Allow me to set the stage; you just happen--by some form of luck that you're not accustomed--to find yourself in the company of an extremely attractive member of the opposite sex. He's a big, ripped muscley guy with the mental wherewithal to solve all of the world's most difficult riddles, like, why green olives are stuffed with pimento and black olives and only filled with envy.
Or, she's got huge cans, and you're a big fan of huge cans. Guys aren't difficult, and usually need nothing more than one body part to keep them occupied, hence my reason for not mentioning her intelligence. I'm not saying that I'm a big boob guy, but some of you reading this might be, and I'm only here to please you people.
Whatever it is that they have, you want it. And you're going to get it. It will happen. Sooner rather than later, that day will come.
You meet out somewhere for a few drinks before he/she suggests you go back to their place to "watch a movie". You're all up on "watching a movie", so you readily agree. In fact, you only let them get out "Wanna..." before you're nodding in agreement and on your way out the door.
When you arrive back at the apartment, they really do pop in some random movie that you've seen 15 times already, even though you tell them it's your first time. Your first time--biggest lie ever. And you both know that you're not going to make it all the way to the end, because "let's go watch a movie" is widely known to be a substitute for let's go watch a movie....naked...in my bed...with no tv on". Whatever gets you there, I suppose.
It all starts innocently enough while snuggling during Fried Green Tomatoes, which leads to kissing during Dumb and Dumber, and ultimately lands you in bed, naked, with the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack playing loudly in the background. And people say I'm the weird one.
But first you must transition from the couch to the bedroom without seeming too eager, and without gleefully exclaiming "I'm gonna get laid! I'm gonna laid!" If you're anything like me, it's not as easy as it sounds.
Aw sweet Jesus, you're finally laying in bed, clothed. That's gotta change. She rips her own shirt off like Hulkamania has gone wild inside of her, and if he's a little too spastic about disrobing, his underwear are shed by exiting the pelvic region via the chest and head highway, rather than down his legs. It doesn't matter who undresses who, or how the mission is performed. All that matters is that clothing is balled up in the corner, thrown over the ceiling fan, and somehow the pants always end up tucked so far under the bed that a Sherpa needs to be hired for a rescue mission.
Now you're naked. Nude. No clothes. The time when you'd rather hear "Holy shit, you're hung!" or, "Wow, your hood is pierced!" rather than "Is that your clitoris or a tiny penis" and "That's it?".
Nothing good can be taken from the latter two.
You're doing, you know, it. And for whatever reason, it's exceptionally good. Like, really good. Roll your eyes in the back of your head, travel through time, wishing for death immediately after sweet, sweet release good. Yeah, that good.
The only thing that you can think about is them and what they're doing. You're in the moment, completely devoid of thought outside of your glistening, sweaty bodies pressed together, and the sound of breathy, sex-driven moans.
Wow, I can't believe she's here. I can't believe that this absolutely stunning woman is in my bed right now, naked. When she moves just so, just like she just did, yeah like that, it's amazing. I could die right now a happy man.
And then, something happens. You don't know why it happens, and you don't know what to do to stop it.
So gorgeous, just so gorgeous....wow, I'm getting tired. My legs are starting to hurt and that slapping sound is getting on my nerves. I wonder if she'll be pissed if I fall asleep right after?
And it only gets worse.
I could do this to her all day. Wait. Grandma? What the fuck are you doing here? Mom's here too? Awwww shit. Get out of my head!
From that point on, you're doomed. You try thinking about all things sexy, but soon your train of thought is waterfalling out of control with visits from random relatives, teachers you haven't talked to--let alone thought about--since the 5th grade, and mental imagery of that beef stroganoff you had for dinner three weeks ago. Your only hope is to kill yourself or fake it, and you can't quite decide which would be easier.
So, my question is this: Has this sort of thing ever happened to you?
Yeah, uh, me either.
The whole point behind this entry was not to give you another reason to color me demented, because you already have enough fuel for that flame. No, the point is, now that you've read this, the next time you have sex you'll think about this stupid post, and in turn, me. It's inevitable and there's nothing you can do about it. Who are you to resist me?
That right there, folks, is disturbing enough to make me smile.