The Time I Met My Ex-Girlfriend’s Parents While Wearing A Condom

The Time I Met My Ex-Girlfriend's Parents While Wearing A Condom

About mid-way through my college experience, against all my friends’ advice and my own better judgment, I got a girlfriend. She was way out of my league, kept up with me at parties, and true to what I like: certifiably crazy. She had been pressuring me to define the relationship, and after a year of me saying, “I just don’t like to put labels on things, babe, you know you’re my girl,” she gave me an ultimatum: make it official or end it. I chose the first option, and about two months later, made the trip down to Los Angeles to meet her family for the first time. She had been telling me how her dad was kind of a hard ass and didn’t like any of her previous boyfriends, but I wasn’t phased. Parents have always loved me because I can hold my liquor with the father and ask for seconds of even the worst home cooked meal the mother makes. Plus, her previous boyfriend had been eight years older than her and was a college dropout, so I felt the bar wasn’t set very high.

We left right after my Thursday class to maximize the amount of time we had to visit and immediately ran into aggressive traffic. We passed time the usual way, listening to music, hanging out, her talking shit about the Sharks (she was a Blackhawks fan, a glaring flaw that I somehow missed), and me threatening to pull the car over if she didn’t stop. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we got on the open road and started really making time.

About five hours into the drive, we both started getting horny, as 20-year-olds are known to do. Pretty soon, she was topless next to me rubbing me over my pants and biting my neck, and I knew where this was going to lead. She started giving me road head, but within a minute I knew it was never going to work. Highway 5 through central California has an even population of cars and eighteen-wheeler trucks, and the average speed is approaching 90 mph. If you’ve ever tried to weave between semis going 90 miles an hour while a girl who got her tongue pierced in seventh grade (red flag) fellated you, you’d agree it was borderline insane. Surprisingly enough to both of us, I pulled her up and told her I couldn’t keep going, and we’d have to wait until we got to her house to continue. She pouted for a few miles because hot girls have no experience with rejection and can’t stand it, but eventually understood.

We got to her house about an hour later, primed and ready to go. She informed me that her parents were still at work, and we would have an hour before they got home. I let her know that I would really only need about fifteen of those minutes and ripped her clothes off and threw her on her childhood bed. Due to her changing medical insurance, this was in the middle of a two-week period where she was not on birth control, so I had to bite the bullet and start using condoms again. Not ideal, but even safe sex is better than no sex. So I wrapped up, and spread her legs, thrust, and froze. Literally the second I got inside her, the front door opened and we could hear her parents walking in. “SHIT. The bedroom door is open, get off me,” my girlfriend whispered as her parents started calling for her. She threw on her clothes, looked at me (and my raging boner that was not going anywhere) and whispered that she’d buy me some time.

She walked out to her parents and squealed and hugged them. “Daddyyyy!” I heard her exclaim, and I realized how dire the situation was. I dug deep, pictured the time I walked in on my freshman roommate jerking off to anime, and felt my dick go limper than that same roommate’s handshake when I had first met him.

“So where is this new guy of yours?” I heard the mom say as footsteps came down the hall. There was nowhere to dispose of the condom and no time to do it. I made an executive decision, zipped my jeans up over my latex-sheathed penis, and walked out the door. I gave the mom my most winning smile and a kiss on the cheek, gave the father a firm but respectful handshake while staring him straight in the eyes with a look that I hope conveyed that I was not currently wearing a condom still wet from his daughter. The look in his eyes said, “I know what you’ve done, and if it takes until the end my days, I will make you pay for it.” It was a very wordy look. I managed to dispose of the condom discretely in the next few minutes, and the rest of the evening went well. Her father was absolutely plying me with tequila, and I was doing my best to keep up when he challenged me to a friendly game of pool.

Pool is definitely not my game of choice, but I was determined to make a good impression, so I accepted. Her father and I exchanged a little pregame banter over some more shots, and by the time we were set to play, I was blacking in and out. The rest of the story is a little fuzzy, but apparently he bet me that if he won, I would clean his car the next day. This was a harmless wager, and I never back down from a challenge so it was on. After about twenty minutes, I could not believe how well I was playing. I was sinking shots like I hadn’t had to repeat 9th-grade geometry, and my girlfriend’s dad could barely keep up. Surprising for a man who had a pool table in his house.

Now, I’m not a sore loser, but I am a sore winner. Within a few more turns, I was down to one ball to his five left on the table, and I was rubbing. It. In. As I lined up to shoot at my last ball, I felt a heavy hand on the back of my neck and a deep voice in my ear. “By the way, my daughter’s window was open when I came home. I could hear you two from the driveway.”

My heart stopped.

“But we’ll chat about that later. Don’t miss this shot.”

I shanked the ball so bad, I don’t think my stick even touched it, and then watched in dismay as her dad sank all five of his balls, drained the eight ball, and smiled. I had been shamelessly hustled. I hung my head, didn’t meet my girlfriend’s eyes, and shook her father’s hand.

“Did you still want to have that chat?” I asked, praying to any god that would listen I would black out before that happened.

“Why the fuck would I want to talk about that? I just needed someone to clean my car, and I wasn’t going to get up at 6 a.m. to do it,” he chuckled at me as he walked away.

At 6:00 a.m. the next morning, he woke me up and I cleaned his bright red Corvette Z06 for two hours in between puking my brains out in the neighbor’s trashcan. And he remains my favorite of all my exes’ fathers to this day.

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Nick Arcadia

The opposite of a life coach. Email or DM me if you want some bad advice:

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