oh man. remember that dude i boned those couple times? the one that was THE WORST i have ever slept with? the one that kept shouting quotes from ricki lake and ‘nice boobs!’ mid-coitus? the one that repeatedly bit my mouth until it was bloody and didn’t so much as touch (let alone stimulate) any of my pleasure organs before attempting to penetrate me?

i made out with that dude at a bar last week.

he is so good-looking (even naked!) he is talented and smart and sweet-natured (all of the above-mentioned was done with the utmost of good intentions—i mean, come on. why else would i give him a mulligan?). i was shit-faced!

seriously. nothing but jack daniels and shots all night long.

i ran into him, we chit-chatted, he bought me a beer, and i asked him if he wanted to go in the back and make out. he was down. after kissing for a bit, though, i came to my senses. whenever i get down with this dude, i always feel a little bit like i’m hooking up with a child. that is how awkward this dude is. in case it needs to be said, that is a libido-killer for me. after a little while, i excused myself to go to the restroom, and drunkenly got caught up in other endeavors. i ran into him later, and he asked me if i wanted to come to another bar with him and his friends. i politely declined, and we parted ways.

the next morning i told my girlfriend about it. she already knows the scoop, and applauded my sex-free evening. still, she didn’t blame me for the kisses.

‘he was looking so hot last night!’ she proclaimed.

it was true. he was studly. but me sitting here, not writing about how i had god-awful sex at his parents house with miami vice playing in the background (again) far outweighs any aesthetic delights.

the end.