Seriously. Read that title and take it alllllll in.
Let’s go back, kids… To the year 2001. I had just “fallen away” from church, having skipped one Sunday claiming to not feel well. When everyone in my house piled into their cars to go to church, my friend Megan came over and we packed up all my shit and I moved out — like a thief in the night.
I had also just recently dropped out of college. Surprising as it may be, all of this dropping and running away was actually really good for me. This period in my life was the time when I first stretched my legs. I was nineteen and the world was huge and finally in front of me. I had finally removed all of the shit that was mucking up my view. It was beautiful.
I was working at Starbucks and this adorable meat-head douche jock would come in all the time, trying to flirt with me. I was into him and so we went on a few dates. I was also NOT quite in my mega-slut days, so we must’ve been dating for about three or four weeks before we hit the porn track and got horizontal.
My roommate was out of town and she gave me free reign to her room — she was cool as shit, until she wasn’t. But for that weekend, I got to sleep all comfy-cozy in her king-sized bed. It took up nearly the entire room and my bitty little self loved sleeping dead center among all the fluffy pillows and blankets.
Meat-head and I had gone out drinking and came back to my apartment pretty sloshed. This was the first time we were going to fool around and I had only had sex a handful of times before this, so I was still a little nervous with the whole dance, hence the liquid courage.
We’re making out and it’s incredible and he starts to peel my clothes off. I’m fascinated with his thick, bumbling fingers trying to unhook my bra — I’m all giggles and smiles. Then, it’s my turn. I pull his pants off and crawl down his body — nimble on his legs like a mountain goat, I was perched here and then there all the while trying to figure out ways to make sure I still looked thin and sexy while shimmying his cargo pants down his longs legs.
He’s down to his boxers now and it’s go-time. He’s still wearing his socks, white tube socks that come up to mid-calf on him. I’m so focused on being sultry that I must’ve missed the panic wafting over his body. As I crept down his body and started to reach for his socks to peel them down, he flips the fuck out.
Dude KICKED me. And like a little stuffed animal, I flew backwards off the bed. Arms and legs pointing outward in all different directions, I desperately tried to grab something — anything — to keep myself from totally embarrassing myself by landing ass-up on the floor. That’s when I touched his feet. It made sense, there was nothing else at the end of the bed to grab hold to and I think that’s about when he delivered his follow-through kick which sent my tumbling backward body into a full opposite-spin. I somehow landed face down, but facing the opposite direction of the bed. One of my feet was still hooked on the footboard and I broke out into a fit of giggles.
I was probably nervous, maybe slightly scared, but I was LAUGHING. And the subtle chortle turned into a full-on guffaw. I popped my head up at the end of the bed, thinking I’d see him there with an “I’m sorry” face. Surely, this bear of a man would feel badly for tossing me around the bedroom like that…
But he was getting dressed. Now I was watching him closely and I looked at his feet. Clearly, they were two different sizes and appeared to have a bunch of assorted sized marbles in the toe.
Now — before you go busting my chops about this — I wasn’t laughing AT his clubbed feet. I was laughing at the fact that my sultry attempt at removing his clothes had landed me teeth-first into the carpet. But he thought I was laughing at him. I was beyond the point of control and so it was something like, “Oh god. I’m [giggle] so sorry. I [snicker] didn’t [gasp] know!” He was already nearly dressed and out the door and I was left there on the floor, leaning against the dresser, naked and still laughing at the whole fucking situation.
Could he not have TOLD me about his situation? Was this MY fault? I felt HORRIBLE. I still feel bad about the whole thing, but dude… C’mon. This is kind of one those second-to-third date topics, right??
My roommate came home that weekend and noticed that I had slept in her bed. She playfully groaned, “You didn’t DO IT in my bed, did you?”