I’m Sorry to the Guy This is About

I’m Sorry to the Guy This is About

Original post date: 8/15/2013

I promise you shall remain nameless, but you’re lying if you say you haven’t told anyone about it. Unfortunately, you and I both know it happened and can’t make it un-happen. So. Read on.

My face when I think about it

My face when I think about it

There are a few ladies who will remember this story, as they were on the receiving end of a group text I sent immediately after the incident occurred; I couldn’t help myself, ok? I was horrified and needed moral support. Said moral support was delivered via text responses of maniacal laughing (ie. “hahahahahahahahahaha”) and then me being like “I fucking hate everything and I fucking hate that I have to try acting normal after this.”

The year is 2009. I had been seeing this guy casually for maybe a month; I liked him, I think he liked me…it was cool. We’d slept together a few times already, none of which I can recall because the final time would be more memorable than any of the others. I have to assume it was relatively decent though; otherwise I wouldn’t have gone back. I don’t tolerate bad sex, man…like, it’s just sad. It’s not rocket science: Dick hard, put in vagina, take out of vagina…put in, take out, put in, take out (hopefully there are many more put-ins and take-outs for you), feel good, rest (or, ya know, keep going). It’s SO simple and it surprises me how many people fuck it up. Pun intended.

He was (and I’m sure still is) a nice guy, talented with a good job, friendly…definitely a cool dude to kick it with. The thing is, there was no way either one of us could come back from what happened.

On that fateful night, we had been out at the bar, so we were both drunk but not sloppy. We went back to his place, went to bed; having sex, having sex, having sex…and then…he’s ready to go…and then…he’s hovering over me…and then during the climax—MID FUCKING CLIMAX—homeboy let out a fart. Blew ass. Four inches from my chest. And not a small one. Right there. Happened.

Pause for reaction.

It was so awful. He was horrified. I was horrified. Naturally, I started laughing—the awkward I-wish-I-could-run-away-but-I-can’t-and-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-but-laugh-at-this-poor-guy type of laughs—which could not have helped. (Hey man, sorry about that, but really? What else could I have done? You weren’t my boyfriend. I didn’t really know you that well. I think you get it.) What’s worse is that he started trying to explain to me how it happened: “Oh god. I mean, things are flexing…ya know…and it happens…” and I was already halfway to the bathroom, trying to act somewhat cool, “Yeah totally, I gotta go pee” but in my head I was like “I will never have sex with you again.”

So I went into the bathroom and texted four of my friends a summary of what had just taken place; that I had been simultaneously ejaculated and farted on. That I needed to leave immediately and avoid eye contact at all costs. I’m not a total asshole, so I knew that I couldn’t just leave because 1. I was drunk and couldn’t drive, and 2. Didn’t want to be a dick. But the only thing that sounded worse than leaving was staying. Luckily, by the time I exited the bathroom, the lights were out and he was sleeping (or at least pretending to, which was fine with me because eye contact was not a option right then…or ever.)

I woke up in the morning and he’d left for work. I couldn’t have been more relieved by the fact that he nailed and bailed because it saved us both from a lot of not wanting to bring it up, but knowing the other person is thinking it. It was better that way.

We never talked about it. After that, I would see him at bars and such; always extended a cordial hello, but it was never more than that again. I think we were both too horrified at the entire thing to even bother trying to be interested in one another. No way. Not after he let a gnar fart out as he ejaculated in close proximity to my face. No fucking way.

To that guy: Real talk, I had to tell this story. If you’re reading this, I hope you aren’t reliving the whole thing and getting embarrassed all over again. Looking back, it’s definitely a funny story, but I’m sorry that it’s at your expense. But like I said, I will never tell anyone who you are, so your secret is safe.


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