This is a story about some awful sex.
I was talking to this girl. Wow, great way to start the story.
This girl had one of the biggest foreheads I have ever seen. If I needed to break down a door, I would use her head. Zinedine Zidane would have cowered in fear at the size of her dome. You could land the entire US air force on her face, and have room to move about. It was so big, that it could hardly be called a forehead. It was more like a fivehead. (I know it’s a bad joke, but god damn it, I love that joke)
So Five Head and I were getting along all right, couple of day dates and all that. Eventually, I head to her house one night and we start making out. Like you do.
Twenty minutes into the make out session, she tells me, “she can’t do…that”.
In case you are wondering, “that” means “bone”. I give her a confused look, she tells me she is on her woman time, and I go home.
A couple of nights later, I get the text. I’m sure you know what that text is. It’s the one that comes after midnight that says something innocent like, “hey” or, “what r u up to?” This text means it’s on (once again, “it” being “coitus”).
So, I get the text, and it is on.
A few winky face emoticons later, and I’m braving the northern England cold to get laid.
I barely get in the doorway when she latches on to my face with hers. Literally, we didn’t even get the door closed all the way. We clumsily stumble up the stairs, and by the time she drags me into her room she is pulling at my clothes.
No one could have predicted how the night would turn out. But from the way she pulled me into her room like I was a prisoner of war being pulled into a cave in Northern Afghanistan (too soon?) I should have made an educated guess.
In an increment of time too small for my phone to measure, my clothes were off and I was being coerced onto the bed. He clothes were also off, but I don’t remember taking them off. Maybe they dissolved. Or maybe she clawed them off with the same gusto she used to disrobe me.
Let me set the scene for you; it is 2am, in a town at the same altitude as southern Alaska, in the winter. It is fucking cold. And I have had a very long week (not spent doing anything exciting, but when you play video games with your housemates until 4 in the morning, then go to classes at four hours later, you get worn out pretty quick). This means that my brain is trying to tell my body to go to sleep, but my body is trying to tell my brain how excited it is because there are naked people with me. Needless to say, it is difficult to get an erection.
On top of all this, we have to use a condom. Now, this may not be what I’m supposed to say, but I hate condoms. So much. With a passion. But, I don’t know where she has been, she doesn’t know where I have been, she isn’t pro-choice, blahblahblahblah.
So I have to get hard enough, for long enough, to put on a condom and then fuck her? Oh god, when did sex become so much work?
I finally get my boy all wrapped up and safe, and she climbs on top of me. We start going for a bit, she’s kind of holding my hands down above my head, whatever.
Five Head is now rocking all back and forth. It is hard to put this motion into words. She is moving her hips back and forth, with no up and down motion. This is not the best feeling in the world for guys. Especially if the girl isn’t lubricated enough… and she isn’t.
Because this isn’t exactly enjoyable for me, I start to move my body up in order to subtly suggest she flip onto her back. It was at this moment, that the night went from awkwardly unpleasant to dear-god-get-me-out-of-here bad.
Like a switch has been flipped, she grabs my wrists and, quite literally, slams them down onto the bed and holds them there like I am about to be tortured. She makes a loud grunt, and while pinning me to the squeaky bed, she picks up her hip movement to a rapid pace that I have never seen before or since. It is still the same back and forth movement, but to a point of angry speed, like I wronged her in some way. One way I described this motion was, “it was if she had a carrot in her vagina that she was trying to grate it along a cheese grater, but instead of a carrot she had my penis.”
It was at this moment that my fight-or-flight response kicked in, and the only thought in my mind was, “how in the hell do I get out of here?!” Thank god that her face was buried in the pillow behind my head, because the look on my face could only be described as absolute and pure terror.
She keeps riding me and I keep fearing for my physical and emotional well being. After a few minutes of this, I notice something. You know that feeling you get on your inner thighs after you run or walk for along time? Now imagine that, but on your penis (if you have one, that is). So on top of the borderline rape scene going on, it starts to hurt. All of this makes me lose my erection while I am still inside of her.
Let me repeat that. I lose my erection while I am inside of her. I didn’t finish and we hadn’t stopped. She was still fucking me, and I lost my erection. This has never happened, to my knowledge, in the history of forever. I think it might have happened once to a knight in the 1400s, but no one ever talks about that.
But here is the real kicker.
What would you do if the guy you were sleeping with lost his erection inside of you? Would you awkwardly stop, roll over, then cry yourself to sleep? Would you look at the guy in his eyes and say, “really?” Certainly, you wouldn’t just keep going. That would be the last thing you would do, right? You would feel the guy go soft, and stop. Right? That is the only thing that could happen? Right?
Wrong.
She kept going. She was fucking my limp dick so hard I thought it owed her money.
And when I say that she kept going, it wasn’t for a few seconds. We kept having sex for another 5 minutes. At least. Everything that I learned in my sex education classes was undermined that night.
I guess she decided that she was done using my body as a perverted playground, because she climbed off of me. I’m pretty sure I said thank you under my breath. It took every ounce of self-control I posses not to run out of the house and back home. In fact, the only reason I didn’t leave was because it was below zero outside. Survival beats awkward situations every time.
The next morning I set a world record for speediest dresser, and was out the front door before 8 am under the pretense of going to some class that I didn’t actually have. I went home, and was able to slip past all of my housemates, who knew where I was the night before. Luckily they were asleep and I was able to shower and scrub myself like a rape victim.
When they woke up, they asked me how my night was. And this, verbatim, is what I said.
“It’s like I was Seabiscuit, and she was riding me to that photo-finish. But not in a good way.”
LATER
Apparently, she didn’t think the entire experience was as horrifying as I did, because a few weeks later, I got “the text” again. Luckily, I had a legitimate excuse (working on a paper or some nonsense like that) and was unable to meet her at the disgusting bar she frequented.
To this day, I still don’t understand how she enjoyed that experience. To me, it is the closest I will probably every get to being forced to have sex. Physically forced, anyway. I guess this could be a lesson in perspective; one person’s trash is another’s awful sex. But, regardless of perspective, the fact remains that I went soft inside of this poor girl during sex, and she kept going. No perspective on earth will change that.
Five Head, you went down on me, and now you will go down in history.
