One night, a couple weeks ago, I brought home this girl from In-N-Out at two in the morning. I had struck up a drunkenish conversation with her and her friend about the Thousand Island spread and fetched them some more when they couldn't get their packet open. I had the Mexican girl at the counter cut it open and took credit for opening it myself.
We sat and flirted and I was somewhat charming and mostly self-deprecating. It was an odd dynamic, one of those situations where you have to hit on both girls equally so you don't alienate the one you have the best chance of fucking. The friend was the one I wanted, but an exchanged look between the two followed by a prolonged smile from the less attractive one -- the one with a reddish birthmark on her forearm -- gave away who I'd be sticking my dick in that night. Apart from our banter, there wasn't really anything that attracted me to her other than the fact that it was late and I felt like I should have sex with her because that's how you successfully end late nights. Everything about her was average. Not sexy, amateur porn average either. Just average average. Off-brand vanilla ice cream average.
SMASH CUT to doggystyle.
You remember Ghostbusters when they're in that ballroom and they've got Slimer with their proton guns and they open the trap for the first time and all of them have to squinch their eyes and turn their heads because the ray of light is so fucking bright and strong and dangerous?
Well that was me.
I had encountered ass smells before -- that stench of cheesy sweat that wafts up while your balls slap and make the sound of a retard clapping -- but never had I ever encountered something this epic. This was the Braveheart of ass smells. It was like Kraft Singles and Parkay Squirt Butter teamed up to create a fragrance no one wanted. Something too strong to be chalked up to a faulty showerhead and not enough Dove.
I continued fucking her, trying to block the smell with my hands. It reminded me of trying to suffocate an old man with a pillow, and then I thought about the end of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and then I thought about Jack Nicholson, and then large Native Americans and their B.O.
And then I felt my dick go limp inside of her.
She and her mouth were confident they could get me back into fighting form, but I knew better. She ended up staying the night because I can never find it in my heart to kick a girl out ("Do you want me to leave?" "Uh... if you want...") and I got no sleep. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone. Thank God.
What sucks is that I came away from this looking like a chump. Nevermind that she was kind of homely and her ass smelled like a pit of hellbound souls. No, that holds no weight. She was going to gossip to her friend that I was a dud and they'd share a good laugh and turn me into an inside joke and tell their other friends about me when those friends questioned said inside joke and then turn it into an even bigger inside joke and now maybe I'll flash through her head for a nanosecond before she dies in a head on collision with a truck full of illegals or a BlackBerrying BMW owner.
Am I being too presumptuous?