I like flirting. I like dating. I like sex. A lot. But you know what?


After reading  The Most Embarrassing Person You’ve Ever Had Sex With, I’m reconsidering all of those likes.  Because holy horny shit show, people will fuck anything that moves.  For example….

“Because you must forever live with the knowledge that you humped a neo-nazi.”

Late bloomer here who segued into having a lot of partners and I only have one experience that I regret. That was when I was on a mission to have a one-night stand, got really drunk and didn’t notice the nazi tattoos on the dude I banged until I sobered up the next morning.

I plan to use it as a cautionary tale forever. “If you want to have sex, perhaps do not get so drunk that you cannot tell the difference between a flower tattoo and a swastika. Because you must forever live with the knowledge that you humped a neo-nazi.”

“Run! This is why you started therapy, because you make it all about sex!”

Young lady approached me on the bus—

—that this started on the bus should have been a warning sign—

—and asked me if anyone had ever told me I look like Tom Petty. Brain and Heart are yelling, “You’re in no shape, emotionally, to be doing anything right now!” And Penis says, “Hang on, we got this. Be cool.”

One meal at a diner and soon we’re back at her place. Piles of dirty clothes, empty glasses, and stuff that has to be shoved off the bed. Brain and Heart are screaming, “Run! This is why you started therapy, because you make it all about sex!” And Penis says, “S’all good, just ride the wave, man.”

Sex, shower, and laying together on the bed. The clock radio is playing an ad in one of the local elections. I say to her, “I’ll be glad when this election is over.”

And she says, “Well, we can’t vote out that Muslim in the White House, so—”

At this point, Brain and Heart are curled up, mumbling gibberish. Penis finally says, “Uh, good luck, buddy,” and exits the mental process. One panic attack later, I’m out the door and walking home because the bus doesn’t feel like a good idea.

“I didn’t know he only bathed one day a year…..”

I fucked the groundskeeper in the garden shed of the church next door to my house. He was hot in a Vincent D’Onofrio Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead kind of way. He was 6’4″ and muscular but a little soft around the middle, with a hairy butt and a girthsome dick. He had thick hair and long eyelashes. He bent me around like I was a pretzel and even held me upside down by my ankles. He called me a slut and pulled my hair and punctuated each. filthy. word. he. growled. in. my. ear. with a hard thrust.

Right?!!! It was sooooo goooood.

I didn’t know he only bathed one day a year — which happened to be the day that I fucked him, and the day he went off his meds. I went on vacation for two weeks the day after. I couldn’t WAIT to get back. Well, I could smell him from 50 yards away the day I got back. He was mumbling and cutting the oranges off a tree with these huge shears. He looked at me like he had no idea who I was. My neighbors were all like, “Yeah, that dude is fucking CREEPY. He lives in that shed. Did you know that? And that serial killer van with all the parking tickets? His.” I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

Yes, I had told all of my friends about this SUPER hot guy who was the best sex in my life.

Yes, I planned a BBQ so they all could meet him.

Yes, they saw him and will make fun of me the rest of my life.

Yes, I fucked Funky Joe again…all summer…in his serial killer van — until the cops  took him away in handcuffs for being all crazy. My friends don’t know that part.

Hello Companionship, Love, Affection, Fighting, Passion and Penis, it’s Tallulah B and  I’m out.  


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