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That Time I Had The Worst Sex Of My Entire Life, Part 2

That Time I Had The Worst Sex Of My Entire Life, Part 2

Read Part I

My attractive suitor and I walked back to my house in the freezing cold as I constantly reassured myself that despite his outward demeanor and lack of depth, he was a very nice person who would quench my thirst for the evening (maybe the morning) with some mediocre to good sex stuff.

Plot twist: I was wrong. So very wrong. My first indication that this was not going to be the steamy night of passion I had hoped for was when we started kissing. Until that moment, I thought no one could possibly kiss any worse than the face biter. Ha. I was so naive. So very naive. Below is an approximation of the way this man kissed:

It’s cute when the goat does it. It is not cute when a 35-year-old man is doing it around the general vicinity of your face. I am not exaggerating at all when I say he did not put his tongue back in his mouth even once. He just stuck it out there and wiggled it around like a giraffe trying to get the last leaves at the very top of the tree before the dry season hits on the savannah. I’m 90% sure our lips never even touched. I just wanted to shout at him, “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!” but I couldn’t because my mouth was being so viciously attacked. Are you grossed out? Yeah, me too.

At one point I literally stopped and said, “I need… less tongue from you. Just less. Less of it.” He just looked confused and blinked at me and went right back to what he was doing. After another 30 seconds or so of face washing, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted him to leave as quickly as possible, so I passed Go and went straight to the main event.

I wouldn’t describe it as sex so much as I would the interpretive reenactment of the last frantic gasping moments of a dying fish. There was a lot of flopping and spasming with no seeming rhyme or reason. If I was grading him on his Wizarding O.W.L.s, he would have received a T for Troll. The last straw was when he whispered, “I love you” right in my ear. I visibly cringed. Time to nope the fuck out.

“Yeah I’m too tired and drunk for this, let’s just stop,” I said.

He looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes and I felt slightly guilty.

“Well at least let me take care of you,” he offered, inching under the covers.

“Ah, finally,” I thought to myself, “This will be the thing he’s good at! Even if he’s not, it’s pretty hard for it to be terrible. At least he’s trying to be considerate.”

Ha. Hahaha. Oh sweet, drunk, optimistic Quinn. Had you learned nothing from the rest of the night? About 30 seconds in I felt a strange, unpleasant nipping sensation.

“Ow!” I thought. “Jeez, how drunk is he to accidentally get his teeth in there? How is that even physiologically possible? Well, I’m sure it was just an accide-OW!”

Nope. It was not an accident. Someone somewhere along the line had told this poor man that the best way to please a woman was with teeth. Below is an almost identical rendering of what my face looked like the entire minute or so I let this go on:

“NOPE NOPE NOPE,” I wriggled away. “Way too tired. Way too drunk. I’m just going to sleep. Why don’t I call you an Uber?” At this point, I wanted him as far away from me as possible. I have never been more grateful for condoms in my life.

“No that’s ok,” he said, “I think I’m just going to… *snore*

No. NO. He can’t have fallen asleep already. I poked him, I shook him lightly, I said, “hey” several times in his ear. Nothing. I let out a silent scream towards the ceiling and threw on my pajamas. Next, I shamelessly used my dogs as buffers and placed both of them in the middle of the bed between us to eliminate the possibility of any middle of the night cuddling attempts. Yeah, I’m a horrible pet parent, I know. They’ve been appropriately compensated with Beggin’ Strips.

The next morning dawned bright and early with the arrival of daylight savings. It turns out that in addition to being horrifying in bed, my gentleman caller was also the world’s most prolific snorer. I truly have never experienced anything like it. I don’t think I slept more than two total hours that night. All I could think about was getting this guy out of my house so that I could have some peace and quiet and sleep to recover from the horror my mind and body had endured the night before.

I fired off a desperate 8:30 a.m. text to my best guy friend begging him to call me ASAP with fake brunch plans so that I could kick this guy out (I had just done the same for him the previous weekend). He called, I put him on speaker, I talked loudly. Nothing. No movement from the right-hand quadrant of the bed. Fuck.

I tried the old fashioned way again and nudged him and “accidentally” let a dog walk on his stomach and said, “hey” into his ear again a few times. There was movement, but he was clearly resisting admitting that he was awake. I desperately texted our ladies group text, which includes my two partners in crime, Carol and Betty. Betty happened to be awake and agreed to FaceTime me immediately. What followed was a butchery of American theater that I feel obligated to apologize to actors everywhere for.

Me: Hey! Hey! *surreptitiously angles camera so that Betty can just see half of his torso* I’m so sorry… I’m running so late for brunch!

Betty: (not quite catching on yet – in her defense, it was early) What? Brunch isn’t until 1? What are you talking about?

Me: No, no, brunch with our parents. After they get out of church. Today. In 30 minutes. Because they are both of our parents and you know they like to go to brunch early. And we are having brunch with them together. [Please note that Betty and I are not actually related and that my parents live 1,000 miles away from me].

Betty: (catches on) Oh, right right. What? Why aren’t you ready? Why are you in bed? Aren’t you supposed to bring me coffee at my house beforehand? Get over here immediately. Also, there is an emergency and I’m fighting with (husband) so I need you to come talk about that too.

Me: Ah yes, of course, I will be on my way to you as quickly as I can. In a car.

…yeah. We aren’t going to win any Oscars for our very stilted and hungover performance. But I peeked over and saw that Brad had turned over and was squinting at me for disturbing his peaceful slumber. More importantly, I knew had a plausible backstory with a sense of urgency.

“Hey, I really need you to leave like right now, I’m supposed to be downtown for brunch with my parents and my sister in like 20 minutes and I’m so late,” I said frantically.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Can I just stay and sleep here while you go to brunch?”

I almost laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of his request.

“Sorry, no, I just really need to go, so there are all of your clothes in that pile. I’m sorry to kick you out, my parents just get really upset when we’re late!” I said, doing my best to look apologetic.

He grumpily (and very slowly) got out of bed and started pulling on the rest of his clothes.

“Well you’re going to give me a ride to my car at least right?” he said, looking suspiciously out at the windy gray day through my bedroom window.

“I’m so sorry, I wish I could, but I’m still in my pajamas and I’m really supposed to be there in like 20 minutes. I think you said your car was by the bar so it’s just like four blocks that way,” I pointed out my kitchen window as I led him through the apartment.

He pouted as he pulled on his beanie.

“You’re pretty but you’re mean,” he said, finally reaching for the door handle with a scowl on his face. To be honest, I only half agreed with him. I can be a little short tempered in the mornings. As the door finally opened, letting in a burst of freezing air that cut through my toasty kitchen like a knife, I felt hope begin to well in my chest.

“Yeah, sorry again about that. Really sorry. Stay warm! Thanks again!” I said, practically herding him out the door. The second he stepped off my door frame I closed the door, locked it, and did the chain. I almost sank to the floor and cried with relief, but I was too afraid that in my sleep deprived state I wouldn’t get back up. I grabbed a dog under each arm and high-tailed it back to my glorious, soft, warm bed, where I slept for the next four hours, causing me to be a full hour late to brunch (sorry, Betty, Carol, and crew).

In hindsight, yes, I brought this one on myself. I’ll admit the blame and take the L. Here are some lessons that you can take away from this horrendous experience so that you don’t have to suffer like I did.

1) Don’t drink gin for six hours straight
2) Don’t go to a bar by yourself an hour before closing time.
3) Don’t ignore the literal hundreds of red flags dropped by your hookup
4) Do have a planned escape strategy mapped ahead of time with one to two of your most reliable friends
5) Ask yourself, “what would Quinn do in this situation?” and then do the opposite.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

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Quinn Truflais

Formerly known as Queen of The Garbage People. Functional title still stands. Dog owner, whiskey drinker, Star Wars fangirl. #DoingItForTheContent QuinnTruflais@gmail.com

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