When She’s too Good to Be True

Today’s post is YMRP’s first guest post from Nick Black.  You can check out some of his other stuff at Stories Dad Never Told You.  I really liked this story though…I’ll let you read and give your own interpretation.

Time: 2005, the Summer after finishing high school but before freshmen year of college.

Place: Uncle Mark’s parents’ hot tub.

“You called me Shannon last night while we were fucking. TWICE.”

Nicole, the first girl I remember having sex with, the day after we did it

If sex was supposed to be beautiful, like my Mom claimed, I didn’t find that out until I was almost 22.  In the meantime, I had to figure out the path to sexual satisfaction on my own, without the guidance of my parents, teachers, or catholic priest.  Their ‘just don’t do it’ and look the other way mantra scared me off from talking to them about the things that mattered to me at that age and thus, delayed my maturity in the area of sex.  Generally, my way of ‘confronting’ the contradictory messages of sex I was receiving was to get blackout drunk and then hook up with someone.  If you are borderline blackout drunk and have no control, you have no responsibility for your actions, right? I think a lot of college freshmen would agree with me on that one.  It seemed like a great idea at the time! Bon apetite! 

For me personally, my practicum sexual education started in a hot tub at age 18 around 4 a.m on a July weeknight.

I had sneaked into my best friend’s backyard hot tub with an beautiful blonde named Nicole who had graduated with me in my high school class. Nicole was so hot that I was paradoxically relieved when she dropped out of my trig class earlier that year so I could stop having to tuck up the 8:45 a.m. boner I consistently got when she walked into the classroom.   She had legit DD’s, which got in the way when she was doing all the dancing she did as captain of the Eurhythmics squad.  She was as flexible as a Russian gymnast and also spoke Spanish fluently.  Yea, she was an intellectual hottie with a body and I had had a crush on her for a while.  To say I was surprised that fate had somehow brought us to Mark’s jacuzzi would be a gross understatement.

Ostensibly we were at my friend Mark’s house to ‘just keep drinking some more brewskis.’ I was playing it cool, but of course I was hoping the beers would turn into a late night make out session.  Make out session I would get, and much more.  After a few minutes I noticed (again, I was a little drunk) that she was naked on top of me, grinding on me.  I was at full mast. She grabbed me and put me inside her.  She seemed to know what to do.

I swear this thought went through my brain right that second: is this was beautiful sex is supposed to be like?  The words my mother had spoken to me echoed through my head. I was so drunk, though, that the thought was quickly lost as I stared at the huge boobs in front of my face as we splashed the water in the hot tub.  In the midst of splash-fucking, I bust out with this gem, completely in the moment, without even a second thought:

Me “Oh my god, Shannon, holy shit! Shannon!”  She slows down for a second.  I am confused.

Me “Why are you stopping?”

Nicole “Nick what the fuck?  Why are you saying Shannon? My name is Nicole!”

Me “Oh yea, right.  Sorry, Nicole.”

She starts grinding again.  3-5 minutes later:

Me “Shannon, holy shit!”

Shannon “Stop saying fucking ‘Nicole!’  You’re with Shannon, goddamn it, Shannon!”

Me: “My bad.”

Contrary to lying youporn videos, sex in a hot tub is NOT as awesome as it potentially sounds. The hot tub water neutralizes the naturally lubricating juices of the woman, which makes the penis-vagina friction suboptimal. Of course, at 18 and more or less a virgin (I’ll get to that later), I have no idea this is the case.

I just know that my penis feels awesome at the moment.

After an hour or so of fucking we stop and decide it is time to leave.  The funny thing is that we don’t stop fucking because I accidentally call her ‘Shannon’ twice, we stop because we keep activating the motion censor light on Mark’s deck, and we are afraid his parents would come out and see us as we get closer to sunrise.

In a drunken post-sex haze I walk Nicole back to her house as the sunrise ebbs and the suburban sparrows begin to chirp.  As we pad barefoot and naked the block back to her house, I vaguely hear her say something about ‘can’t find my bra’ but I’m not sure because I am too busy staring at her huge yet mysteriously gravity defying breasts, and thinking how those things need to be studied more closely so that they can be replicated.  Then my balls twinge, and I realize I have been blue-balled.  The combination of binge drinking for 9 straight hours and non-lubricating hot tub water has kept me from orgasm.  For future reference, if you are drunk enough to call a girl the wrong name, twice, there’s a good chance that you won’t be ejaculating.  The person who invents a whisky that actually makes you more virile will be a rich man (or woman), and also will be responsible for many abortions to come.

I kiss Nicole goodnight and walk the mile and a half to my friend’s house where we had started out the night and pass the fuck out in his parents’ bed since they are away on vacation and my house is far away (If you are reading this, thanks for the crash pad, Mr. and Mrs. K!).

I wish the story ended there.  But, after somehow arriving on time and not drowning or puking during the swim lessons I taught to children at 9 a.m. the next morning at the local pool, I go home and pass out to nap like I have been roofied.  I wake up with a huge boner.  My balls are so swollen with finally sober sperm trying to escape that I have to rub at least two out, maybe three.  I don’t even need to watch porn; last night’s highlight reel is more than enough.  Any dude knows that blue-ball loads always come the quickest and yet somehow yield the biggest in quantity.  For me it was no different: I probably shot out a quart of sperm right then.  If I’d have taken that load to a sperm bank, they’d have owed me triple.

Fast forward a few hours, when I go out to a party and see the girl out again.  Nicole and I see each other from across the room filled with 25 or so drunk-ass 18 year olds. We give each other the ‘let’s meet in the stairwell and talk in private’ eyes.

When we meet in the stairwell she is conveniently one stair above me, which means I have to concentrate in order to not look at the boobs that were floppily thrust in my face less than 18 hours ago.

Nicole (smiling seductively) “So last night, that was…really fun.”

Me “Agreed.  Uh…that was the first time I’ve done that.”

Nicole “WHAT? You? But you are so…I can’t believe that!  I can’t imagine that you hadn’t…You’re a virgin???”

Me “Was.”

Nicole “Well you weren’t bad for your first time.”

Me “Thanks.”

Nicole “Yes, most of it was really good, Nick.  But part of it was really bad.”

Me “Which part?  Can you clarify?  To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember every single detail from last night”

She leans in really close to me and whispers, “You called me Shannon while we were doing it. Twice.”

I take a step back and view her with wide eyes. “Holy shit, are you serious? Oh my god, I’m really sorry, Nicole, I was so drunk.  I don’t know why I would say that.  I actually think you are really cool”

Nicole eyes me with seductive eyes.  “That’s alright.  Just don’t do it again…okay?” she says sweetly. She leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

The significance of what I had done did not dawn on me until Nicole called me out right there. Sober, some realizations sat in for me:

a) I had called a girl the wrong name in the act of sex…And ‘Shannon’ happened to be her best friend’s name (who incidentally was known between my guyfriends as probably the hottest girl in the school) as I had my penis inside her. Not once, but twice did I call her the wrong name.

b) The girl who I had insulted wasn’t very upset by this fact.  She was cool with it.

c) In fact, Nicole was implying that she wanted to do this again.  Alrighty then.

Nicole goes back to playing beerpong and drinking with our friends.  An hour later, she comes back to talk to me and says she is tired and wants me to drive her home since I am the designated driver for the night.  You don’t have to ask me twice.

After we arrive to her house, she invites me into her basement, which has a door that is accessible directly from the outside.  We go inside and she says she wants to do again what we did yesterday.  Fuck yea! I think.  Emily starts taking off her clothes until she has absolutely nothing on.  She sits on couch with her legs wide open.  She leans back on the cushions and pulls her shins up to her shoulders to show off her flexibility.   “I want you to give it to me, right here,” she says, pointing at her pussy.

I disrobe before you can say Jack Robinson and try to put it in her.  Except my penis decides to go Benidict Arnold on my ass: it is almost totally flaccid.  I am a combination of slightly embarrassed and also pissed.  I mull over the possible reasons for the penis betrayal.  Is big Nick in denial at the fact that this incredibly hot girl is actually seducing me? Perhaps I’m not emotionally attracted enough to Nicole.  Or maybe the quart of sperm I had unloaded earlier in the day is coming back to haunt me.

Whatever the case, the reality was that I, a healthy, sober, 18 year old, just could not get it up.

Nicole notices the situation and seductively eyes me.  “Mmmm…IIII know what you need…”

She takes me in her mouth for a few minutes.  Nothing. It just. Doesn’t.  Go. Up.  I left Nicole’s house, disappointed and with a hint of anger.

That moment will forever be etched in my memory like it happened yesterday.  The hottest girl I had been with up to that point, naked, stretched in front of me, begging me to have sex with her, and I couldn’t do it.

Looking back though, I think I know what happened to me that night: guilt.  The situation was just too good to be true.  Incredibly hot knockouts don’t just beg normal dudes like me to fuck them, right?  I assumed she had gone temporarily insane, and essentially never talked to her again after that incident.

It’s a shame, because in addition to being hot, Nicole was a really cool girl.  I often wish I would have gotten to know her better and had regular hot sex, even if we weren’t destined for a long term relationship.  But at 18, I still had this ridiculous madonna/whore paradoxical attitude. The Madonna/whore paradox states that in a guy’s mind, girls have to fit into one of two categories: a madonna or a whore, an angel or a slut.  Mothers, sisters, wives and the virgin Mary end up in the madonna category, and prostitutes, one-night stands get lumped in with the whores.

That was exactly how I saw it at age 18.  I ‘knew’ that a girl who I slept with would have to fit, without exception, into one of two categories: a whore who would get with anyone or a madonna who would marry me and never want to leave anyone but me.   I knew I couldn’t handle a girlfriend, and I didn’t want to just sleep with a girl who gets around like a record.

Here is the problem with that mindset, though.  I was 18, had the normal hormone and testosterone levels of a male that age, and was about to head off to college (no parents, no rules!).  So I made an unconscious compromise with myself: I would only sleep with girls when I was blackout, or at least brownout, drunk.  That way, I could avoid confronting the idiotic simplicity behind the madonna/whore complex.  See, nobody had ever taught me how to say ‘yes’ to sex.  My parents, public school health teacher, and catholic priest had failed me in that regard.  It was up to me to figure out the details on my own.

Lesson learned: Sometimes, you get lucky and a super hot girl will be into you and will want to sleep you with little or no effort on your part.  Do not come down with a case of ‘this is too good to be true’ syndrome.  Sometimes, it’s just true.  Do not categorize the girl as a ‘slut.’ Leave that to the other girls.  She is just a nice girl who understands how to enjoy her body.  As for my dumb 18 year old ass?  I never even called Emily again.

Lesson #2: If you are considering giving a girl a call back…don’t be a coward.  Put your ego and your fear aside and call the girl back.  Yea, it could crash and burn, but who knows?  She just might be too good to be true.

If you liked this post, you might also like Sex is Beautiful and How it Began.  Next week’s story is How Your Dad Lost his Virginity (A letter from the girl who took it).  I will be posting it one week from today.

One response to “When She’s too Good to Be True

  1. Pingback: Blog Review – Young Man Red Pill | Die Gallantly·

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