I Don’t Need No Minute Man
I’m horrible as far as introductions go, so I’ll say this: For someone who got tapped to write the sex/relationships column for The Tech, I sure have been having a crappy sex life as of late. Pathetic, even. I used to have pretty good sex, but at some point, it all went to shit.
I recently went three long, lonely months without sex. Not even a kiss. Normally, this would have made me miserable, but I was recovering from a broken heart. The last thing a girl who got massively dumped needs is sex, unless we’re talking about ex sex, which was completely off the menu.
Not to say that I was lacking any prospects. One particularly forward guy really put it out there: He tried to kiss me at a party and, when I turned him down, he went home, looked me up on Facebook, and made a lousy attempt at cyber sex. (Do people still do that shit? I thought we’d left that back in the ’90s, along with dial-up.) I don’t really know if I should be flattered that he tried to get freaky over the Internet with me, but that moment really cemented the fact that my sex life had truly taken a turn for the worse.
And if it isn’t bad enough that I wasn’t getting any ass, I also wasn’t showing myself any love. I only took out my vibrators to clean them regularly, stacking them back neatly in their drawer, right next to the brand-new bottle of lube I’d bought as encouragement. With the way things were going, it’d be a fucking long time before my vag met a condom-wrapped delight.
But then, one night at the pub, a fine young fellow approached me and we got to talking about God knows what. He asked me for my number and texted me promptly saying that it was nice to meet me and asking if I’d like to go out. I hesitated a bit because, after the nasty break-up, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for some other guy’s crap, but I figured it was a free meal and I didn’t have much to lose. The least I could do was fuck the dude and get myself out of my sex drought. So we met up for some food and then went back to his place, where he didn’t waste any time putting his moves on me. He was quite a good kisser, and I soon found myself getting hot for him, which I took as a sign that I needed to jump this guy, pronto.
Well, I did — and it was the lousiest fuck I have ever had, hands-down. I am convinced God is finally punishing me for being so bad. Everything that could have gone wrong, did: He couldn’t get hard at first. I tried every fucking trick in the book to bring him up to speed, but no amount of sucking or tugging at his dick seemed to work very well. When we finally got his peen to function properly, dude came like Polaroid film. My friends now kindly refer to him as Two-Minute Man, which I think is a rather fitting (and perhaps even a bit generous) nickname.
Now, I’m an understanding gal. I know that sometimes guys get a bit excited and blow their wad too early in the game, and I try to be a good sport about it. I would have given him a second shot had he played his cards right and gotten me off. But he didn’t even try to make up for it! Boys, let me be the one to tell you: The only kind of In-n-Out that women like serves burgers and shakes, and even they do it animal style. If you are unfortunate enough to be a two-pump chump, you better back that shit up with some fine fingerbanging skills, or be a trouper and eat her out. Or at least be down for a second round, seriously. Have some fucking manners, will you? Whatever happened to ladies come first?
Needless to say, I was quite disappointed to have come out of my retirement with such a lame lay and thought that would set the tone for what was to come. Fortunately, the next week found me in bed with another young fellow who not only outlasted the first one, but was more than happy to treat me to second helpings. Now that’s my kind of man.
M. is a junior in Course 10, and she swears this piece is not about you. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.