The Horrifying Story Of The Time I Tossed A Guy’s Salad


“Are you sure you want me to do this?” I asked, trying not to breathe in through my nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said from somewhere that sounded very far away.

My stomach dropped as I willed myself to move forward. It’s fine. you love him. It’s fine. I repeated this mantra over and over in my head as I gazed around the room, praying for anything to stop this. A meteor. The end of the world. Herpes. But no. Here was I was, eye to eye, for lack of a better phrase, with what was surely going to be the worst moment of my twenty-two years. One final breath and a “you got this, girl” in my head, and slowly leaned forward and put my face into a college man’s asshole.

Yes. I was doing the thing girls never have to do. I was going there — to the place you swore you would never go and doing the thing you swore you would never (ever, ever, ever) do. I was tossing a guy’s salad. Giving him a rib job. Licking his butt. Whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t matter. The point is, it’s just about the most disgusting thing a human can do to another human, and as I leaned forward into the field of broken (hairy butted) dreams, I realized that my life might officially be over.

It started how any of these situations start. With alcohol and the topic of s-e-x. My ex and I had been casually talking (read: screwing each other’s brains out) for the past few months after the night I drunkenly texted him and we agreed to meet up and “talk.” From there it had been a whirlwind of late night sleepovers, insisting nothing was going on between us, and doing acts in bed that we never did in our relationship. We decided to try things out and make all of each other’s fantasies come true, for lack of a less basic way of putting it. Still, for the most part, I figured it would be easy, late night romcom stuff — like calling him daddy or licking whipped cream off of his imaginary abs.

How weird could anything a 19-year-old frat guy want be? Maybe a threesome, or a little BDSM. But surely nothing really gross. So when he invited me over at 11 p.m. that fateful Thursday night, I thought nothing of it. He’ll go down on me, I’ll do that thing he likes with the feather, and then I’ll make him get me Taco Bell while I lay in bed using his Netflix. It sounded like the perfect plan to me, and I spared a smile at myself in my mirror as I slipped on an old sweatshirt and headed out the door.

As I pushed opened the heavy wooden door to his fraternity house, I was greeted with the rare sounds of silence. This was prime bar time, and skipping out on a night of drinking with his brothers must have meant he had big plans. A shiver of excitement pulsed through my body as I walked down to sticky hallway and knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he mumbled.

There he was. In those pajama pants that hung low on his abdomen and allowed a peek of his almost v muscle. His tanned chest came forward as he wrapped me up in his arms. A slow, sexy smile spread across his face as he leaned forward to tenderly put his lips on me. I fell into his kiss and allowed him to pull me back onto his shitty, full-size bed. His mouth made its way to my neck and I felt my body melt as he bit me just hard enough. This is the fucking life, I thought, as I laid back and allowed him to pull off my sweatpants. His warm breath tickled my abs (okay, well the place where abs could be) as he dragged his body slowly down the bed.

Alright, ready to cue up a fantasy, I thought, as he grabbed my legs and pulled me closer to his mouth. Let’s see. Zac Efron? Nah. Too pretty. John Krasinski? Eh, too nice. Mila Kunis? Hmmm, no I definitely need a dick right now. Maybe a Hemsworth? Yes! Chopping wood or changing my oil for me so I don’t have to pay $100 for it. Yeah, that’ll do. Just as my Chris fantasy was wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the shirt he just removed, the guy who was licking my lady parts looked up.

“I have an idea,” he stammered, as I felt my almost-orgasm slowly slip away.

“Oh yeah?” I prompted, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice as Chris Hemsworth packed up his chopping wood and left me behind.

“Yeah. Something new we could try.” He sat up and reached for a bottle of tequila that was on top of a textbook he had obviously never opened.

“Tequila?” I asked, feeling my stomach clench.

“No. I mean. Sort of. I just want to drink a little. Want a shot?”

I nodded, despite my intense hatred for tequila. Whatever was on his mind was making him nervous and being drunk would probably help the both of us. I watched, hypnotized, as he poured one, two, three shots for us. And with each sip, my curiosity grew stronger as my inhibitions lowered.

“Soooo, what is it you want to do?” I slurred, after chugging my fourth shot and putting the glass (one from a rival sorority, of course) down on his nightstand. Maybe he was going to want to make things official between us. We had been seeing a lot of each other, and no matter how casual I liked to pretend we were, I couldn’t deny it — I was annoyingly, helplessly, desperately in love with him.

He, too, put down his shot glass and turned towards me. I could see contradicting thoughts cross over his face, and I forced my own, normally bitchy features to look kind and trustworthy. At last, he let out a sigh and opened his mouth. My heart hammered. This is it, I thought, as I reached for his hand and bit my tongue to keep from shouting “yes” too early.

“You know how that one time we, uh, you know?” He asked while gazing fixedly at his crossed legs.

“Uh, what?” I asked, willing him to make eye contact with me.

“When we uh….tried buttstuff?” He said in a rush, so fast that I almost didn’t hear it.

I immediately froze as the rush of words he said repeated themselves over and over in my head. “Buttstuff. Buttstuff. Buttstuff.” I pulled the disgusting sheets his mom had given him freshman year up to my chin. Yes. I remembered. How could I forget? It was the reason for our downfall and the reason I always clench my butt whenever someone so much as mentions anal. My heart pounded as I felt my head nod up and down slowly.

“Well, I was thinking,” he started, oblivious to the horrified look on my face, “that maybe we could try again but uh. Differently? You know?”

Huh? I watched as he finally raised his head to look at me. The moment his eyes locked into mine, he realized that he would have to spell it out for me. I held my breath as the words a girl never wants to hear fell out of this beautiful man’s mouth and landed in my life.

“I was hoping you could give me a rim job.”

So yes — my life was basically a Nicholas Sparks movie.

I just stared at him as the shock of what he’d just asked left me paralyzed. It had come about casually, fueled by alcohol and hormones. But I know there was nothing casual about this. It was calculated. It was planned. And it was pruned. As I thought through my options, I realized I had three choices:

1. Say no, let it be awkward, and most likely end this almost-relationship.
2. Say no and GTFO of there.
3. Say yes.

As I gazed at him, all of the great orgasms I’d had with him flashed before my eyes. Isn’t the point of being with someone experimenting with them? Trying new things? Making sacrifices? The tequila swam inside my mind as I felt my head nod up and down. What?! What was I doing? But it was too late. Before I realized it, my mouth was opening and I was answering.


Fuuuuuuck. A smile spread over his face. He leaned forward and kissed me, and I said the only thing I could think of.

“Go take a shower.”

So there I was, sitting in his bed, listening to him singing in his shower and cleaning his asshole. How did I get myself into this position? You love him, a voice in the back of my head whispered. Yeah, but at what cost? I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it but I’m no quitter. How bad could it be? It’s just skin…right? I sat there in a daze, willing myself not to throw up (tequila plus thoughts of a rim job do not mix). I kept saying motivational phrases to myself. And then, finally, he came out of the shower with a towel hung low on his hips.

“So…now?” He asked, a hopeful expression on his face.

No. No, no, no, no, no. No.

“Yeah. Okay.” I murmured, sending my insides into a chorus of curse words.

He bounced over to the bed and perched on the edge.

“So how should I…” he started, wondering how he should position himself.

“I uh. I don’t know. I guess like, in doggy?” I said, as I felt my soul leave my body and kill itself.

And then, before my very eyes, the guy I loved removed the towel from his body, crawled on his hands and knees, and revealed one very hairy, very manly ass. I looked at it with a kind of twisted fascination. There’s no way anyone actually licks anyone’s asshole, I thought, as I tried to buy some time. What do I do? Just like, stick my tongue out? I started to lean forward and immediately backed up again. There’s no way. There is NO way, I thought, as I tried, yet again, to avoid eye contact with his ass.

I saw him quivering, waiting for me to make my move. This is it, I willed myself, repeating my mantra over and over. He has to marry me after this. Or at least go down on me until I fucking finish. I took one giant breath like I was going under water and started moving in again. I felt my face connect with skin, and I knew I had to be close. I stuck my tongue out, and it immediately made contact with something hairy. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay, I muttered to myself before my mind could freak out. See? This is…normal, the tequila lied as I moved my tongue around in slow, sad circles.

I hear a moan escape from his mouth, and at that moment I snapped out of it. I removed my head from his ass cheeks and sit back on my heels.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, turning around with a look of surprise on his face.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!

“I was just licking your asshole,” I sputtered jumping off of the bed.

“Yeah…I know,” he said, looking down, embarrassed.

“I uh. I need to go,” I finished lamely, grabbing my sweatpants off the floor and yanking them up my legs. I shoved my feet into my shoes and raced down the hall, avoiding eye contact with the brothers who were slowly trickling in from the bar. As I walked home, I realized — it’s one thing to bang a guy who isn’t your boyfriend, but to literally kiss his ass? Nah. That shit isn’t right. I got in the elevator to my apartment and looked at my phone. Three missed calls and a text. Predictable.

“Hey. What happened?” He had texted, three minutes after I left.

I stood in the elevator, transfixed. Maybe you don’t need to save love until marriage. Hell, maybe you don’t need to save sex until marriage. But licking someone’s disgusting, hairy asshole? Yeah. That’s something you don’t just do with anyone. Like ever. There are a few things that are sacred. A few things that are special. Giving someone a rim job is one of those things. I felt a smile tickle my lips as I texted back:

“It’s not you, it’s your asshole.”

Image via Shutterstock

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