You know your reputation is in the
toilet when someone sends you a tale of bad sex, unsolicited. Why,
you ask, would a lady feel compelled to do this? That's exactly what
I asked her, once I was done laughing. She proceeded to point out
the numerous tales of bad sex on this here blog, to which I
responded, aha. Ladies and gentlemen, my lovelies, this is now,
officially, where (y)our bad sex comes to die. It's bloody
brilliant! Or not, who knows? Moving swiftly along. This tale; it's short, it's not sweet, it is hilarious and it's oh so sad, but
only for Tom Cruise*. Ann, short for anonymous (she has no
intention of sticking her name, real or imagined on this little piece
of brilliance), is one of you silent lurker types who like to wander
the corridors all stealthy like, apparently taking notes to use
against me at a later date when I run for president (evil little
buggers). This is her contribution to the sewer, a refreshingly
honest take on sex between consenting adults and all (well, some) of
the perils that lie therein. Don't be scared, this tale is neither
crude nor rude (who knew it could be done this way?). Enjoy, then
dive into what I suspect may end up being quite the raucous conversation
down below (my hand is already in the air, I have muchos questions...).
Disposing of...
So I rise to go
pee and in my toilet bowl, there is a used condom staring back at me.
I am stunned. No, not at the condom, but at the location. Who, in
their right mind, disposes of a condom in the toilet? Well, at least
he didn’t flush the toilet so it is easy to wear a plastic bag, and
dispose it properly. Oh wait, this hits me that he didn’t flush the
toilet! Now I am wondering which is worse... is he one of those
people who don’t flush the toilet after peeing? But at least the
non-flushing will not lead to a clogged up pipe system in the
future... So why did he just leave it there, like seriously, where
does he expect it to go? Sigh. There is so much to teach this guy, I
thought he was a man, but it just hit me he is a boy.
Wait, I just got a
flashback. We have been walking the corridors of the workplace, and
sometimes he pops into the gent’s and each time he comes out, his
hands are completely dry. Which is odd because our hand driers take
forever to work; there are no paper towels to be seen around! What a
pet peeve! A non-flusher and non-hand washer... I should have known,
but perhaps lust, like love, is like wool over the eyes of the
beholder. I should have known he was a boy and not a man!
Okay this post is
now becoming bad poetry so let us get to the crux of the matter.
After all the preliminaries had been set aside, we set a date and
time. My place. We had dinner that I had made. We started making out.
The kissing wasn’t too bad, but you could tell he has been watching
too many movies because, ladies and gentlemen, kisses shouldn’t
start all at once unless you were out somewhere building it up and
the passion is bridling. But from a banal dinner (there were no
candles or such), the tension should be allowed to build. Our movie
star firmly planted his mouth on mine and we could hardly breathe.
Naturally matters progressed to the bed where you think, okay, slow
down, but no, the scene has to act out like in a movie, clothes are
being pulled off faster than the speed of light. I tried to put away
my glasses safely on the table, but Tom Cruise was having none of
that, on the floor they went (he, later on, stepped on them on the
way to un-flush the condom). The lady received one lick of a nipple
and that was all that counted as the foreplay, before our hero
swiftly wore the said condom and in the same manner proceeded to
thrust for at most 4 minutes. I thought he had stopped to, you know,
change position or something, but no, it was over.
I guess it is
partly my fault too, I should have taken control, slowed Tom Cruise
down, showed him how it is done. He has potential, I think, but I
don’t feel like teaching a man who is around 30 the basics of sex
(you can’t learn these things from movies guys, the movies are
edited!). However, I am still recovering from the trauma of a condom
in the toilet, unwashed hands (I picture crawlies on unwashed hands,
is it just me?), movie-star tendencies of breathless kissing and
flying clothes, consequently, shattered glasses (do you know how much
a decent pair of spectacles cost?), and worst of all, I still can’t
get the question of “Hii ni nini?” in response to the salad that
I served, the man has never had raw vegetables. Gosh, I thought that
we are now all beyond the village ways and into the world of
sophisticated dining, Caesar's salads et al? This is where you just
ask, kai ni kii?
From now on, the
get to know phase will include questions like, do you know what salad
is? How do you dispose a condom? I need someone to help me wrap it
all into diplomatic language. Suffice to say, there were no
sleepovers that day. This post (This is about (bad) sex) should all
make us better lovers, I hope. Happy sexing ladies and gentlemen.
