The Dry Spell

I was nervous. I hadn't had sex in two years.

I sucked at trying to get guys to have sex with me. I had been dating-talking-kind-of-not-really-seeing this guy for a couple weeks and I had decided that ready or not, I was going to bump uglies. One night stand or not, I needed to get laid. After two years, I was surprised that my lady parts hadn't accumulated cobwebs and grown over shut.

I pulled up in my car to a nicely gated neighborhood after receiving a text inviting me over to "hang out." I met *Chad a few weeks back in Vegas for my twenty-first birthday. He was easily 6’4,” slim, and had nipple piercings. Funny how terrible a twenty-one year-old’s judgment is, isn’t it?

I spent the last couple hours picking out the perfect bra and thong combo for when he’d rip off my clothes in a passionate rage.

I meticulously filled in my eyebrows as I fantasized about how he’d look naked. It needed to be the perfect night or else I'd assume that it'd be bad juju foreshadowing the next two years. After shaving every unwanted hair off my kitty cat, spraying my perfume, and popping some minty-fresh gum in my mouth for extra measure, I was ready.

I got out the car and texted Chad that I arrived. He came out to get me. He was in a wrinkled white undershirt and basketball shorts. I mean, seriously? I had spent all that fucking time and effort making myself beautiful and he looked like he just finished a game of pick-up basketball at a local schoolyard. And he was wearing Nike slippers. With socks. I forced a fake, toothy smile despite his abysmal appearance. I just tried to remember what he looked like in his suit when I first saw him in Vegas and walked toward him in my heels.

I was so fucking nervous that I needed to drink my nerves away. After a few hours of drinking games, shots, and heavily obvious sexual cues and physical touching, he invited me upstairs. Oh shit, upstairs, upstairs? I felt both anxious and excited all in the same moment. My stomach was all knotted up and tangled. I’d never fucked someone who wasn’t my boyfriend let alone have a one night stand.

We climbed into bed. He kissed my neck. I moaned. He put his hand in my shirt. I traced my fingers down his body. He put his hand in my shirt and under my bra. He played with my nipples. Bra unhooked. Shirt off.

Piece by piece, we scattered our clothes on the floor. I knelt before him as he laid on his back looking down at me. I pulled down his shorts and then it flopped out like a drunk friend falling out of a car.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

It was literally the biggest shlong I’d ever seen. It was almost frightening how massive it was. Holy fuck. How do I--what do I--how do I even? His dick was a wall of flesh approaching my face and I had a moment of slight self-doubt. But this was my Mount Everest. I would climb the base to the fleshy top because I was not a quitter.

He slid his dick into me and instantly an electric shock of pain traveled throughout my nether regions. I winced so hard I had lines on my damned nose.

Me: "Is it in?"
Chad: "That was just the tip."

JUST THE TIP? THERE WAS MORE?! I was floored. Who the fuck was able to handle this elephant-sized GMO-plantain porn dick? Good lord, any previous women willing to ride him must have been split down the middle like firewood. Kudos to whoever will be his future wife because taking all that dick would be like watching a freak show circus sword eater swallow a rusty blade. That is just an incredible feat.

After turning which way, that way, any, and every position I could pull out of my sleeve, I knew I was defeated. He was just TOO. FUCKING. BIG.

Me: "I, um… I think it’s too big."
Chad: "Thank you!"

Chad had this goofy grin on his face like he’d just won the lottery. Like he’d been knighted by Queen Elizabeth. Like… well, he was just told his dick was generously sized after having sex.

Rappers are liars. Bitches (at least me) do not want to line up to suck big D. No sane woman would be daring enough to hop that Pogo stick. And if you are, I applaud you.

*Names have been changed.