How NOT to Have a Booty Call

I like to think we're all guilty of fucking one or more people in our lifetime that later inspire us to make figurative vomit noises as we do whatever we can to erase them from memory.

Booze, head trauma, lobotomy – none seem to work. (Yeah I've tried all three…do why you ask what?)

There are way too many forms of technology allowing us to connect and – despite efforts otherwise – remain connected to these buffoons.

Though you may have eliminated their traces as much as possible, these men have kept your phone number, Blackberry Messenger (BBM) nickname, zip code and shoe size stored in their memory banks, waiting for what they think might the next “right time.”

Back in November I had sex with a guy I'd met two years earlier and always wondered what he'd be like to lay. So we did, and yeah that's all I needed to know. Next?

Thinking he had left some kind of lasting impression (mind in gutter please) he wondered why I never called or BBMed afterward. Um hi…really?

Fast-forward to last week. BBM buzzed.

It would be one of three men – sexy actor guy who most recently has been leaving lasting impressions – multiple ones; former orgasm-machine/nympho looking for spiritual guidance; or attention-whore friend with a hangnail.

But no! This message was from some unrecognizable nickname...one that took more than a moment to register…

...

...ohdeargod.

“Hey sexy.”

What I would've written: “You're kidding, right?”

What I did write: “Yes?”

“I'm right down the street from your house…;-)”

Head spinning with potential responses:

“Cool, have fun at Target.”

“Oh yeah? Free clinic's busy today?'”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Instead I just wrote, “OK,” which essentially summed up my excitement for his contact in two simple syllables.

Did this goober think his cellphone-sent announcement would set off my floodgates and cause me to drop everything to get home in time to get dry humped, NOT have an orgasm and then asked for a BJ for the road?

In the words of Cher Horowitz: “As IF.”

Another piece of advice, right up there with “How to know she's not interested” and “How NOT to give me an orgasm:”

If I don't use one of the hundreds of communication methods on the market today – smoke signals, Post-Its, high-5s – following a mediocre romp, chances are I don't want to meet up again.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Odds are it can be classified as "mediocre" at BEST if the girl remains silent and/or bone dry during the session. Pay attention next time.]

Hell, I don't even want to talk to you again. My mouth has better things to do. 

Image: Michal Marcol.


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