As a young grasshopper wading through this wild world of sexual discovery after having only one long-term girlfriend, I succumbed to hubris in thinking there would be no more surprises. Boy was I wrong. I say ‘strange’ because at the time they were, but I now know many of them are more or less commonplace. I shit you not – these are all true stories.
The Aggressive Alpha Woman
This was sophomore year and I was hooking up with a girl who was a type ‘A’ to the max. We starting hanging out fairly often and when I playfully negged her by saying, “Aren’t you worried I’m gonna get sick of you?” she responded, “I’ve never had a guy get sick of me,” with a straight face. After we hooked up for the first time, she texted me the next day and said:
Her: That was great, but do you wanna know what really gets me off?
Me: Of course, what?
Her: It really gets me off when a guy hits me.
I was cleaning my apartment before she came over, and when I got that text I turned off the vacuum and started pacing. I had no idea what to say back to that. I honestly didn’t know what she meant exactly and I was kind of scared, so after thirty minutes I responded:
Me: You mean like, not in the face right?
Her: My ass you idiot, but don’t hit me soft or I’ll think you’re a little bitch.
I’ll be damned if a woman’s gonna call me an idiot and warn me not to be a ‘little bitch’ in the same text; I had to rise to the occasion. I’m sure you can imagine my nervous wind-up before I spanked her the first time, thinking ‘Ok…I’ve got one shot at this…’ In retrospect the whole spanking thing isn’t that unique, but at the time I was floored by her brazen instruction.
The Girl Who Liked It Hot
I sweat a lot. There, I said it. I hate sweating, and even worse, I was living on the top floor of an apartment complex in San Diego without an air conditioner. My room had a few industrial fans blowing through my room’s open window, but I had to close that window when I had company because it opened up to the apartment’s walkway.
The first time I hooked up with this girl, she sat up to take off her shirt and turned off my fans.
Me: Noooo, turn those on, it’s too hot in here.
She lay down and when I got on top, she pulled my down comforter over both of us. I started dripping sweat from my forehead and gasping for oxygen, feeling disgusting, so I pulled the covers back to take a breath:
Me: It’s too hot.
Her: But I like it!
This back and forth happened several times until she started pinning the down comforter to the bed, which made me panic as I assumed I was only breathing carbon dioxide at this point. I did a backwards somersault out of the bottom of the comforter and stood up, panting as I wiped my brow, feeling a little frustrated:
Me: I can’t fucking breathe.
She gave me a look like ‘Wow, really? What are you gonna do?’ At this point I could care less about whatever humid, sub-tropical fantasy she had. I stood there catching my breath with my hands on my hips, turned my fans on, grabbed a towel and went to take a shower. Good riddance.
I’ll be honest; I’m not a fan of talkers. Mostly because I feel like whatever’s said in the moment is going to make me cringe in retrospect. This girl was a Chatty Cathy as it was, and during sex she’d say the most blanket statements that somehow begged a response:
Her: That feels good. Matt…Matt? Matt, that feels good, I like that…
I had no idea how to respond to that, “That’s good…I’m glad that works for you…it feels good for me too.” I’d rather know those things from a moan or heavy breathing, but then she reached up and started choking me, which took me by surprise since this was the first time we hooked up and it was something I hadn’t experienced before:
Her: Do you like that? Huh? Matt, tell me.
Now my breathing sounds like that little alien in Men in Black, wheezing against my crushed esophagus and answering in a high-pitched, nasally voice:
Me: Yeah, that’s fine.
After we caught our breath, she patted my chest and said, “Sorry for choking you, that’s just kind of my thing.” Obviously I acted like I was unfazed, been around the block, whatever. I guess I was just a prude at the time, but still, it came as a surprise because by all appearances she was a ditsy sweetheart.
I was hooking up with this free spirit, ‘nothing embarrasses me’-type at the time. We were wandering the boardwalk of San Diego when we saw this guy’s tank top that said:
Step 1: Fill a bowl or mug with warm water.
Step 2: Dip balls into the water.
Step 3: Have your partner blow through a straw, exfoliating the balls with bubbles.’
We laughed and took a picture of the guy’s tank and she said:
Her: I’m totally gonna give you a Ballcuzzi.
Me: You won’t.
Her: You know I would.
Me: Yeah, but you won’t.
She didn’t like that I was challenging her free spiritedness. In reality I could care less, it didn’t sound like it would be that gratifying, I was more concerned for her taking this happy-go-lucky lifestyle too far.
We stopped by a 7-11 on the way home to get straws: Slurpee straws, regular straws, coffee straws for smaller bubbles; she was adamant. I sat on the couch and the microwave dinged, I gave her a look like ‘this is your decision, once you do this you can’t undo it.’ She started blowing bubbles and looking up at me. I had to break eye contact because I started laughing, then she laughed and the water went up her nose and all over the couch.
Later my roommates asked why there was a towel on the couch and varying straws strewn across the coffee table; a crime scene with seemingly non-linear clues. Of all these experiences, the Ballcuzzi is the one that – for better or worse – I’ll never forget.