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Category Archives: 1 Night Stands
I went out on a first date with Keith, a hot tall Australian guy with a sexy bronze tan, green eyes and perfectly combed black hair.
After months of yoga and flirty small talk with the instructors, I built up the courage to ask one of the instructors out.
University of Michigan. Peer Pong. Tight Superman Tee-Shirt. A happy ending that ends in a way a happy ending has never ended before. Need we say more? Yes. Let’s. Comedian Mike Kelton opens our June 3rd show with quite the tale….
You’ve been fake sleeping for about 30 minutes now, hoping he’d wake up – but you can no longer fight it – you’re near sober, it’s daylight and there you lie – in unfamiliar sheets. You glance to the bedside table and notice some mail, you nonchalantly look at the address to refresh your memory as to what part of town you ended up in….West Village – nice. Why is the light so bright; make it stop. Can I sneak to the bathroom to re-apply some bronzer – fuck it, you saw his bathroom last night and noted he uses Axe Vice, he clearly doesn’t give that much of a shit.
You attempt to move around, send some text so your phone vibrates and wakes this casanova up. No luck. So you decide to cling the sheet next to your body, because suddenly you’re shy – I mean sober, while you gather and re-apply your clothes from the night before, how did your underwear get over there?….Yes, that sheer top with the cut outs in the back is likely what got you into this situation, don’t worry – it’s a great day time blouse, if you’re name is Vivian and you’re in Pretty Woman.
Finally he wakes up. It’s time for MST….#MorningSmallTalk….
“I think I’m still drunk.”
“We had a good time last night” (duh)
“Big week this week” (what?)
“I feel awful.”
“I can’t even.”
“Can you believe so and so got kicked?”
His hesitation is all you need to know, neither of your are sure if you totally used a condom….the countdown begins….72 hours to self abort.
An excuse jumps into your head….suddenly you have a community service project, a family member’s birthday BBQ, you have to help your cousin with a science project….anything that will get you to CVS before that shot clock has expired.
You do that awkward dance at the door, are we hugging, are we kissing, are we giving each other a high five or am I just pretending I’m texting – either way, can’t wait for next week’s date*.
*If dates occur between the hours of 2-9AM….you’ve been on a ton of dates, Carrie Bradshaw.
You’re walking, this is the only time in your life you’ve thought…fuck. I wish I was a runner.
All the scenarios are going through your head….
“What would this kid look like?”
“What would our story be?”
“Is he father material?”
“How will I tell him?”
“Will my parents like him?”
Maybe you start to picture your life together in suburban New York, white picket fence, summers on Montauk, you cue up How Sweet it Is to Be Loved by You….suddenly, a Citi-biker almost hits you and snaps you back into reality….and you remember you just went on payment plan for Coachella, how the fuck are your going to support a kid…further more you just looked at mail to figure out where you woke up – what wisdom do you plan to bestow upon this child to guide him/her through the world.
You start to jog, in last night’s heels. You arrive to your Candyland. The pharmacist doesn’t even need to ask you what you need – she knows, but as a courtesy she says, “what can I get you?” As she’s reaching for Plan B….you can’t even muster up the words through the shame….you just nod, tears forming because you think, “I hope this doesn’t overdraft my bank account,” and you realize you just spend your brunch money on Plan B….Plan B-runch.
Before you have even left the store, you Keep Calm and Take Plan B (don’t you think that should be the design on the package btw?) You still have the package in hand as you walk outside and smell that sweet smell of McDonald’s hashbrowns, coming from those magical arches to heaven 2 doors down, you skip merrily like a puppy at Christmas, place an order for a sausage, egg and cheese with a hashbrown – no OJ, you’ll vom because you don’t taste OJ, you taste vodka.
Before you even turn from the counter you hide that shit in your purse, it’s way more shameful showing the world your just went to McDonald’s solo than it is admitting you just popped Plan B….don’t be a mess girl.
You continue your stroll home, your Sunday Anxiety is setting in….what Rom Com will you watch today? Maybe it’s time for He’s Just Not That Into You….or Annie Hall.
Side Note: Plan B should come with a voucher for a breakfast sandwich called the Hey Girl Voucher….just a thought.
This story courtesy of the awesome people at @WaitWhatTotes.
I’d had a crush on Guy since freshman year, when I’d seen him perform that Maroon 5 song in his a capella group. We’d always flirted, but neither of us was ever brave enough to make a move or ask the other out. Finally, when I was a senior and living with one of his former singing mates, I ran into him at a pajama party in someone’s dorm. He’d already graduated but had come all the way to campus—in the snow, in his pajamas—for this party. We danced for hours and he asked me why I’d never just come out and told him I liked him. I asked him the same question. All of a sudden, the cops showed up and he pulled me into someone’s bedroom. He pushed me back onto the bed and started making out with me; then we lay completely still until the cops were gone.
The party started dispersing after that and I realized he was pretty sloppy drunk. He looked up at me through half closed eyes, swaying slightly in his flannel pj pants, and asked if he could spend the night with me. I didn’t want to hook up with him, but I was a little worried about sending him home in the snow when he was in this state. I told him he could crash on our couch, and called my housemate asking her to stay awake until we got back. As I ended the call, I looked over and saw he had a duffle bag. A DUFFLE BAG. Dude had come to campus for the evening planning to hook up with some college girl and spend the night.
I set him up on the couch and then went into my room and hung out online for awhile. He kept wandering drunkenly into my bedroom. I tried to tell him goodnight, but he kept trying to pull me up. “Well,” I thought, “I guess I have been wanting to do this for years, drunk or not drunk.” I let him lead me to the bed, and we lay down on my back. Instead of kissing me, he kind of just slobbered everywhere and then passed out. I woke him up, trying to get him off of me, but he just said “shhh,” again slobbered all over me (in an attempt to kiss me) and passed out once more. Eventually I got him to stand up, all but pushed him into the living room, and slammed my door shut.
In the morning, he burst into my bedroom, freshly showered and dapper-looking, and announced he was going to church. He later called my housemate (his former singing mate) asking how he’d ended up at our house the night before.
My curiosity is sufficiently sated.
My good friend is abroad. I miss her dearly, but luckily I know she knows how to make friends.
“My last night in town we (me and some 20 year old englush bartender guy who had just moved there) were trying to find beer, but it was Sunday so everything closed at midnight, so we walked and chatted til 2ish, then had sex in the massive handicapped, floor to ceiling mirrored bathroom in the hostel…not a bad time.”
I am comforted in the fact that she can make friends abroad…
She was tall. That’s what attracted her to me. Six feet tall. Okay, she was also young, 21 to my 30. Everything about the scenario was promising.
“Hey, you want to come over and watch a moo-vey,” she asked.
“Hell yeah I do.” I know the code. Four minutes of movie, 45 minutes of petting, then we have sex.
Not this one. I haven’t had blue balls since I was 19 years old, but it happened. Making out. Hands all over. Etc. But no more.
I woke up 30 minutes after the room went silent and we supposedly went to sleep. I walked into the bathroom and jerked off into a folded three inch piece of toilet paper. Slept like a baby.