The People I Slept With.

I WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE TO BUT MOSTLY THANK THE GUYS MY FRIENDS AND I HAVE BEEN INVOLVED WITH BECAUSE ALL OF THE FOLLOWING STORIES ARE TRUE. Only names, dates and locations were changed to protect the fragile male ego.

Tag: Men

PUBIC HAIR STYLIST

by ThePeopleISleptWith

One day I came across an article about the different ways one can shave their pubic hair. Intrigued and bored I decided to try “The Martini Glass.” I’m not exactly the most artistic person, in-fact I’m awful but I tried my best. I was proud that it at least resembled a martini glass but it was far from perfect. I kept trying to even if out but I just kept making things worse. Eventually I forgot about my short-lived career as a pubic hair stylist and went about my day. That night I unexpectedly ran into my friend with benefits. I completely forgot about the deformed martini glass until he took off my underwear. Too late to do anything about it I decided to own it and play it off as a joke. He stared at it for a few seconds then laughed and high-fived me. I think I feel I’m love a little.

THREE PUMPS

by ThePeopleISleptWith

After six months of heavy drinking, good friends and various hallalifonogens. I got over my ex. Of course that’s when he decided to text me. It didn’t help that I was just drunk enough to think that answering him was a good idea. After a few more beers I would of been too busy singing “Total Eclipse of The Heart “to reply. I wasn’t surprised when the friendly conversation quickly turned sexual. Or when he picked me up later that night and drove to our “spot” …that use to be romantic.  We quickly moved to the back seat and he ripped off my clothes. I guess he thought that texting was enough foreplay because he just stuck it right in. One pump, two pumps, three pumps and he was done.

THE HEAD PUSH GAME

by ThePeopleISleptWith

Our relationship was over, not technically, but we both knew it was only a matter of time. We tried our best to hide our pain during a natural friends graduation party, but with every Twisted Tea I grew more annoyed by his existence. It just got to the point where every single thing he did or said drove me insane. I was mad at him for breathing, yes breathing.. as if he could somehow stop. The way he lifted his pants up made me feel like he was stabbing me with a knife. His laugh sent chills up my spine and his jokes were not longer funny. Unfortunately alcohol had the opposite effect on him. Tripping over his feet and slurring his speech he begged me to go to his car to “talk.” I sat there looking down awkwardly, as I explained to him how I felt. He placed his hand on the top of my head and slightly rubbed my scalp, consoling me, but all I could think was YOU’RE MESSING UP MY HAIR. After a few second he lightly pushed my head down towards his lap, confused I looked up at him. He did it again, but this time with force. We sat there for five minutes playing the head push game. ((The Head Push Game: When a man continues to push a woman’s head towards his crotch, trying to get her to suck his dick, while the woman lifts her head, clearly denying his request.))  I couldn’t take it anymore so I left the car and broke up with him over the phone.

WAY TOO LONG

by ThePeopleISleptWith

I never thought I would say this but he lasted too long… way too long. A Breaking Bad episode (that I had yet to see) started and ended during our romp. There was a moment 20 minutes in that I could tell he was close at but he stopped and said, “I don’t want to cum yet.” I was ready for bed. Fifteen minutes later I felt nothing but sore. I tried to get into it but I couldn’t help but stare at the clock on my wall t- okay if we finishes now I’ll get 5 hours of sleep. Of course I should of just said something – but the relationship was in a fragile state. After another fifteen minutes I had to do something so I told him that I wanted him to cum. “Not until you do one more time,” he said. That wasn’t going to happen but how could I say no? I faked it, paying more attention to the episode.

INTERNET STALKING

by ThePeopleISleptWith

I’m over him, no longer interested.. and I’m not just saying that to convince myself. It’s been a while I’ve had new dick but I NEED to know what his new girlfriend looks like. I’m not proud of this but it’s not like I’m driving past his house (only once) or calling him then hanging up (twice), it’s just an innocent click away. We all have done it. You click on her page because what else do you have to do? I KNOW – Why would you waste time and energy unless you’re threatened by it? Maybe because it’s just that easy. PROBLEM: Her Facebook page is private and the only thing I can see is 4 profile pictures.

PICTURE 1: The “I love my friends” group picture of 6 girls. No one really stands out.

PICTURE 2: The “Bestie” with 2 out of the 6 girls. Okay narrowed it down it down to 2.

PICTURE 3: The “Weird abstract angle with dim lighting.” Her long curly black hair not only covers most of her face but doesn’t match the hair of either 2 girls. DAMN IT.

PICTURE 4: An inspirational meme. USELESS.

After a few minutes of studying the few facial features I could see in picture 3 and searching twitter and Instagram, I gave up. Maybe it was for the best, I could of easily accidentally liked a picture or favorited a tweet.

GAME OVER

by ThePeopleISleptWith

I went down on him while he sat in the front seat of his car. I could hear the voices of our friends playing beer-pong and the music from the party we ditched. The voices grew closer as his moans grew more intense.  Don’t gag, don’t gag… I prayed as I gave it my all. I must have been too distracted by his ball sweat.. wondering if he even showered that day to notice our friends were approaching the car. Without warning he pushed my head down, all the way, holding me there so they couldn’t could see. GAME OVER, I lifted my head up and jumped back. I put my clothes on, silently, avoiding eye contact as I waited for my friends to continue walking down the street. I left the car, glancing back at him giving him to chance to apologize then slammed the door.

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