Hello there, Drama!

Here's one of my less-than-stellar flashback moments. Please! I encourage you to cringe enjoy at my expense.

I had just broken up with Jim; my first love, blardy blar blar. I was 16 and ridiculously devastated. We had broken up mid-week and that next weekend was Halloween, complete with a huge party filled with horny teenagers and a lot of alcohol. I somehow ended up having a “deep and meaningful” chat with one of the guys from my school (that I had zero interest in, romantically). The low-down of his sob story was that he had been with his girlfriend for almost 3 years by that point, and she wanted to wait until they graduated high school before they consummated their relationship. Needless to say, he was getting ants in his pants.

Ingredients for disaster:
1 sexually frustrated 17 year old male with a long-term girlfriend that had gone home for the night.
1 heartbroken 16 year old girl, who was so freshly off the rebound that you could taste the spiked Gatorade.
1 bottle of vodka
1 sleeping bag

So, in my very drunken lack of judgement, I suggested that I do him "a favor" and I would have sex with him, but it had to be TOP MUTHERFUCKING SECRET. I wasn’t going to be a part of any drama. It was purely a friend doing another friend, so he can get some “relief”. Ahem. I was also so upset from my break-up that I actually thought this might be good for me, seeing as then my ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be the last person I would have then been with. The logic is there, although sad and hormonally skewed. Anyway, so we had sex. It was uneventful, awkward, clumsy.... and quick. And I thought that would be it.

The next morning, I got a phone call from this guy.
He confessed to his girlfriend.
Broke up with her.
And was in love with me...

DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK? 

Yuck! I was completely up shit creek now. Did I mention I was still living with Jim? Hello there, Drama! I felt so nauseous and stressed out that I spent about 2 hours kneeling over the toilet, and metaphorically watching my social life circle counter-clockwise down the toilet while I dry heaved into it.

Lucky for me, their group of friends weren’t very extensive and pretty contained. My school also turned out to be surprisingly less caught up in the gossip of other people’s misdeeds than it was at my Canadian school. Minus about 5 people that now hated me, I was OK. I survived the promiscuous shit storm and came out the other side. Life went on...

On a side note, that couple eventually got back together a year or two later, and they are married now with a couple of kids. Thank you, Facebook. So, in the span of their relationship, I am that big permanent glitch. If you read it closely, it would say something like: “That cheap skank that broke-up mommy and daddy long before you were born.” Yep, that’s me.

I wonder if he will add THAT to his Facebook timeline...

A Chastity What Now?

When I worked in retail, or worse yet, at Walmart, any simple thing could help pass the time; distractions were always welcomed whenever possible, such as new video games in the Electronics Department, or trying on all the low quality diamond rings in the Jewelry Department.

Now imagine a distraction that had a penis hanging between his legs. Oh, baby!

Stefan was the reason that got me to drag my ass to that soul-sucking job for 15-20 hours a week. He was not the usual bad boy that I was drawn to. He was soft-spoken, clean-cut and had the most kind and soulful eyes. If I had to liken him to anyone, it would have to be Agent John Myers (Rupert Evans) in Hellboy. Sometimes I think that maybe my standards changed slightly because anything was better that the sweaty 400lb Customer Service Manager that I worked with, but regardless, he was some degree of hot on anyone's scale.

Also? His name was Stefan Ferrel and since I was Stephanie Farrell, it was an additional turn on; I enjoy funky shit like that. Trust me, the weirdest one is yet to be written.

There was a road block, however. A giant, annoying road block and her name was Martha. Martha also clearly lusted after Stefan. The two of us would compete for his attention - or rather - she would compete with me. As I have mentioned before, I'm built like a brick shithouse, but this girl had an additional 4 inches on me, both in height and width. Yeah, yeah, size doesn't matter - BULLSHIT. For once in my life, I was SMALLER than the competition. Call me what you will, but I enjoyed that shallow and rare ace in my pocket.

Martha would have been that keener that sat in the front row in class; she answered every question and wore nothing but Northern Reflections jogging pants and sweatshirts with snowflakes and bunnies on them.

Yes, that was her.

As for me? I had pixie-short BLUE hair, an eyebrow ring and wore fitted ringer t-shirts that said things like "Etch A Sketch: The World's First Laptop". Needless to say, this girl got on my nerves, which was only compounded with her lame attempts to set me on fire with her death stares. Paaaaa-sssshhhhhaa! Easy there, killer.

Finally, I got an invite to go out with Stefan OUTSIDE of work hours. I was so fucking excited; it had been months, which was longer than I usually invested into a conquest.

Almost the exact same time I showed up to his place, Martha pulled up behind me! What the hell? Apparently, it wasn't a "date" but a "friends" outing to which he invited us both. I was livid and I wanted to kick that sasquatch back to whatever forest to whence she came. We uncomfortably hung out at his place for a few minutes, trying to pretend that the other wasn't there. For the first time I noticed that Stefan was wearing jewelry around his neck; I was intrigued, "Oh, what's that?"

"Ah, yes. It's my Chastity ring." He said very proudly and sincerely, "I don't like wearing it to work in case it gets caught on anything."

Whoa! Back up there, sport; your chastity what now? That is what I was thinking, but in reality, I just stood there and grinned like it didn't totally make me want to claw my own eyes out in frustration with the corner of the condom wrapper I had in my purse.

Saint Martha Sasquatch chimed in while waving her pudgy ring finger, "Oh yes. I have mine too!"

Of course you do, Martha. Of. Course. You. Do.

Right then I realized I had just wasted 3 months of my life with a couple of Kumbaya-singing mother fuckers that I would never get back. I looked at my watch and made up some bullshit story; I didn't even bother with attempting to be believable. "Ugh. I just remembered I have an essay I have to do for tomorrow! You crazy kids are going to have to have fun without me."

I saw a grotesque smirk appear on Martha's face while I was making my swift exit, but I didn't care; I let her have her sad little moment. Bitch, you could HAVE him! The only time I wanted a guy praying to God was if he was trying not to cum too soon while I was riding him like a mechanical bull.

Chastity ring, indeed.

Tale of a Stripper (Part 2)

So, without further adieu, here's part deux...    

I can still feel the trembling in my knees, just remembering that night. I had to walk down some steps onto the stage in super high heels that weren't even mine and into the spot light where about 6 men sat quietly at tables in the darkened room. There were several other girls sitting around or gyrating on various customers, but for the most part, it was quiet and terrifying. My heart was pounding and I wanted to throw up. I was completely sober, it was about 4 in the afternoon and I was about to take my top off for a room of strangers. I somehow managed to jiggle and wiggle around the stage for the duration of the song, but I'm sure it was horrible because I was so scared and shaky and I could feel my knees wanting to buckle the whole time.

I was pretty sure the manager would ask me to give back the dress and shoes and send me on my idiotic way. But to my shock and dismay, he hired me & told me that I could start the next night. Holy Shit! I didn't even want to do it anymore, I just wanted to go home and try to find my dignity and self-respect, take a shower and put on my fuzzy jammies.

But I didn't do any of those things. I went to the stripper store and bought myself some slutty dresses and fancy thongs and went back the next night, determined to overcome my fear. I came up with a fake name for myself and created a new identity. Each time I went on stage, I was a little bit less horrified by myself. A little more comfortable when the dress came off. Having a little bit more fun. I started to enjoy the sense of power that I had over the men in the club as I looked out and into their eyes and saw that I was their fantasy. I never let them touch me and yet they gave me their paychecks. They would whisper in my ear that they would go home that night & fuck their wife and be thinking of me while they did it.

I made $1000 my first weekend.

I worked 3 nights and came home with the same amount of money that I'd make in a month at my day job. I only worked for that month between interview and vacation because after that I didn't need the big cash flow anymore. It was tempting to stick with it because there were some great things about it, but I realized how easy it would be to get sucked into the whole life. I'd get accustomed to living a lifestyle that I couldn't afford while working an honest and honorable job. I could feel myself starting to despise men and see them only as pawns to be manipulated.

I knew that eventually I wanted to get married and have kids, but what kind of decent man would want a girl who was a stripper. I recognized that I needed to get out before it became my identity. It's fun to look back on that period of time and the things I saw and experienced while I was working there, but it has nothing to do with my life any more. I'm married to a wonderful man and have been for many years now. He knows about my little dip into depravity and he doesn't hold it against me. I'm thankful for the little snip of wisdom that I possessed at the young age of 21 to be able to walk away before any real harm was done.

And one valuable lesson I learned during that crazy month - never swing on a pole with gloves on. You will fall on your ass and look anything but sexy.

Tale of a Stripper (Part 1)

Hello my lovelies! This is a 2-parter Guest Post from one of my favorite ladies, "Paige". I hope you'll be seeing/reading more of her around here in the future. The Estrogen Army is growing, HA-ZAH!
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Have you ever watched a movie where there was a stripper scene and wondered how those girls ended up on that stage with their tits swinging? Have you possibly been into a club that had dancing girls and you stared up at them & thought, "How can she do that? Doesn't she have any self-respect?" Maybe you figured she was from the wrong side of the tracks. Or grew up in a poverty-stricken, broken home. Or was trying to support a drug habit.

Well, I'm here to let you know that maybe that girl is none of those things. I grew up in a conservative home, always went to church, wasn't allowed to wear skirts above my knees or two piece bathing suits. I had 2 solid parents who loved and cherished me and a father who was neither absent nor over bearing.

Once I was out of high school, I decided that I was tired of the rules. I was sick of being a good girl & I wanted to see if maybe life was more fun on the wild side. It looked pretty glamorous in the movies and I wanted to get a little taste for myself. I started going to night clubs when I was 20. There was one club where it was a 3-in-1 deal. For the price of admission, you could go in the regular dance club, the male strip club or the female strip club. Mostly what happened was that the guys went in & watched the strippers and then came into the dance club all horny & looking for action.

After going there a few times and getting drunker than I care to admit, I started losing my inhibitions & started climbing up onto the bar with some of the other hootchies and dancing. Men would stand down below and hand me money. They didn't touch me, just gave me money. It was shocking when it first happened. Exciting to have strangers openly lusting for me and wanting to buy me drinks or beg me to go home with them. I was always flippant and most often rude, but that didn't seem to scare them off at all.

I did that for several months, going every weekend & coming home with only vague memories and piles of wadded, sticky cash. I planned a trip out of town to new york city, but it was only a month away & I would need a significant amount of money. I knew I couldn't make the money I needed with my day job or even with my piles of singles, so I needed to do something new and fast.

I looked through the classifieds and set up a time to meet with the manager of the fanciest strip club in town. I'd taken my top off a few times while dancing on the bar in my favorite club, but I'd always been drunk & surrounded by friends & others who were cheering me on. I thought this would be the same thing, but as it turned out, it was very different.

I dressed professionally for the interview because I didn't know any better. I lied & said that I'd been dancing at another little club in town because I was afraid that the manager wouldn't hire me if he knew I was a total rookie. He shook my hand and asked me a few questions & then told me I'd need to audition. He sent me down to the dressing room with another dancer who loaned me a dress and shoes. The DJ asked me what kind of music I liked and I was nudged out on stage.






To be continued on Wednesday...
so keep your panties on, for now anyway!

His Nose Knows

Jake had large features - larger than the average bear anyway. Somehow they all worked together on his face and he was a fairly attractive man. I've often seen young children with features like his and thought to myself, "JESUS CHRIST! That's one ugly kid!" But 9 times out of 10, those kids grow into their features and usually turn out to be quite handsome or beautiful - it just takes time.

So, yes, Jake had big ears, a strong cleft chin as well as a large cleft nose. His nose was probably the first thing I noticed about him when we met... and as it turns out, the last thing I remember about him as well. I've seen a lot of people with cleft chins, but not the nose as well; it was pretty unique.

We got intimate fairly quickly, of course... it's how I roll... straight into bed. I don't know if it was the chemistry or something completely indescribable but Jake had total control over my senses. I attempted to take mental notes but I never once noticed anything out of the ordinary; no special twists or shakes or anything. My body is usually a little stubborn and it takes a bit of elbow grease to get me to climax - even idiot boy, however good at it that he was, still took him about 20 minutes or so to get the job done.

Jake's easiest effort (and a personal record I don't think I could possibly break) was about 10 seconds. TEN FUCKING SECONDS... and you know what he did? Rubbed that sexy cleft nose against my clitoris, probably, umm, twice? He slowly went up, then down and on his way back up again, I was D-O-N-E and slightly suffering from conflicting feelings of ecstasy and shock.

He actually gave me a dirty look and thought I was faking it. No way honey! I never give out unearned credit, and even if I did, it sure as hell wouldn't have been after only 10 seconds! PU-LEASE.

I don't think I was in love with him more than I was in love with his nose; that incredibly fabulous nose. One night while he was sleeping, I sketched his nose - and I recently found that sketchbook, which is what jogged loose this fantastic tidbit in the On-going History of My Sexography.

What more can I say? The nose knows... aaaaand then he took me back to the special café where we first met... to dump me... but that's a story I've already told. Good times, people!

A very awkward Christmas

The most, ummm... interesting Christmas that I'd rather forget was the one I had when I was away from my family, when I was overseas for grade 11. It was an odd feeling; an empty feeling. I thought I would feel sad and homesick, but surprisingly, I didn’t feel either. I guess it didn’t help (or did help, depending on one’s perspective) that I was living with a family I completely despised (McFucks) – so it wasn’t like I was surrounded by references and reminders of love and gooey family togetherness. It was also bizarre that it was 32degrees outside and we were having a BBQ, so it didn't really 'feel' like Christmas either.

I did my duty and remained at their house for as long as was required of me. Astonishingly, this family actually had some friends and they came over. I had to remain for that visit to ‘keep up appearances’ or some bullshit logic like that. So yes, they got to show off their little pet project with uncomfortable small talk and boring conversation; I had to do a lot of fake smiling and lying – I would have hoped that they at least appreciated my acting abilities, but I doubt it.

Once their painfully dull friends left, I asked if I could be excused to go to my friend’s Christmas party. They were done with me, so the father gave me a grunt, which I understood as a reluctant ‘yes’. Friggin’ finally!

I got to the party a lot later than I originally thought, but they were all happy to see me – at last I was with some friendly faces; it was a relief. My boyfriend came in from the back porch and gave me a big groping hug and sloppy kiss that stunk of beer, but I really didn’t mind… that time.

After I had a chance to mingle and get a few drinks into me I was feeling much better and was getting more into a Christmas-y mood. Further into the night, the drinks kept coming and both myself and my boyfriend were getting ‘in the mood’.

We loaned his friend’s sister’s bedroom for the night, as the rest of his family were away at the beach for Christmas eve. My boyfriend brought in a couple bows to try and stick to my nipples, but it didn't work that great. He had suggested trying the 69 position earlier that evening, as he had done on numerous occasions before, but I wasn’t too sure. We did like trying new things together, but I don’t know – something about a guy’s chode in my face didn’t do much for me, nor if I was on top, I didn’t see how my ass in his face would be a particularly sexy angle for me – I didn’t have many of those to begin with, gimmie a break! Perhaps it was the generosity of the Christmas spirit flowing through me, but that night I finally said, “What the hell; let’s try it.”

I could tell straight away that he was super excited. After some initial fooling around he gave me a little whistle of approval and swung his leg over my head and started going down on me, upside down. OK, so that was feeling great, of course… but yep, there it was – his big harry chode (the area between nuts and asshole – watch Jackass and you’ll learn all about the chode), ass crack and all other bits waving in my face. It totally wasn’t sexy at all and I was so relieved it wasn’t me on top. It was really hard for me not to laugh… really, really hard. My previous thoughts on this position were bang on.

There was a definite tug-of-war with my thought processes and senses whilst in this position – I was surely enjoying the pleasure, but then I would have to snap out of it and perform head on him… upside down and in the reverse angle, so as not to bend it backwards and break the damn thing. I could see how having me on top would be a lot easier for me to perform my end of the deal, for sure. Upside down & backwards blow jobs are not an easy feat!

This sums up my first 69 in a nutshell:
Oh, pleasure. Ugh, annoying. Oh, pleasure. Ugh, annoying… and so on and so forth.

Finally, he had turned around, put a condom on and we finished the ‘traditional’ way. While we were lying on the bed afterwards, he looked over at me and proclaimed, “You know, I really love you.” That was the first time he said that, and continued by saying that being with me made it his best Christmas ever. Uh, ok… and I really like you a lot… too. Yikes! That was the best I could give him that night, or any other night after that. He was one of the VERY few that I actually DIDN’T fall in love with – just my luck! At least I can say Christmas that year was abundant in awkward moments… and positions.

I f**ked Charlie Brown

This is a prime example of how sometimes, with the assistance of an obscene amount of alcohol that the 2 most unlikely people can and will end up together at the end of the night, even if they’re 5 inches shorter and about 50lbs lighter.

So there we all were at my friends party – the later they showed up, the more stoned or drunk they were. The party was packed, like something I would have only imagined from one of those teen movies; in reality they rarely were ever that crowded. Most teenaged parties were too elitist or clique-centred to have so many people invited, but apparently word had spread for this party across a few schools in the area and everyone and their cousin’s brother showed up. Not before too long it was bordering on out-of-control, and I was kind of glad it wasn’t my house!

Perhaps it was because there were so many people from other schools that the original few that we knew ended up gravitating towards each other. The skater boys from our school had showed up earlier in the night; these were the guys that on any normal day either ignored me or took an opportunity to make fun of me for one reason on another – usually my “funny” accent was their choice of attack – it got old fast, but you know what they say about small things amusing small minds.

There were about 6 guys in their group and none of them had girlfriends (shocker), even though they thought they were the coolest guys in the school. They just were a over-charged herd of testicles that festered and boiled. One of the ‘leaders’ of this skater clique was this odd little fellow that resembled Charlie Brown. He was about 5’1’ with a perfectly round head and his hair was so thin and pale that all he would have had to do to perfect the similarity was put on a yellow and black sweater. When I first saw him at school and they told me that he was ‘Charlie’ I thought it was funny that it was his name... but I guess it was one of my blonde moments because they laughed at what I thought was cool irony. “Ya! That’s why he’s got that nickname, genius, that’s not his REAL name, but everyone calls him that.” Ah, OK. Got it. Fair enough.

I was sitting on the couch, trying to take in the insanity of the party and working on a pretty good buzz. There was only a little space left on the couch, but Charlie was a little guy, and he squeezed in beside me. “Hi Stef-an-ieeee” he said, in his stupid failed attempt at an American accent. Must have been the booze because I laughed at him this time. He proceeded to make small talk with me... for the first time ever. It was strange but I was curious to see how it was going to play out.

After a short while I had to go the toilet and get another drink, so he said he’d come with me. Perhaps the little lost puppy had got separated from his testosterone posse, who knows. Usually, where there was one, the others followed not far behind... but there was Charlie, following ME around. As we walked around the house party, he put his hand on my waist as not to separate from me and it was then that I started to get a little more intrigued about his ulterior motive. My inhibitions had been tossed out the window about an hour before, so what the hell? With a new drink in my right hand, I pushed Charlie up against the nearest wall with my left, grabbing his midriff in a sexually charged kind-of-way. He gave me a little Charlie Brown grin that showed off his 3 forehead ripples very clearly, like they had been drawn on personally by Charles Schulz.

We started making out and the sneaky little kid had his hands up my shirt almost immediately, not that I minded. Not long had passed and we heard screams coming from outside. Someone had been stabbed! That’s right, stabbed! What the hell was going on? Everyone was scattering like an ant hill on fire. Charlie grabbed my hand and we escaped out the side door and went to hide in the garden of the neighbouring yard. Oddly, we weren’t even focused on the chaos that was happening, not even when the cop sirens and lights appeared. We just pulled each others’ jeans down around our ankles and started having sex right there in the garden, on the uncomfortable landing of a 4-stepped cobblestone path.

It was awful; absolutely, outrageously awful. He had the smallest penis I had ever seen! Size isn’t usually an issue...but to an extent. Christ! Then the logical part of me piped in, “What did I expect? It’s bloody Charlie Brown! He could fit in my pocket.” Maybe I hoped he was packing something awesomely disproportionate to the rest of his tiny body; I was wrong. Anyway, it was over fairly quickly as well, which was fine with me, since I couldn’t feel anything anyway.

There were many mornings after a substantial drinking session that I thought to myself through a throbbing hangover, “What did I do? And, why the hell did I do that?” This time was even more bizarre than others because that next morning I had to add to my myriad of embarrassing questions, “Did I just fuck Charlie Brown?” Yes; yes I did. Good grief!

The Ecstasy & the Agony

I was watching Desperate Housewives last week, and although I watch it regularly, there is not a hell of a lot that I ever empathise with; it is usually for pure entertainment purposes only. When I want to watch something that I can relate to, it’s more along the lines of Location, Location, Location. Desperate Housewives is so ridiculous that I cannot help but love it, along with the other simulacrum worlds within Young & the Restless and Days of Our Lives. I can’t deny it – I’ve always been a sucker for this kind of fantasy story lines that ooze with clichés and hyper sexual characters.


Even my friends in high school would refer to my own personal life as the ‘Soap Opera of Stephanie’. It wasn’t because my personality was dramatic – because I wasn’t, by any means, but I somehow always managed to get myself into odd situations that vaguely followed some sort of plotline... so I’ve been told. In my head, I always thought my life was fairly boring – which is why I enjoyed the escapism that shows like Y&R and Housewives provide. Although my husband might argue this point, I actually am aware of the ridiculousness of these shows, honestly, I am.

Desperate Housewives, ABC Sundays

So, yes, I enjoy these shows and usually have zero going on in my own life that could even come close to compare with some of these outrageous storylines, but I caught myself relating to Bree Van De Kamp for probably the very first time in 7 seasons. She has recently hooked up with her handyman – a slight recycling of Gabrielle’s affair with the gardener, but nevertheless, at least this time around Bree is single. He is at least 20 years her junior, tattooed and smokin’ hot! (Green has sure come a long way since his geeky teens, that’s for damn sure.) Along with his tight youthful body, she is also enjoying the stamina that comes with it... for all of 1 day. After the second day, she is so sore that she has to walk around like a rodeo cowgirl. She had to invent exhausting tasks for him in the hope that he would be too tired to go for a 3rd straight night of a sexual marathon. Oh lord, I laughed so hard!

My experience wasn’t with someone 20 years my junior, but he was definitely the cool tattooed bad boy. I had met him online and he was the bass player in a Punk band. I had stars in my eyes for this guy, for sure – and I wasn’t an idiot not to notice that the feelings were a bit lopsided on my side. After a few dates he invited me back to his ‘bachelor apartment’ which literally consisted of a day-bed, bathroom, kitchenette and a small TV unit. There really wasn’t much else to do but have sex – for the majority of the evening. That went pretty well and I enjoyed holding on to his thick tattooed arms while my legs were spread high in the air.

A couple days after that, we arranged to spend the night in a hotel in the city. From the moment we arrived, it was a continuous screwfest. I couldn’t believe that he could last for so long – maybe now I think he might have taken a pretty blue pill, but who knows. I hadn’t really recovered from the last time we were together so my lady bits quickly became dry and sore; it felt like I was literally on fire – I guess friction will do that! We had to migrate to the shower to help things along – which it did with the heat, but not with the pain. A smarter (and less selfish) lover would have switched to a more oral activity for my pleasure and relief, but this guy was only interested in 1 singular motion.

I had to get up early for school the next morning – and he had to go to work – so luckily, no sunrise surprise for me. Thank god! I tried to walk and it was excruciating! I was walking exactly like how Bree walked after her sex-a-thon. I couldn’t even hide it or force myself to walk normally – it wasn’t possible – a wheelchair would have been a fantastic solution.

Of course, my friends at College noticed right away and proclaimed, “The Rockstar?” I responded with an injured “Yyyyes.” And they just proceeded to mock me for the rest of the day – and I couldn’t even laugh along with them, mainly because any sudden muscle movement from the waist down was almost unbearable. Even just sitting in class I could feel my thighs throbbing and I could have sworn they were emitting heat. I got 2 text messages from him that afternoon – and I ignored them both; I needed a break. Just like Bree, the next time I saw him I needed to say, “For heaven’s sake, put that thing away!” Thank you Desperate Housewives for reminding me of that memory that only now can I truly laugh at.

Halloween Rollercoaster

It was the first Halloween that I celebrated in full teenage fashion, complete with a bottle of vodka and not one but two parties to which both I was expected to make an appearance. Previous years, after I was too old to trick-or-treat, I would stay home and help my mom give out candy – so this was definitely going to be a much better night. I had bought a black short cut dress for a semi-formal a few months prior and I thought I would take the opportunity to take it out for another night on the town. I have to admit that I felt absolutely sexy in that dress. It had a crisscross ribbon lace-up all the way up the back and tucked me in and pushed me out in all the right places – Yeowza! The first time I put it on was for Jim. Did he like it? We ended up having sex right there on the kitchen counter, so I took that as a big ‘YES!’

This time around I camped it up a bit by slicking my hair back, putting on an obscene amount of make-up, got some fishnet stockings and a cheap pentagram necklace and... Voila! I became a sexy witch, and I felt a whole new level of confidence that was new to me; I loved every second of it.

I showed up at the first party – I had met the host, Kevin, at my karate class and he lived close to where I was staying at the time. When he opened the door, he looked me up and down like he desired a piece of well-done meat – and I fuckin’ loved it; it definitely wasn’t attention that I was use to. It wasn’t a large party, but I enjoyed myself with him and his friends. There was a lot of drinking and flirting going on and one thing led to another and my sexy dress ended up around my waist and I was deflowering Kevin. I felt like an empowered seductress, especially with my ‘Halloween’ costume. I didn’t know that it was his first time before hand, but the congratulatory clapping and cheering when we emerged from his bedroom was an obvious giveaway.

We partied for a while afterwards and more beverages were passed around and each subsequent one went down smoother and smoother. I managed to catch the last train to my next party destination, where I was planning to finish the night, so I showed up with my remaining booze in one hand and my sleeping bag in the other. I was still amazed that I found my way there, in the state I was in by that point. This party consisted mostly of people from school, although not the usual group I hung out with and there were a few that I had never met before that night. I had a couple relatively close friends in this group, but not many.

I was already stumbling over both my words and my feet when I arrived. I had time to have some slurred jokes and socializations with a few people and then I had to find somewhere to collapse. I wasn’t completely passed out – I was vaguely aware of my surroundings – but my head and every limb felt like they each weighed a tonne and I felt glued to the couch and sunk deeply into it.

The next thing I remember was the hot, stinky breath that was heating up the right side of my face. I heard a sleazy moan into my ear telling me I was gorgeous, but I could barely turn my head away, let alone muster up enough consciousness to tell this guy to ‘Fuck Off’. I then felt his hand start at my chest and quickly moved down to go up and under my dress. He dug his thick fingers under my stockings and underwear like a slimy eel lurching through the reeds. I tried to push him away but I was paralyzed. The thought of this guys fingers thrusting in and out of me made me want to vomit – it still does to this day. I managed to figure out who it was, which made it worse because even earlier, while I was still vertical I thought he was creepy; Dwayne. Even the sound of that name makes my skin crawl.

Luckily, one of the few people I knew at the party caught Dwayne in act and yelled at him to get away from me. I was infinitely grateful, even if I couldn’t verbalize it at that moment. A couple hours had passed and I managed to prop myself up on the couch; it must have been about 4am. That same friend noticed and came over with a nice glass of water and sat next to me. I put my head on his shoulder and cried; I had never felt so dirty in my entire life. It was at that moment that I understood why some rape victims scrub themselves in the shower until they are raw – that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I needed to scrub the Dwayne off of me.

So needless to say, it was a substantially eventful Halloween, but not like how I could ever had foreseen it when I first put on that dress earlier that afternoon. It was a Halloween rollercoaster that I would never forget, for both good reasons and some bad reasons that I wish I actually could forget – but instead they are permanently seared into my brain. Kevin and I went through a lot together and he remains a life-long friend of mine, whereas even the mere mention of someone with the name of ‘Dwayne’ makes me gag a little and I cross my legs; I never wore that dress again.

Hoes Before Bros

There were only a handful of times that I had come close to throwing a punch in high school, but miraculously I never did – probably from fear more than anything else. There is only 1 time that I really wished I had though – and still to this day, I often think that in this rare instance, kicking the absolute crap out of this girl would have been entirely and fantastically therapeutic.

I’m sure every school has at least one – the tramp, skank, village bicycle or whatever choice description you might want to insert. Now I know I wasn’t a virginal kitten, but there was one huge difference and that was I never intentionally set out to hurt anyone, and to this day there was only 1 time that I accidentally hurt someone and I deeply regret it. Perhaps that is why I detested Jessie so much – it was that she would repeatedly sleep with other people’s boyfriends and not seem to show any remorse, nor did she ever reap any consequences. It wasn't like there were shallow pickings - there were MANY other guys she could have had instead. If she wanted to have random romps with countless unattached guys, then I would have said ‘Welcome to the Club’ but that wasn’t her style. She preferred guys that had been test driven already, or rather ones that were currently being driven by someone else.

She never ‘stole’ any boyfriend of mine, but there was a long list of relationship carnage that she created that involved most of my friends. Not only did she seem to have zero accountability for her hurtful actions, but most of my friends continued to be her friend! Did I miss something? How did that work? From my perspective, it was quite simple: You hurt me and I can’t trust you; therefore, we are not friends anymore. It's not even about the guy when it comes down to it - we all know they come and go - it's the TRUST that gets broken. Seemed simple enough to me – but there she was, everyday hanging out with us, like that nasty zit that keeps reappearing on your chin.

While recalling one of her many horizontal mishaps, I took a body count one day and she had had sex (or close enough to it) with SEVEN guys that had been with one of my friends – and I didn’t have a big circle of friends, so that covered almost every one of them (one girl she did 2 of her guys, once while she was passed out downstairs and the sound of Jessie screwing her boyfriend upstairs woke her up, classy!) But, they are still friends to this day – the world is going mad.

She finally had gone too far with unlucky number 6, in which after doing lord-knows-what with him, she accused him of sexual assault the next day. It was awful! This guy was gentle, dopey and harmless and his only fault was falling victim to the siren’s spell. His girlfriend was a tough chick, and frankly even I wouldn’t have wanted to cross her, but once again, she did nothing to Jessie, physically, verbally or anything of the sort. She just kicked the shit out of a garbage can instead. There was a whole dramatic scene in the parking lot (Jessie doing most of the flared-nose dramatics, as usual) and she came up to ME and challenged ME to a fight.

“Com’on Andrea! Hit me! I know you want to!”

She was damn right about that – and this triggered one of my ‘Ally McBeal’ moments to which the imaginary me grabbed her by her overly-coiffed Farah Fawcett hair and repetitively punch her in the face. Every fibre of my body was itching to take this girl on, but I coolly remained leaning on my friend’s truck. I gave out a huge forced grin and replied, “I would love to – but you’re not worth the effort.” She just stormed off like a deranged two year old having a tantrum. I guess I should be proud that I handled it that way, but the primal part of me would have loved to throw in one punch for every one of my friends’ hearts she broke.

The part that utterly bemuses me is that even after that horribly messy situation (there was a court case and everything, which of course got thrown out on character witnesses alone, but it was still unpleasant) she still managed to remain a part of our group. Ahhh! What did this girl have to do before people besides me would see her for who she really is? Apparently nothing. She even succeeded in hurting one more friend after that, my best friend... with her ex-boyfriend. She confronted Jessie and told her she was not cool with it and that she would have to choose between their friendship (of 8+ years) and the guy; Jessie looked her straight in the eye and said without hesitation, “Him”... It lasted 2 weeks. Awesome - I hope it was worth it.

Now that some time has passed and I have moved away, I really only have to see the people that I choose to see, but she still comes up in conversation and appears at some social events; the aggravating zit prevails! The ironic part is that out of all the people we went to high school with, she hates ME the most and I find that downright amusing. It must be because she knows I was the one person that always saw right through her and never bought in to her dramatic bullshit. I once told her with true sincerity that she needed to seek professional psychiatric help. Yes, it’s true that I was tripping on mushrooms at the time, but nevertheless I tried to be as sincere as much as possible. Regardless, I still wish I had hit her that day, just once.

The Dynamic Trio

I have always taken ownership of my own actions and choices and for the most part, I was at peace with what I did, but of course, I have had occasional lapses of judgment. Nobody’s perfect! There was a close knit unit of friends and family that were strong long before and after I had come along. There were two brothers, only 1 year apart and looked like twins, and the best mate of the eldest brother; all 3 of them were ginger (or ‘Red Knobs’ was the more common term back then).

I was dating the best mate for quite some time, which is how I had come to join their merry band of Red Knobs. I got to know all the parents, other siblings and even a couple grandparents. I felt welcomed and enjoyed the group dynamic of their other extended friends and girlfriends. I became close with the eldest brother’s girlfriend for awhile, but then she started getting all funny with me. Apparently, she mistook my close friendship with her boyfriend as flirtation and didn’t appreciate it. For Christ’s Sake! It only took that one doubt to create tension amongst the group. Of course, I didn’t have any romantic feelings towards him, especially since I was dating his best mate, but it didn’t matter.

A while later I had broken up with my boyfriend but we still managed to maintain an awkward friendship, which meant I was still invited to parties and other hangouts with the group. One drunken night I was out with the two brothers and the girlfriend and by the end of the night, I found myself behind a bush rounding third base with the younger brother, who I wasn’t even remotely attracted to; I guess it was more about opportunity and availability. It probably wasn’t the best idea I ever had, but there I was, with my pants unzipped, making out and getting felt up and down by the youngest of their ‘dynamic trio’.

Big surprise, that younger brother was pretty proud of himself and by the next weekend, the jokes were not being held back. We were all hanging out in their main room (I was the only girl this time) and after a few minutes of silence, the younger brother offered his two fingers to my ex-boyfriend and said, “Recognise the smell?” All the guys burst into hysterics, but I was completely mortified.

Jump forward a couple years, I had moved away and had recently moved back. I was catching up with old friends and even though my ex-boyfriend had long since moved away, the eldest brother was around. I really did enjoy our friendship back in high school (we had the same sense of humour), so I invited him out for drinks. We went back to my flat and after exchanging stories of the ‘good old days’ and having a great time, we ended up in bed. Surprisingly, it was absolutely fantastic sex and thus I had completed the ‘dynamic trio’. Although we both had no intentions of a relationship, he continued to come around for these ‘special visits’ for a couple months. After the first time, however, I briefly heard his long-since-ex-girlfriend in the back of my mind bitching at me, “I told you so!” O well.

While it was over a span of about 5 years, I still don’t exactly feel fantastic about the fact that these 3 guys, who were brothers, blood or not, all had me in one way or another. I have a photo of all 3 of them together and it’s when I see this photo that I think to myself, “You fucking skank!” Haha.

Baby Rocker Project

When I was in grade 13 (high school went to 13 when I was at school), I was really into Alternative music and everything that went along with it. There were always a few school bands on the go, and they usually played similar styles of music, although crappier versions of the ‘real’ thing. This was normally the case until I was reluctantly dragged to some high school battle of the bands event and there was a band that performed that really stood out. Their songs were surprisingly polished, had good lyrics with catchy tunes... and fantastically alternative. I almost could feel myself transforming into a groupie, and to top it off, I was completely smitten with their drummer; I had selected my prey. He was my kind of hot which meant a slightly stalky, teddy bear kind of guy. He had a short, spiked hair style with some blue colouring streaked through it. His clothing consisted of a fitted retro logo ringer T-shirt with an un-buttoned bowler shirt over-top, loose fitting cargo pants, Doc Marten boots and a big chain that connected his wallet to his pants.

I WANT HIM NOW! WHO IS THAT CUTIE AND WHY HAVEN’T I SEEN HIM AT SCHOOL?

Well, I quickly found out why... he was only 16 and in grade 10 (which meant he had a different lunch period than seniors, and had little opportunity to interact with juniors). OK, so he was 3 years younger than me (which is a huge gap in a high school context), but I still couldn’t ignore the carnal attraction I had to this guy. Then more news filtered in... this guy had a girlfriend... and she was in grade 9! BAHAHA. I didn’t even see that information as an issue. I was about to commence in sexual warfare with a little 14 year old girl. No contest.

I made my intentions known to this guy right away. I wasn’t normally so forward with guys, but I felt that I could use my ‘older woman’ angle to my advantage, and it gave me courage I had no idea I possessed. I attended all their subsequent shows for a couple months. I really did think they were a very talented band, so that helped. The little girlfriend came to the ‘All Ages’ gigs, but at the licensed events, he was all mine. We would hang out in between sets and sometimes after the gig. I could buy alcohol; I had my own car and was sexually experienced and assertive... which in itself was like Spanish Fly to many 16 year old boys. A lot of my friends knew about the latest focus of my affections – they called it my Baby Rocker Project.

The little girlfriend really started to hate me. She and her friends would give me dirty looks in the hall – like I gave a shit. Grade 9 students were like ants, physically and socially, and I was a monarchical senior, top of the food chain. Actually, I found it amusing! I never did anything directly to her – although she despised me for pursuing her boyfriend (which was totally understandable) if I did confront her, she probably would have cried or something annoying like that. Then, I would have just felt like a nasty bitch and it would have ruined all my fun. I much preferred the label of Predatory Skank, thank you very much!

Finally, after a 19+ gig they did at the local pub (band members’ ages excluded, of course), the band hung around with a group of us. He still managed to get a hold of a few drinks, and we were having a great time together. After last call, the two of us had made our way outside. The shop across from the pub had a 4 step porch, and I led him over to it. I couldn’t take it anymore; I felt I had done my due-diligence for the past 2 months and now it was pay day. I sat down on the top step, spread my legs apart and pulled him in towards me by grabbing his belt buckle. He didn’t object thus far, so as he knelt down in front of me, I wrapped my legs around him and went in for the kiss and it was fabulous! Being the eager kid that he was, he went directly for the under-the-top boob action... and I couldn’t care less.

Go for it, kiddo! 

I’m sure that was still forbidden territory with his tweenie girlfriend. He was pressing up so close to me, I could feel how hard he was and I took that opportunity to do some of my own feeling around. His euphoric moans for these basic 101 moves were an indication that this was not a common occurrence for him – it was definitely a step up his intensity ladder. We were there for only a few minutes and then his older brother appeared around the corner, looking for him to drive home. He jumped up and said, “Pleeease, don’t tell my girlfriend!” Of course I never did; I didn’t care enough to.

I pretty much lost interest after that; I finally got what I had come for. I had completed my Baby Rocker Project and was satisfied with the results. I still occasionally listened to his CD, but I really wasn’t trying to pursue him for a potential relationship – that would have just been silly; he was in fact way too young for me during high school. I just wanted a good old fashioned Band Member & Groupie make-out session, with our vintage T-shirts rubbing up against each other, and that’s exactly what I got.

White & Nerdy

When I was 15, I had a boyfriend that was very cute and sweet. For some reason, that didn’t seem to do it for me. Incidentally, one of my best friends had a brother that was 17; he was nerdy, annoying and awkward... and you know what? I DUG THAT ABOUT HIM! Sometimes the desires of one’s heart are totally bizarre and illogical. I was like Shannon Elizabeth in American Pie – The geek got me hot and bothered! Every time I went over to their home, we ended up in some kind of sexually fuelled confrontation. My friend wasn’t oblivious to it either; she would just roll her eyes at us whenever it happened. When it was just the 2 of us, she would interrogate me with a repulsed look on her face, “My brother...Really? Yuck! Gross! He’s such a dork. Should I remind you of your super adorable boyfriend? What the hell are you doing?”

I really couldn’t answer or explain any of it. A few weeks had gone by and it had gotten worse (or better, depending on your perspective) and I still had my boyfriend. I was at my friend’s place again and she had to go help her dad for a few minutes, and left me to my own devices. I went downstairs where her brother was lying on the couch watching TV. Neither of us said a word as I approached. I kneeled down by his head and he propped himself up on to his side, resting on his left elbow. We paused for about 3 seconds, looking directly into each other’s eyes, almost as if we were daring each other to make the first move.

My heart was pounding out of my chest; it was so exciting. At the same time, we both leaned towards each other, and meet in the middle. The kiss was deep and very enthusiastic, to say the least. We stayed in that position for a few minutes, with his one free arm caressing the small of my back while we released all of our sexual tension. The intensity was progressing, so he rolled off the couch and joined me on the floor to partake in a bit of dry humping. We made out for maybe 10 minutes at the most; it was superb!

Then, his sister yelled downstairs, looking for me. “I’m here! Hold on... I’m coming!”

And just like that, it was over and we never spoke of it, or did it again. Maybe we just needed to get it out of our systems. I had about 2 inches in height on him; he had braces, bad hair and acne... and for 10 minutes of my life, he completely rocked my world.

6-Pack Pretty Boy

When you leave high school, you get a fresh start; a clean slate. I moved on to campus in my first year of University. A guy had taken interest in me that would NEVER have done so– if he was from my old high school. He was the super hot quarter-back with a sprinkle of smouldering bad boy. Many teenage girls’ secret fantasy (even if many would deny it). Now, this wasn’t love, per se. It was purely physical, and we were both cool with that. We didn't really have much in common anyway, except for partying and sex. He actually had a girlfriend that was attending another university about 6 hours away. They probably had that delusional talk before high school graduation: “Yes, we’ll stay together after high school... it won’t matter that we’ll be so far apart...nothing will change. We love each other.” Yeah, OK.

One night, after a good romp in the sack with my 6-pack pretty boy, he left and I migrated to the living room where some of my roommates were hanging out. About 10 minutes had passed and he came bursting back into our place, white as a ghost and panicked.

“She’s here! She’s asleep in my bed!”

“Who?”

“My girlfriend! She must have taken the bus for hours to come and surprise me! Oh shit! What the fuck should I do now? I can’t go back there like this!”

OK, so I got him to calm down; deep breaths. All he really had to do was take a quick shower to get the sweat and sex off him. No worries. My roommates thought it was pretty entertaining... so did I. Although I had met his girlfriend once before, I had zero connection to her. I didn’t feel any kind of “sisterhood betrayal” towards her. He showered, dried off and left for a second time. He didn’t come back again that night, so we thought that was that.

The next morning the two of them came over for a visit, which we all thought was slightly bizarre. I could tell he was extremely uncomfortable about it. Apparently, out of all the people she met last time she was over, she particularly liked me. She thought I was funny, and wanted to come over and hang out. She was so doe-eyed and astonishingly naive. OK, so that tweaked a tingle of guilt deep within me, but I still never lost any sleep over it.

Vamps n' Tramps

I had just broken up with my first love; the first guy I had sex with. I was 16 and completely devastated. We had broken up mid-week and that next weekend was Halloween, complete with a huge party filled with horny teenagers and a lot of alcohol. I somehow ended up having a “deep and meaningful” chat with one of the guys from my school that I had zero interest in, romantically. The low-down of his sob-story was that he had been with his girlfriend for over 2 years by this point, and she wanted to wait until they graduated high school before they consummated their relationship. Needless to say, he was getting ants in his pants.

Ingredients for disaster:
1 sexually frustrated 17 year old male with a long-term girlfriend that had gone home for the night.
1 heartbroken 16 year old girl, who was so freshly off the rebound that you could taste the Gatorade.
1 bottle of vodka
1 sleeping bag

So, in my drunken lack of judgement, I suggested that I do him a favour and I would have sex with him, but it had to be TOP SECRET. I wasn’t going to be a part of any drama. It was purely a friend doing another friend a big favour so he can get some “relief”. I was also so upset from my break-up that I actually thought this might be good for me, seeing as then my ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be the last person I had been with. The logic is there, although sad and morally skewed. Anyway, so we had sex. It was uneventful, awkward, clumsy.... and quick. And I thought that would be it.

The next morning, I got a phone call from this guy, telling me that he confessed to his girlfriend, broke up with her and that he was in love with me. ARE YOU FRIGGIN’ KIDDING ME? Yuck! I was completely up shit creek now. It would be all over school and within less than 4 months of starting there, I would be labelled “The Slut Outcast”. Fantastic! That had to be some kind of record! I felt so nauseous and stressed out that I spent about 2 hours kneeling in front of the toilet, and metaphorically watching my social life circle the toilet bowl and down the drain.

Lucky for me, that group of friends weren’t very extensive and pretty contained. This school also turned out to be way less caught up in the gossip of other people’s misdeeds than it was at my old school. Minus about 5 people that hated me, I was OK. I survived the promiscuous storm and came out the other side. Life went on.

On a side note, that couple eventually got back together a year or two later, and they are married now with a couple of kids. So, in their relationship timeline, I will permanently be that big glitch. If you read it closely, it would say something like: “That Total Slut that broke-up Mommy and Daddy long before you were born.” Yep, that’s me.

My "Double Garage"

I had been sleeping with this guy that had a rather huge penis; the sex was hard and dirty and great. The relationship had taken its natural course after about 3 months and then we had gone our separate ways. About a week or so later, I had a unique opportunity to briefly re-unite with an old flame (one that I still harboured some pretty intense feelings for). It was such a pleasant surprise and I was excited at the prospect that we would be having ‘reunion sex’... until it actually happened.

Turned out that my lady parts had been stretched out like a ring of taffy from the previous guy. I had never experienced what a difference it would actually make... until that moment.

APPARENTLY A LOT OF FUCKING DIFFERENCE!

When he got inside me, I could barely feel him. It was like he was parking his scooter inside my double garage! I was totally ashamed.

Everyone’s heard the on-going comment that guys like it “tight”, so I would assume that he noticed, but he still appeared to be enjoying himself. I let him continue and I pretended that I was enjoying myself as well. I was constantly trying to squeeze together my pelvic muscles to see if that made a difference. All I kept thinking to myself was: “I’m a fucking loose whore! Tramp. Skank. Slut. Strumpet. Floozy.” I felt pretty gross about myself, to tell you the truth, not to mention that it ruined what was supposed to be a special moment with this guy.

The moral of this story is: Do your Kegel exercises on a daily basis!