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

A Sexual History

“The night ends with me dislocating my jaw on a black guy’s dick.”

For my first ever blog post, I figured I’d establish a bit of context for everything that is to come. Get it, to come…

Everyone has at least a few sexual milestones in their lives that have shaped their sexual identity over time. Here are mine from my life to date.

  • 2002 – A girl named Margaret tells me what sex is for the first time on our bus ride home from school. She didn’t get all the facts right, but it was the first time I was ever aware of the concept of sex.
  • 2008 – One of my friends tells me how to masturbate.
  • 2009 – I lose my virginity to my best friend’s cousin and then proceed to lie to her about it for four years. She is still my best friend.
  • 2009 – I am raped by two neighborhood boys who were close friends of mine since childhood. They gave me spiked drinks with sleeping pills in them.
  • 2011 – I get blackout drunk and have sex with a girl. She is the girl who told me how to masturbate back in 2008. She is also still one of my best friends.
  • 2011 – I meet my first love and experience my first “man-made” orgasm, aka not self induced.
  • 2014 – I experienced my first heart break, followed by about 12 months of out of control promiscuity. I’m talking like a solid 20 notches on my belt over the course of the year. Get ready for several more 2014 bullet points.
  • 2014 – On what would have been me and my ex’s anniversary, I host a “break up party” to drink away my feelings and get laid. The night ends with me dislocating my jaw on a black guy’s dick. No joke I was giving him head and all of a sudden I realized I could no longer shut my mouth. It didn’t hurt, but I was freaking out. My friends took me to the emergency room and the doctors had to knock me out with propofol (the drug that killed Michael Jackson) so that they could jam my jaw back into my face. Despite everything, that guy and I continued to sleep together for a whole year following the incident.
  • 2014 – I meet my sugar daddy. He is an ex-college football player, accountant, and single father of one who becomes obsessed with me. I later find out that maybe he wasn’t so single because he announces on Instagram on Father’s Day that he is soon to be the father of two, with the same baby mama. They have since had that child and recently got engaged.
  • 2014 – I have group sex at my 21st birthday party. Three guys plus me and one other girl. Let me just say, no regrets.
  • 2015 – I find out I am pregnant. I immediately decide to have an abortion without thinking twice. I am early enough along that all I need to do is take a pill that costs $500. It is a relatively painless experience that I never once felt bad about choosing. Some judgey “friends” from college made me promise them that making the choice “wasn’t easy for me”, but I was just lying to appease them. It was super easy.
  • 2015 – I am raped again. Again by two men. It happens in my own bed. I begin to pursue pressing charges. A police officer at my university tells me he spoke with the assailants and they “seemed like normal guys” so he isn’t sure “why they would do that”. I decide not to press charges. My roommate tells me this is why I shouldn’t invite strangers into our apartment.
  • 2017 – Three months after dumping my college boyfriend, I find out that he has posted nude photos of me on a revenge porn website and included my full name and link to my Instagram page. I have to get a lawyer to get the pictures taken down and to send my ex a cease and desist letter. The last ever communication I will ever have with him is an email from him to my lawyer that includes him referring to me as Ms. (my real last name here).

Does any of this tell you anything about my sexual identity yet? You might think I am a slut. You might think I am a victim. In reality I’m just another person.

Love,

Anonymous Bitch