seemed to be crawling out from the ajar bathroom door. Inexplicably, there were used Solo Cups in great abundance on every surface. I found myself here in her bedroom, clothes and microbes up to my knees. With one motion, Jenn cleared all of the papers and potato chip bags and Solo Cups off the bed and I sat down next to her. There, I kissed her halitosis lips.

After a mostly unsatisfying climax, I excused myself to go get some water. On the way, I got my first real look at her living room. Devoid of furniture (other than a single lawn chair) the only objects covering the soiled carpet were more used Solo cups. I picked up the cleanest looking one, rinsed it out as best I could, and filled it with tap water.

Back in her bedroom Jenn lounged, her unkempt body hair in full view. I sat on the bed next to her and sipped my water, glancing at her, then the suspicious stain on the floor by her bed, finally settling my gaze on her breeze-blown curtains.

We began a conversation, which quickly devolved into rhetorical argument. In the moment of annoyed silence, I reached for my water and grabbed the wrong cup. About to put my lips on the rim, I looked inside. I saw a used condom. It was not mine.

After a few minutes of listening to her talk about local politics, it started to sink in what I had been reduced to. It was all I could do to get out of there gracefully. I avoided her until she moved away to Idaho or something, later that month.

#4 - This One is a Doozy

My friend and I talk about these stories all the time. How our mothers have no idea who we really are, how they would be disappointed. My mom would tell me to go to church more often, get married, or have children. As if those are the things lacking in my life, and the sad things is, to her they are.


Sometimes these secrets are little innocent stories we don't want our mothers to know and sometimes they're slutty stories. Here's a few that come to mind...


I overdraft my checking account on a bi-monthly basis. And, I don't have overdraft protection. I lie and tell her I do, but I don't.


I will make-out with dudes for fun.


I show people my boobs for money. Not stripping, just strangers who are into that sort of thing.


I've had three ways.


My main motivation for going to the gyno is to be checked for STDs. Whatever else they due is a plus.


I have so much student loan debt, I'll be paying it off for 20 years. Most of the student loan debt was accured because I wanted to travel and buy cool clothes while in school. They (the banks- not my parents) gave me the checks and I cashed them. Now, I'm broke and overdrafting my account every other month. But, you already know that.

I charged up credit cards in college and never paid them.


I still smoke weed on a weekly basis and drink on a daily basis.

#1 - Casual Encounters

On a recent trip back to a city where I used to live, I had a casual encounter.

Upon arriving in said city and hanging out with my friends, and most notably, my ex boyfriend, I had a hormonal reaction. Let's just say, it's been awhile, and when you come to discover that all your friends are in relationships, with the exception of your ex, the casual sex applicant pool seems pretty shallow. Realizing I was still very very interested in my ex and knowing that wasn't going to happen, I did what any sexed-up 20 something with an iphone and cheap beer would do: I went online. At the suggestion and encouragement of my friends at the bar, I busted out my hand-held world-wide-webbing device and posted an ad on craigslist. Yes my friends, it was not a casual encounter, it was a "Casual Encounter". Within half an hour I had 4 responses, the next morning, a dozen more. For once, I felt like the prettiest girl at the dance. I responded to a couple of the ads after evaluating the applicants' photos, and the games began!

Now, granted, when you wake up in the morning, not drunk, and open your e-mail to receive sexual invites from men, sight unseen, it can feel a little awkward. But remember, it's only the internet, and who knows, maybe you're talking to a 12 year old girl. So, after a careful selection process based on level of creepiness, seeming level of desperation, and online humor, I went on a date.

I met the dude at a bar, and was surprised to see that he did not look exactly as I expected, or talk as much as he did online, but when you know there is the promise of sex, what's a hard-up girl supposed to do? The answer? Drink. Drink your ass off.

And so many stiff drinks later, we're off! I would love to say that this was a great experience, and everything went smoothly, and that anonymous sex on the internet is great, but, let's get real here. It's sex. It's always complicated. So...it started. We made out (not a great kisser, you forget that kissing is just kind of wet and awkward if you're not into the person), and then the clothes came off. I'd again like to say that we did it, I had multiple orgasms and everything was great, but no. At the end of some entended oral sex (score!) the dude announces that he drank too much, and has been feeling sick. Weak constitution? Can't hold his liquor? I don't know, and I don't care. All I can think is, thanks! Because: 1. I got off and 2. I didn't actually fuck someone from the internet. Double score!

Will I be doing this again anytime soon? Probably not. Was it satisfying? Well given the amount of alcohol ingested to get over my fears about the process, the memory of it is slight at best.

So, what have we learned? If you go on the internet, YOU WILL GET LAID, but don't expect much.