I meet this guy at a late night club, my type on stilts –mid 20’s, slender, sinewy arms, straight blonde hair. We talk for hours, and I’m thinking this guy is it…
by: Woody Miller
Hey, Woody!
I meet this guy at a late night club, my type on stilts –mid 20’s, slender, sinewy arms, straight blonde hair. We talk for hours, and I’m thinking this guy is it. If dating material glowed he’d be radioactive. So I ask him home. He says he wants to keep partying, wants me to come with him to an after-hours bar.
I’m like, “Dude, it’s six in the morning. How much more partying can you do?”
So he gives me this big, fat wet kiss, puts my hand on his crotch, and says the party never stops. I’m like, DAMN, why would you spend HOURS flirting and talking with someone you like and then refuse to go home with him?
I gave him my card, but only because I have no dignity or self-esteem and hoped that he’d call me. Well, he called, like 12 hours later. He’d been partying for twenty-four hours straight and wanted to come over. I told him I hadn’t slept a wink and looked awful. Couldn’t we hold off till tomorrow and have dinner?
I let him come over but only because I have no dignity or self-esteem and hoped that he’d sleep with me. He comes over and we’re in bed in no time. So far so good. But I really like this guy. I want to talk, kiss, hug, hold, the whole works. But all he wants to do is f–k.
He gets impatient and practically demands that we start screwing. “Look,” he hissed, “I want you to f–k me.”
“NOW.”
So like a good aggressive top, I did as I was told.
I’m inside him and he won’t look at me, won’t kiss me, won’t anything me. He seemed annoyed that my d–k had me attached to it. His legs are flapping up and down like a tethered bird trying to take off.
I literally didn’t, couldn’t, thrust because he was riding up and down on me so fast. I’ve played many roles in bed but never The Human Dildo. It was the oddest thing I’ve ever experienced. He was being penetrated but I was the one getting f–ked.
He took a shower and took his leave. I gave him my card, but only because I have no dignity or self-esteem and hoped that he’d call me. Needless to say, he never called. And on top of that, every time he sees me, he walks by like he doesn’t know me.
Finally, a friend says to me, “You’ve got to learn how to talk to club queens. Go up to him and tell him you want to f–k him again.” Well, I did. He jumped out of his chair like I told him he was sitting in a puddle of Ebola. Woody, where did I go wrong? I really like this guy. Do you think there’s anything I can do to salvage this?
— Scratchin’ my head
Dear Scratchin’:
Can you salvage this? That kind of hope should be bottled. Men, particularly in late night crowds, want only want two things: Dick and a Way Out. You gave him the first, be graceful enough to give him the second.
Your painful yet hilarious story has inspired me to make a call for entries. Everybody: If you have a story that can beat this one, send it in. The top five winners get their story published, and more importantly, get a free copy of my book, How To Bottom Without Pain Or Stains.
