No

“You think my pussy is worth the $8 it cost you to get me that vodka soda that came in a clear plastic solo cup?”

Today I was with a male co-worker and a male client at lunch. My client asked me, “Why do women have to go to the bathroom in packs when they are at a club or a bar?”

My immediate response: “Because we need to stay together to protect each other.”

I don’t think he liked my answer.

The reality is that nights out on the town can get scary when you’re a woman. I have been quite the party animal from a young age, so I have plenty of experience on the party scene. My most recent experiences have been in the city; at bars, clubs, lounges, happy hours, restaurants, and more. I have been the protector and the protected. I have been forced to fight off men, verbally and even physically, both for myself and for the people I care about. I have been made to feel so uncomfortable that I have left bars where I do not feel safe. I have held my friends as they leave clubs in tears after being grabbed at like a piece of meat. I have seen it all it seems.

Just a quick disclaimer: I don’t mean to sound dramatic. My friends and I have fun. There are plenty of decent establishments out there that don’t tolerate sexual misbehavior of any kind. I have met perfectly decent men that have either approached myself/my friends respectfully and/or actually aided in our rescue from other men. Unfortunately, the frequency at which the social experience becomes dark is so high that I still feel this is worth posting about.

Don’t know what I’m talking about?

When men accuse you of being a lesbian because you are not interested in their advances.

(Because there is no possible way that a straight woman could maybe just NOT BE INTERESTED.)

When you tell an aggressive man to back off so he just moves on to a friend.

(I meant BACK OFF. None of us are interested in your inappropriate behavior.)

When men come up behind you and touch your body without asking.

(In no way is it ever okay to touch someone’s body without consent. Ever. It is not sexy to violate someone, regardless of the setting or whether or not they have been drinking. Who taught you that my body was your property?)

When men become irate because you won’t sleep with them even though they bought you a drink.

(Really? You think my pussy is worth the $8 it cost you to get me that vodka soda that came in a clear plastic solo cup? You could buy me a live fucking tiger and it wouldn’t mean that I owe you sex.)

When men insult you after they hit on you and you reject them.

(Just because I am not interested in you sexually doesn’t mean I deserve to be bullied. Just because I said “I’m sorry, not tonight”, doesn’t mean I am a horrible person that deserves to be called names. Is your ego really that fragile?)

When you straight up say “no” to a man and they just won’t back off.

(Why don’t men know that “no” means “no”?)

About a year ago I was at a bar (that I haven’t been to since) with my current roommate/best friend. We were approached by two men that were somewhat dorky and average looking (not that that is relevant to their behavior). The one that spoke to me was a try hard. He was clearly spitting game at me. He asked me where I went to school, and when I told him he went off about how he has visited that campus so many times and loved partying there. I asked him what his favorite bar was on campus…and he couldn’t name one.

I called him out. I told him not to make things up, that he didn’t need “lines” to impress me, that I would prefer he just talk to me. At first I thought he understood.

He kept saying a lot of aggressive things asserting that I wasn’t interested in him, and challenging me. As if I should tell him now if I’m not going to sleep with him so that he doesn’t have to make small talk with me anymore. The more he said these things, the more and more uncomfortable I felt. But his friend was still talking to my roommate, and I couldn’t tell if she was interested, so I tried to hold out a bit longer. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I told him I was going to run to the restroom, and he was instantly furious.

“So are you actually going to come back, should I even bother waiting for you?”

Dude…I have to pee.

I told him he was freaking me out. I told him I feared he was getting angry at every instance that signaled I may not go home with him tonight. He assured me that he had no expectations. I carried on listening to him peacock-ing, until I couldn’t take it any longer. I grabbed my roomie and we ran to the bathroom. After the bathroom we escaped to a different bar on the strip.

Later in the evening, while we were waiting for an Uber home, we heard a man call out to us. It was him.

“That is the girl who wouldn’t sleep with me! You win some, you lose some, am I right?”

He cackled at me from across the street. It was terrifying.

A lot of these sort of situations have one or both of two parties at fault, just in my opinion. I will explain them in no particular order.

I think women are taught not to say no to men. I think women are taught that we should be grateful for any and all sexual/romantic attention, because our entire self worth should be based on this almost exclusively. What men think of us equals our value.

For the majority of my life, even from my earliest years interacting with boys in my pre-teens, I avoided directly rejecting men at all cost. There are an array of excuses that I’ve developed, and that I’ve witnessed other women use as well.

“I’m not into men.” Yes, I mentioned the “lesbian excuse” earlier. Maybe our use of this excuse has enabled the prescription that men give to women who actually just say “no”.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Again, another excuse that I was accused of making earlier in my post, even though in that instance it wasn’t just an excuse.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Tonight is a girls-only night.”

We need to start teaching girls that it is okay to say “no”. We need to empower women to be direct. There is a polite way to turn away a man’s attention, and it doesn’t have to be a watered down excuse. We need women to know that their safety and consent are more important than a man’s fragile ego.

But we also need to teach men that “no” means “no”.

I, and many other women, HAVE said no. We shouldn’t have to say anything else.

This is rape culture.

I would be curious to know, if I really have readers who make it all the way through my lengthy posts, why you think this phenomenon occurs? Do you have any similar horror stories? Do you have any examples of male advocates who HAVE made you feel safe?

I think it is up to all of us, of all genders on the spectrum, to ensure that we no longer enable rape culture to exist. We need to call out the perpetrators, and we need to empower others to do so as well.

Love,

Chubby

“You like my body.”

Being a big girl plays a huge role in my sexuality. I don’t think people realize how much being fat changes a person’s sexual/romantic experience.

I am 5’8″ and I wear a size 18. I have felt like a big girl all my life, even though for the majority of it I was not. In high school I wore a size 12 while my pre-pubescent friends were all wearing a size 0. I look back at pictures of myself and think, “how could I have ever thought I was fat?”

My senior year of high school I gained a lot of weight and got up to maybe a size 16. When I realized how much weight I had gained I started dieting and was able to lose 30 pounds in three months.

Once I went to college I started gaining the weight back, slowly. My sophomore year of college my boyfriend of the time took me shopping as a Christmas present. He bought me a couple dresses. On the car ride home he confessed to me that he wanted me to start losing weight. I was a size 14 at the time. I thought I had a wonderful day, feeling beautiful trying on dresses on this boyfriend-funded shopping spree. Then he crushed me.

By senior year of college I was up to a size 18. Since then I have lost and re-gained weight intermittently, but I have never really gotten back to my ideal size.

Now here I am, single, in the city, trying to date, trying to stay as healthy as possible, trying so hard to build my life here. I have a friend who is also single and new to the city, and I watch her go on dates with guys she meets online. She complains to me about how hard it is to date here. She has no idea how much harder it is for ME.

There are a lot of judgements that others make about fat people. There are a lot of assumptions. There are a lot of microaggressions directed towards fat people. If you don’t know what a microaggression is you should probably look it up.

One of the worst things that has always bothered me is the way that people so blatantly disclude you from normal dating activities. It seems to me that no other physical characteristic omits you from the dating scene as much as being fat does.

In college I was in a sorority, so there were a lot of formal/semi-formal events to go to, a lot of date parties, etc. It was very very common that single people would get set up for these events. I almost never was.

None of my friends ever set me up with a date because they assumed that their male friends would not be attracted to me because I was fat. And I get it. Young, gym-going, frat-stars on the majority probably would not be attracted to me. But did my friends never stop to think even one time that I noticed that I was always excluded?

I also get a lot of back handed compliments. “Wow, that is so flattering on you.” Could it maybe just look nice on me? Or is my fat body so horrendous that the best it gets is when a piece of clothing is simply able to HIDE (aka flatter) my body?

My other favorite move is when men like let me know that it is okay that I’m big and they still like me anyways. Some of them even fetish-ize it in a way. They tell me they don’t like thin women. 1) Why do you assume that I feel uncomfortable with my size and that they have to let me know like “not to worry” about it because they are still into me “anyways”??? You like my body. You don’t have to explain why you like it as if it is such a weird and rare thing that someone could be attracted to my body. 2) You don’t like thin women? Really? If I put a Megan Fox or some other super hot thin girl in front of you, you’re telling me you wouldn’t be attracted to her? Also sizing me up to other women is not the way to compliment me? Also why do you have to put down other women to make me feel good?

Being fat makes online dating much more difficult.

I post up to date pictures on my dating profiles but I don’t tend to keep photos around that I look big in. I don’t mean to deceive people with the photos I choose to put online, but what am I supposed to do, put on my most fat revealing outfit and do a photo shoot?

There is always the fear that men won’t be attracted to you once they meet you in person. That fear is there for anyone. But can you imagine how much that fear is escalated when you are a big girl?

In my dating profiles I specify that I am plus sized. My tag line is “Open minded, intelligent, sexual, liberal, plus sized, dog person, 420. If you’re not cool with any of these things please don’t waste my time.” How more honest and straightforward could I possibly be here?

One time a really fit looking man was messaging me and I told him there was no way his profile was real because a man who was so into working out would never be interested in me. He responds “oh my god, you are not big!” Okay…stop. I didn’t ask you to tell me I am not fat. I was not fishing for compliments.

Chubby people still have sexualities. We don’t have to hide our bodies to be considered sexy. Our bodies don’t need to be excused for a person to be attracted to us. Fat people are not the only ones who are attracted to fat people.

I may come back to update this post but that is all for now folks.

Love,

Anonymous Bitch

The Submissive

“We move to the bedroom. It starts to get violent.”

Oops, I did it again.

I fucked another guy’s butthole. But let’s backtrack first…

I had been talking to this guy Craig on a dating app for a bit. We exchanged numbers and continued to talk. Eventually he gave me the heads up that he was a submissive. I told him maybe we wouldn’t be the best match because I typically like to be submissive (see Daddy). He said he switches. I was sold.

I eventually decided to give up on him. He seemed confused about what he wanted. He talked about sex a lot which usually means the guy really only wants to hook up. I don’t need to use a dating app to find hook ups…I can get laid by meeting someone out in person and it is way less awkward than meeting up with someone you meet online. If we are going to go back and forth texting and go out on some date I don’t want it to be just because you had to put on a show to get in my pants.

Then a month or so later he started texting me again. He told me sometimes he gets scared about trying to date since he has been in bad relationships…what bologna. He told me he didn’t want us to stop talking because we got along so well. I agreed, we did get along pretty damn well.

Fast forward to this past Saturday night. I was out at a bar that turned out to be just a few blocks from his place. I got a text from him that he came by and it was too crowded so he left. Shortly thereafter my friend and I left to go to a different bar. On my walk over I called him to scold him.

“We’ve been talking all this time and you were in the same building as me and you didn’t tell me before you left? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You think about what you did wrong and I’ll deal with you later.”

He agreed to meet me at a different, less crowded bar. He was already there when I got there. I could see him, tall and alone ordering a beer at the bar. He turned around and I waved at him. I was so nervous.

He came over and I sat on a bar stool next to him to chat. He bought me a Stella. I don’t even remember what we talked about. All I remember is him looming over me. He is 6’3″ and I was sitting so he looked like a big lumberjack skyscraper. He leaned down to kiss me. It was officially on.

Shortly thereafter we walked hand in hand to his apartment. When we got there I was impressed. It wasn’t a big apartment but it was very nice, and definitely expensive. There was exposed brick in several places, which I love, but I could tell it was purposely there for aesthetic effect, not because the building was old and brick like most places.

He had cool art on the walls. He had a large TV system mounted up across from a sectional couch. He had a fancy bathroom with a waterfall shower head. He had a guitar and a ukelele mounted on the walls as well. You know someone is fancy when shit is mounted.

We smoked a bowl and he took the guitar down to play to me. He tells me he can sing. I thought he was kidding. He begins to sing John Mayer and he is actually very decent. I drunkenly try to harmonize with him. We were wasted so it was okay. He then played Jason Mraz for me on his ukelele. Wow.

He sits down on the couch and we start making out. I straddle his lap and he lifts up my shirt. I’m not wearing a bra but I totally forgot that I had bandaids on my nipples. He doesn’t realize it and tries to start sucking on them and I had to stop him. He was really confused so I stopped explaining and just ripped the bandaids off as quick as I could. Ouch.

We move to the bedroom. It starts to get violent.

I don’t know where this comes from, maybe it is some sort of pent up anger inside me, but when I drink I can get very dominant, even though its not my sexual preference. One time in college I hooked up with some frat boy when I was wasted and I slapped him across the face just because I knew I could. I knew I could literally physically harm this human and he would still want me. Power feels good.

He was too soft to have sex from all the drinking but we were still fooling around. He had a massive pink wand vibrator (like in the pornos) that he used on me until I came. Following that we were kissing and I was playing with his basically limp dick.

I kept slapping him across the face. I also choked him while grinding my hips on his crotch. I hope I wasn’t TOO violent.

Then he took out a dildo. It was a rubbery nude colored, dick-shaped, dildo. I sucked on it and he joined me. We kissed with the dildo in the middle. It was maybe one of the weirder things I’ve ever done but it happened very naturally.

He tells me he wants me to put it in his ass. Okay, if that what you want I guess.

I don’t really know how to penetrate someone. Like I have not done that shit enough times to know how to properly handle that kind of equipment. I kind of just jammed it in there.

It was fuzzy from there, another drunken sexcapade. I woke up the next morning in his bed. He was asleep on the couch, I figure I kicked him out or snored or something.

I was VERY hungover. I puked in his toilet while he was asleep. I put my clothes on and peaced out.

Funny enough I really want to see him again. Our night time activities were scandalous but we do have really good conversation when we talk during the day. We’re both in sales, he’s tall and chubby, like me, he dresses well, he can fuckin’ sing I mean come on….

I texted him today and said “Idk about you but I was violently hungover all day yesterday. You’re fun. If you ever wanted to try that again maybe less intoxicated I’d be down.” I figured he wouldn’t respond but he did immediately. “Yeah, I slept all day.”

Okay like…are you into it or no? I wanna say no because he didn’t address what I said about seeing him again, but he also responded immediately when he didn’t have to respond literally at all. But then again maybe he just felt bad and didn’t want to ignore me?

Normally I try to be as honest as possible. I’ll probably ask him to do something and if he says no I’ll let it be. I always say to be honest right off the bat because if you’re not you’ll just waste your own time and energy.

You’ll be afraid to ask the person on a date for fear they will say no, but if they are going to say no wouldn’t you just rather find that out  immediately as opposed to having forced conversation over text until it fizzles out?

Keep it real people.

Love,

Anonymous Bitch

 

Daddy

“Mike inspired my sexual career as I know it to this day.”

This post is about someone that I love very much. His soul is one that was destined for mine, yet is trapped in a body that makes it impossible for us to be together.

Mike was a Tinder match that never should have gone anywhere.

He was/is significantly older than me. 17 years older to be exact. We talked on Tinder and exchanged numbers. He would text me sweet nothings about how beautiful I was. One time he told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. No man had ever called me a woman before.

I didn’t take him seriously at first. I’m not sure when that changed. I do remember that one night, after drinking, we briefly talked on the phone. It was the first time that I acknowledged the reality of his existence. He was no longer just a text message. I remember that after we hung up I called him right back and told him that I wanted to hear his voice one more time. We went on one date when he was nearby, but after that I wouldn’t see him again in person until a year later.

From there we spoke all the time. We spoke over the phone almost every day. He listened to me. He would listen to me about school and about my friends and about my family. I could get drunk and cry to him about how I hated myself and he didn’t care.

I learned about his life. I learned that he had his own contracting business, he was a boxer, he had lots of Native American style tattoos, he was a functional alcoholic who’s father died of alcoholism, he had a brother named Bryan, he owned multiple properties, he drove a big black truck, one time he got a DWI for falling asleep drunk in his old white truck, he used to smoke pot and do lots of drugs in his youth, he didn’t go to college, he was from Massachusetts, he wore a lot of graphic t-shirts, his family had a home in Newport where he would go binge drink every other weekend during the summers, he wore a Fit Bit, he had a female best friend named Liz….

More importantly I learned that he had been in a slew of long term relationships, none of which turned out to be successful. He wanted a family and kids, but it never happened. One time he had a dog but his ex took the dog when they broke up. One of his relationships was an open relationship, and they as a couple had a girlfriend that would sleepover sometimes.

Mike was very sexually adventurous. He was bicurious. One time he slept with a MtF transgender woman who still had male genitalia. Sometimes he would flirt with guys on dating apps, but he never slept with a masculine man. Or at least, he never admitted that to me.

Mike inspired my sexual career as I know it to this day. He and I became sexual pen pals. His biggest fantasy was to be with me and another man at the same time. He was a cuckhold guy.

One time, and I don’t remember who started it, the Daddy/(step)daughter thing came into play. Maybe I have daddy issues, I don’t know, but it stuck. We would role play all sorts of scenarios as these characters. We still role play this way to this day.

The summer between my junior and senior years of college, Mike got drunk on the fourth of July and texted me that he was in love with me. I asked him if he meant it. I didn’t believe that someone who didn’t make the time to see me for almost a year at this point could possibly be in love with me. Even scarier, I think I immediately knew that I felt the same way.

I kind of brushed that first occasion off, but then it happened again, and again. I confronted him and told him he couldn’t say that to me anymore because it wasn’t fair.

One night I was out with some friends. Somehow we ended up at a strip club down the road from campus. I was the designated driver. Of all the nights that I had offered to drive to Mike’s house, which was only about an hour away, this time he finally said yes.

I dropped my friends off at their respective apartments, and then drove straight to his place. I didn’t even go home to get my wallet. I had to blow through an EZ Pass lane because I didn’t have any cash on me at all. He promised to give me cash to pay the ticket, and he did.

I was so nervous. I drove into his driveway and saw him standing up on the deck in the back. I couldn’t believe I was finally this close to him. I got out of my car, walked up the stairs, and fell directly into his arms.

We walked into his house and wasted no time. He pushed me up against a wall and we started kissing. We made our way upstairs, and he gave me the unofficial tour. We went into a bedroom and he sat down on a couch. I climbed onto his lap and took it from there.

We had sex and then cuddled all night long. When I woke up in the morning he took me to breakfast in his truck. I drove away that morning hopeful that things would be different now.

We went on one more date after that. He took me to an italian restaurant. Little did I know that it was going to be the last time I would see him, probably forever.

I am still in love with Mike and we still talk every day. While I was with my most recent ex I told Mike we could only be friends. That lasted until the last couple months of my relationship, at which point I broke down and could no longer deny that I still was in love with him.

We still sext all the time. It is the perfect set up because he loves the idea of me being with other men. When I sleep with someone else I get to tell him every last intimate detail, and he loves it.

We joke that we are going to get married. We joke that we are going to have babies. I wish any of that were true.

He told me we can never be together because of our age difference. He says he can never give me what I deserve. I feel like a dumb girl for believing that he actually loves me, but I do believe him.

We live even farther apart now that I graduated from school and moved away. The chances of us being together get slimmer and slimmer. I accept that.

I dream that one day I will finally be enough of an adult for him. He still tells me that he loves me and I reciprocate. I wonder how much we love each other, and how much we just love the fantasy that we have created.

Love,

Anonymous Bitch

Third Wheeling It

“So what do you call a straight girl that has a FMF threesome and watches lesbian porn?”

On Saturday night I fucked a couple. 

I was at a bar with a friend and she was off talking to some dude. I’m not a cock block, I’m an adult who is capable of grabbing a drink and socializing on my own. This being said, I walked over to the bar alone to grab a drink.

You’ll have to cut me some slack because I was very intoxicated by this point in the night. I don’t remember some of the details but bare with me here. 

Somehow I ended up talking to some guy and I remember him asking me if I was bisexual, and then introducing his girlfriend to me. “We’re swingers.” I never thought I would hear such young people use the term “swingers” but I guess I’m not sure what else you would call it. 

I explained that I’m not bisexual but that I’m very open minded and pretty much down for anything. They ask me to go home with them.

I immediately shook my head yes. Then I ask if it was for him or for her. I didn’t want to go have a threesome with a couple because it is the guy’s fantasy and the girl is reluctantly complying. I wanted to make sure they were both totally into it. 

We get a cab home. The guy keeps putting his hand down the back of my jeans to grab my bare butt. I don’t think I’ve had an adult man to that to me ever. I remember kissing the girl in the cab. I remember stumbling into their apartment. I remember the girl pouring us drinks. I remember the guy pulling my top off of me. This is where it gets even hazier. 

I don’t really remember any foreplay, I just kind of came to conciousness with the guy behind and inside me, and the girl beneath me. I was doing a lot of boob touching. At first I didn’t really remember doing much to the girl but I’m pretty sure now that I fingered her.

Next thing I know they are pulling out a strap on from a drawer. I don’t really remember who was supposed to be wearing the strap on, and I don’t remember who was supposed to receive it. The only thing I remember is putting it in the guy’s ass. I hope that is what I was supposed to do. He seemed kind of shocked when I put it in but not mad at all. Who knows?

At some point I think I just got bored. I jumped off the bed and they continued to fuck each other missionary style. I felt like that was my cue. I franticly put my clothes on and literally ran out of the apartment. I Ubered home. Not before calling Maybe Greg at least 20 times. I texted the next morning to apologize and explain that I thought I was locked out of my friend’s apartment (because she brought the guy from the bar home). He still has not responded to my apology texts. Oh well. 

I had a little bit of anxiety about it the next day. I think part of it was that being sexual with a girl is not 100% comfortable me because I really do identify as straight. I think another part of it is that I wished I hadn’t been so drunk so that I could’ve been less sloppy and aggressive. I wish I had played it more cool…

So what do you call a straight girl that has a FMF threesome and watches lesbian porn? Oh yea, I watch lesbian porn literally all the time. At first when I realized I liked lesbian porn I felt super confused. It wasn’t really something that I had admitted to my friends until recent years even though I had been doing it for a while. 

One day I had an epiphany about this. I was getting turned on by lesbian porn because I was seeing women getting eaten out and touched correctly. Straight porn literally looks like the girl is being assaulted. I am all for rough sex and role playing, but what is done to females in straight porn looks painful. You also don’t see men in porn going down on women for more than a couple seconds. On the other hand, you get to watch a girl blow the dude for literal HOURS while her eyes water and she makes choking sounds. 

I blame the porn industry for forcing straight women to watch lesbian porn. If there was more straight porn in which both sexes were created equal this wouldn’t be a thing. 

I’m not alone. Check out this article from the Huffington Post.

Wanna know what I really think? What I really think is that there is no such fucking thing as “gay” and “straight” and “bi” and yadda yadda. You don’t have to pick a label. Often times when talking about a straight girl who has hooked up with another girl, I hear people say something along the lines of “oh, is she a lesbian?” Like maybe you can just do what you want when you want to and not have to pick a category to be grouped into. Maybe it’s not such a big effin deal what you choose to do with your body or how you feel about things depending on the moment.

Having sex does not change who you are.

And hey, listen, I definitely think that sexuality is part of someone’s identity. But a single or even many sexual acts don’t cause some sort of transformation. If I have sex with a girl I’m not suddenly a new thing that I wasn’t once. Same thing goes for how much sex someone has. There is some sort of misconception out there that each time a woman has sex she gives something away and is now less of a person. People act like women only have so much sex in them and that their supply can be depleted. I will touch more on this later, I could write a whole novel on this topic alone.

I just really encourage all of you to trust yourself, do what feels right, and don’t worry about what other people think about it. We are taught to make so many judgements about sex which restrains us and makes us unhappy. If you judge yourself and others for sex you will never truly enjoy it or have a healthy sexuality.

Love,

Anonymous Bitch

Maybe Greg

“While we fuck he speaks Jamaican to me.”

I met Maybe Greg out at a bar one night when I was very intoxicated. He was a tall Jamaican guy with a thick accent and a face that looks way too old for his body. We grind together and then he asks me if I smoke weed. Of course I do.

He says his place is right around the corner. I ask my girlfriends permission to go home with a stranger alone in the city. They approve. We jump in a cab and go uptown a few blocks to his walk up apartment. When we get inside we smoke on his couch and he makes me lay on my stomach so he can massage my back. I’m in heaven.

Of course one thing leads to the next and we are in his bed. I can get pretty horny when I’m stoned. We’re fucking and he is flipping me all over the damn place. One minute my legs are beneath me, then they’re up in the air; he is manually shifting my body into a new position every couple minutes. His dick is pretty big, definitely in circumference more than anything else, but then I notice he is getting limp. Whiskey dick sucks…

It’s cool though, it happens. I can’t cum vaginally anyways and we were too drunk for me to care enough to instruct him on how to touch me right. Plus, my friend is calling my cell phone because our other friend is violently throwing up. Classic.

He begs me to sleepover, promising more weed and takeout food and movies. Honestly, I’d rather just go home. He comes outside with me and hails me a cab and gives me $20 cash.

The next thing I know I wake up on the couch at my friend’s apartment. It is morning time. I see a new number in my text messages but the contact isn’t saved yet. What was his name? I wanna say, maybe, Greg. I save him as Maybe Greg in my phone.

Over the following two weeks he texts me every day. He asks me to hangout with him constantly. I dodge him at first. I’m not totally positive that I would think he was attractive when I was sober. Eventually one night I’m out for drinks after work with some friends and I decide…tonight is the night.

Maybe Greg comes in a cab to pick me up and brings me back to his place. When we get there we smoke, and then begin getting sexual even quicker than we had the last time. He hasn’t been drinking like he was on the night we met, so we don’t experience any more technical difficulties.

While we fuck he speaks Jamaican to me. I’m not sure if Jamaican is a technically a language but I know that they have a lot of slang or alternative phrases that we don’t say in American English. I told him I didn’t know what he was saying, but I liked it. He talked a lot. Which I also liked. He was also rough…pulling my hair from behind, choking me, etc. I enjoy all of it.

We bang twice before we go to sleep.

I wake up at 6:20AM to Maybe Greg stroking my thighs. At first I whine that I have to get up for work, but I am easily convinced and we begin fucking again. The prior day I had told him that I was exhausted and stressed from my day at work. While he fucks me in the morning he says to me in a sexual tone, “you gonna have a better day today? hah?” It is hot.

When we are done I go back to sleep for about 20 minutes. Wake up. Realize I don’t have a hair brush or hair tie, and reluctantly put on my clothes feeling totally disgusting. I get an Uber to work and do my makeup in the bathroom before I go in. I grab a Gatorade from a Duane Reade to get ahead of the hangover that is about to hit me.

I’m not sure if I want to see Maybe Greg again, but I’ll keep you updated.

Love,

Anonymous Bitch