The following is a guest editorial brought to you by Adam & Eve. Yes, you read that correctly.
Whenever a group of my friends and I get together all topics turn to sex. Always. We drink heavily from our wine glasses and rack our brains for funny questions to ask one another. The questioning can last for hours, long after we’ve exhausted the subject and recited answers we’ve previously heard. But this past weekend, I was asked a question that had surprisingly never come up: “What was the worst sex you’ve ever had?”
Flashes of falling off the bed, boys unforgettably small, and weird excessive biting littered my memories, but none of those would do. I paused thoughtfully, and the moment came to me. But whereas my friends were looking for funny examples of men falling short, mine exploited my own shortcomings.
It was years ago. I was a junior in college, living the kind of college experience you see in movies. Well, kind of. I went out drinking at keggers and bars three nights a week. I made it to all my classes Monday through Friday. I was always “broke,” living off rice and beans and I spent a good amount of time sleeping around. It was perfection.
One day a guy friend of mine called to inform me work had brought him to my city, and that he’d be staying in a nearby hotel. However, he wasn’t just a “friend,” he was the kind of friend that, when you see them, you automatically hook up. The kind of “friend” you would date if there weren’t distance/commitment issues. The kind of friend that comes in handy when you’re trying to get laid some random Tuesday.
He came to town and took me out to a nice dinner, so I could experience something more than Uncle Ben’s. We both had one drink. One. This was not my usual M.O. I was usually more of a throw ‘em back til 2 am, booty call kind of a girl. I was being treated like a lady. We finished our food and headed back to his hotel, knowing exactly what was going to happen.
We walked inside and he wasted no time trying to ignite, ahem, the flame. But I was nervous. Despite being with this man many times in the past, it was the first time soberly. And now, without any liquor to decorate my veins, I was suddenly confused. Penis goes where?
He kissed me and I started to giggle. He groped me and I chuckled. He threw me on the bed and I burst into hysterical laughter. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I couldn’t stop. My nervousness escaped through uncontrollable laughter. Laughter that didn’t stop for about 15 minutes. We tried to work around it, but it got more and more awkward as positions changed and my laughter got louder. Right in the midst of things he just stopped and looked at me, and finally asked what was going on. I kept reciting that I didn’t know, and frankly, I didn’t. He gave up and went into the tiny hotel bathroom. I sat on the bed, embarrassed and confused, and waited.
When he came out of the bathroom and saw me, he began laughing. And then I started laughing. He sat down next to me, patted my leg, and said, “That was the worst sex I’ve ever had.” I smiled and said, “Don’t worry, me too.” We had that easy going kind of relationship where it didn’t matter. We hopped over to the other bed and fell asleep shortly thereafter.
It took awhile after that night to get back in the sack; I didn’t want to relive that moment ever again. Instead I chose to rely upon Adam & Eve to get me through my weekend nights and the occasional Tuesday.