When much younger I once made a bet I could sleep a woman. I was at a party with friends and somehow ended up in an argument over whether or not I could have sex with a certain girl at the ball. My friends of course believing I didn’t have a chance in hell and me feeling the opposite. Getting girls is about confidence, confidence is about believing in yourself and believing in yourself is ultimately about booze. I had a pretty good buzz on and willing to give it a go.
I forget exactly how or what I said to make it happen, but I do remember driving home with her in my truck and the rain was nearly impossible to see through. I was still living at home and proceeded to fuck this poor girl’s brains out while my mother was hopefully in a very deep sleep in the next room. I remember the girl asking, “Do you want me to suck your dick?”
This made me laugh because it’s like what man on God’s green earth is going to say no to that?
“Nah, I’d rather you stick that TV remote up my ass.”
We had sex for what seemed like forever. I was pretty drunk at the time and not even Miranda Kerr’s pretty pink butthole was going to make me cum at that point. I think I may have faked an orgasm and passed out. I was cash, but the silly bet won.
A few days later my dickhole friends told one of this girl’s best friends about the bet and of course got me in a lot of trouble in the process. Girl’s don’t seem to like it when boys make stupid bets over having sex with them. Girl’s like pretty things and this one was upset we wouldn’t soon be boyfriend/girlfriend. The worst part being I didn’t wear a condom. I tried, but she wouldn’t let me. It was very strange. I remember telling her to stop so I could put one on and she quickly grabbed my dick and put it inside her before softly repeating, “Do you still want a condom?”
This woman was very evil.
Naturally I bent to her will because I was too hammered to think clearly. How I even produced a stiff dick is beyond me, but it’s funny because no matter how drunk a teenage boy is he can always get his dick hard. That horny little bastard can make wood in the middle of a nuclear meltdown, but then he hits 30 and it’s like, “Yeah I probably shouldn’t have 7 shots of tequila tonight.”
This is the one and only time a woman has it better than a man sexually. A woman can bake panty pudding no matter how sauced she is (or at least that’s what I’m to believe) and never has to worry over not being able to get it up. This happened to me once and it’s God awful. A man will never feel smaller than when a naked woman wants to have sex with him and he can’t get it up. The point being I’ve never been with a woman who had any trouble getting things “ready.” I mean, there’s always those middle of the day quickies when it’s hard to push through at first, but it always pops open the door and into the warm wet goodness hiding behind. Quickies are supreme because of this exact same reason - it’s so tough to break through, but feels so fucking amazing once in.
Am I right?
Not even Dracula can last longer than 45 seconds in these moments. But I’m not The Count, very much mortal and come morning drenched in the severe depression brought on by having unprotected sex.
I convinced myself I had aids.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind I wouldn’t soon die a shriveled frail little man for my friends to laugh at. It was too perfect. Too picturesque. I could see my life as one of those lame TV commercials about practicing safe sex.
“This is Jesse. He went to an underage party and consumed alcohol before making a bet he could slept with a girl. Jesse didn’t practice safe sex and contracted the aids virus. He died 6 months later.
Don’t let your son end up like Jesse. Talk to your kids about using condoms.”
I even got myself tested, but of course wouldn’t get the results for 7 days. That was the longest 7 days of my life. No sleep, I couldn’t eat, I spent most of the time crying in bed. I told my mother I had mono. I obsessed over being remembered as this total typical dickhole who made a sex bet and got aids in return. Around the 5th day I made plans to jump off the harbor bay bridge.
On the walk up the bridge I went over every nasty trashy piece of pussy I’ve ever been with (being a teenage boy this list was very short) and how this seemly pretty girl was the one to murder me. Aids is murder - you’re killing that person. I begged God if he would only spare my life this one time I would never have sex again. I’d donate to charity, help old ladies across the street and never use the word “fuck” again. Just spare my life this one time, you fucking asshole!!!
Once at the top of the bridge, I could see the entire city. I remember thinking of what a great place to kiss a woman, but God wouldn’t allow that. I’d be dead before morning. I raw-dogged a random and must face the consequences of my actions.
I’ll see you in Hell.
I didn’t end up jumping to my death, but I did smoke a handful of cigarettes and curse myself for not writing a note. I hoped the sharks would eat me so the body was never found. The next two days were a blur.
After the overweight Hispanic nurse informed me my HIV test came back negative I celebrated by tacking the test results to a cork board in my bedroom. I can’t imagine what my mother must have thought. One night she hears me banging out some random party slut and come 7 days later I’m tacking the aids test results on my wall.
On a more interesting note - I ran into this same woman years later in a different city. I brought her home again, but instead of having sex she spent the night explaining how I broke her heart and winning some writing contest with a piece she had written about me. It was very odd. We were only together that one time. How does that The Killers song go?
“It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?” It was only a kiss.”
It was only a kiss - using the tip of my dick and her uterus. Gross. I would lay in bed staring at my passing test results and smirk over the fact I had cheated death. I felt like a gangster. Straight Dillinger. I could have easily robbed a bank or stolen a car, but instead played Donkey Kong on Super Nintendo. I was too traumatized to have sex again for what seemed like 6 years. My mother eventually asked about the test results on my wall. I told her I used a girl’s toothbrush and was freaked out I may have caught something.
