I’m not too ashamed to talk about my sexual misfortunes. Personally, I find it funny when things take a turn for the worse. That one time my roommate allowed half my dorm to get a good view of my vagina, the (first) time I accidentally got a tampon stuck inside me, or making a pun mid-hump during my first one-night stand experience all helped shape me into the woman I am today. I think the reason I have no problem laughing at those situations, however, is because all of them are more or less not my fault. Maybe the pun joke was on me, but the point is, all of those things happened to me, not because of me. I was a girl who had bad sexual experiences, not a girl who was bad at sex. You know, that’s what I told myself.
In a horrifying turn of events, it turns out I am terrible at sex. I had no real reason to ever believe I was good at it in the first place, if I’m being honest. All I’ve ever accomplished was laying on my back and giving myself full credit for a barely 20-year-old’s quick ejaculation. When in reality, that boy was going to cum in four minutes flat whether he was humping me or a pillow.
One moment I was a sex goddess on top of the world, the next I was on top of my friend, Sean, breaking his penis. Yes, you read that correctly. My inability to correctly cowgirl — arguably the easiest sex position — is how I know I’m terrible at sex.
It started like any other night. All of the boys on my roster had ended their nights with better options, so I called up my trusted friend Sean. Sean and I had been using each other for mediocre fornication for a little bit over a year at this point. It wasn’t good sex by any means, but he was good with his hands, I was completely comfortable with him, and usually he’d buy me pizza. Which is exactly where he had fucked everything up, because no good deed goes unpunished.
After a night of sloppily grinding on each other and making out, we left his fraternity house to go back to his place. A walk I’ve done a thousand times. We passed by a local pizza joint that caters almost exclusively to underaged drunks and I not so subtly asked him to buy me pizza. He told me that he didn’t have any cash on him, but he would order it to be delivered once we got to his house. It sounded like a win-win situation. Too bad he didn’t factor in the 15-minute walk back, the 20 minutes it took him to pour us more shots and figure out the online ordering, and the 45-minute delivery wait.
On any day, an hour and twenty minutes is a long time to wait for food. On this night, however, the drunchies hit like a fucking truck, and the entire time I only had pizza on my mind. He convinced me that sex would distract me from my hunger, but we all know that’s bullshit. A solid 30% of the time I’m having sex I’m fantasizing about food, and most of those times I’m not even particularly hungry. But what’s the worst that could happen?
I was riding him like a champ. He was moaning, he was cursing under his breath, he was doing the most to ensure I knew he liked it. Then, as I was wondering if the pizza boy would take my “special request” to break into a Chick-fil-A and grab me a few dipping sauces (pizza dipped in Chick-fil-A sauce is a thousand times better than pizza dipped in ranch, trust), the doorbell rang. I was so excited that I would be able to eat soon that I jerked, hard. He screamed. I laughed. His penis bled. The pizza boy failed to get me Chick-fil-A sauce. Essentially, all that could go wrong, did.
Snapped Dick Sean took a while to forgive me. I’m sure me blaming the entire thing on him didn’t help, but I don’t know that for sure. Eventually we did have sex again. It was supposed to be the great redemption. I feel like we both needed it to be good, you know? Grown ass people making rookie sex mistakes bruised my ego as much as I bruised his dick. But then he fucking swallowed my nipple ring. So we don’t talk anymore..
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