If I had to reduce my life down to two stories, I know what I would choose. One has already been written; the other I have never set to paper, since whenever I write down one of my best stories I can no longer tell it at parties. I launch into my funniest anecdotes, and people just wave their hand and say, "Oh yeah, I read that."

But this is one of my favorite stories ever - and I write it down now because it is my most embarassing sex story. It occurred to me that I want to hear yours. At the end of this entry, there is an anonymous comments feature enabled: Tell me the most hideously embarassing thing that's happened to you during, or in the pursuit of, sex.

The Ferrett's Story
Bari and I broke up so often, our friends had rules on how to handle us:

• Say nothing.
• Do not date either of them.
• Keep inviting them both to parties, same as always.

It wasn't that our breakups weren't serious; oh, they were so serious that they frequently involved three-hour shouting matches, suicide attempts in public places, and very often thrown items. Our breakups were like Amish barn raisings; if you were there, you were gonna lend a hand.

But the fireworks appeared to be some kind of crazy mating ritual. Bari and I would part, angry and furious and determined never to speak to each other again... And then we'd go to a party. We'd both be horny and angry, and nobody at the party would be interested in us. As the night went on, we'd look at each other across a room and remember the main thing that defined our relationship back then:

The best goddamned sex ever.

Bari and I were magnificent in bed, Olympic-quality. And as we all know, make-up sex is the best sex you can have - a gumbo of resentment, desperation, and love that becomes a sweet, sticky fucknectar. We'd have the best intentions, we'd both know this was bad for us... But near the end of the night, we'd be making out on the couch furiously, and sometimes we'd just go out and hump in the car.

Our genitals were magnets, drawn to each other despite any intervening forces.

But this breakup was different: She had dumped me.

I was always the one who decided that it was time to call it off, that our arguments were getting too pitched. The deal might have been engraved on stone tablets in Moses' handwriting: I, Ferrett, will dump thee and thou shalt lament my loss and crieth how thou needest me....

Nope. She just said, "This is bullshit," and left. And I was absolutely devastated.

I staggered into my friends' apartment, my cheeks stained a blotchy red from dried tears. They didn't even look up from their "Simpsons" reruns, completely used to my bimonthly Bari hystrionics... But their eyebrows raised when I upended an entire bottle of Scotch, dumping an entire pint of alcohol into my stomach, then shouted, "All right - where's more?"

They realized that triage was needed.

Wisely, my friends told me that more alcohol was nowhere to be found, but informed me that they did have some pot. Fine by me; I was so pissed-off and hurt that the only way I could work through it was to just obliterate my mind. I took at least eight deep hits, and held them until the room spun. And then it was time to go out.

I had emceed the Rocky Horror Picture Show for four years and had met a great deal of friends throught it... But over time, we'd grown bored with the RHPS itself and had just taken to showing up Fridays and Saturdays with a lot of booze. Sometimes we'd stay in the parking lot, sometimes we'd wander through the lobby, and occasionally we'd go in and work the show if we were in the mood, but the theater was unmistakably The Place To Be on Fridays and Saturdays. It was like a private club where the owner was too afraid to tell us to leave.

By the time I got to the theater, the world had narrowed to a crawl. The alcohol had threaded through my veins, lacing with the pot to present a surreal experience. Sections of my brain were shutting down like the Northeast Power Outage. Time stuttered and slowed, and all I remember is a series of snapshots....

• Me, stumbling out of the van and saying hello to some people.
• Me and my friends, meeting up with a new group of Rocky Horror fans, chatting animatedly.
• Me, talking with this girl from the new group, her leaning against a railing as I told her slurred jokes...
• ...Me and the same girl - although much farther out in the parking lot this time, our friends a distant speck....

I woke up in the theater during the Time Warp. Everyone was at the front of the theater, dancing and jumping, but for some reason my pants were down around my ankles.

And there was a head in my lap.

It took me a moment to realize that there was not only a head in my lap, but it was bobbing up and down and sucking my penis.

I checked in with my penis, asking, "Hey, can you give me status here?" It informed me cheerfully that this was go-around #2. It thought. Could be #3, but the drink made it kind of hard to tell.

Then, still a little slow on the uptake, I realized that I was getting blown in the middle row of a theater by a total stranger during the Time Warp. And I had evidently bonded with this woman; there was no shame in her enthusiastic choad-chowing. She was going at it with a fearful lack of restraint, and I had a sinking feeling that I was the one who had encouraged her to do this.

Apparently, I had discovered an alternative to Bari.

In any case, I was stumped. I had no idea who this mystery cocksucker was... But it seemed unseemly to just grab her by the hair, lift her up, and say, "Say... Who are you?" I sorted through my memories, trying to recall if I had gotten her name, but I didn't even remember meeting her. As of this moment in time, all I knew about this woman was what the back of her head looked like.

Was there some sort of Miss Manners etiquette to asking the name of an anonymous fellatist? I couldn't think of any. And time was creeping up on me; in a few scant moments the Time Warp would be over, and I sort of got the feeling that she really liked the idea of getting caught by a crowd of fifty people.

I froze, trying to act like I was into it, bucking my hips - which would buy me time. I knew what I would do - I'd try to ease her off the tip of Little Elvis by claiming that I wanted to take her in back, and then I'd hope we'd run into someone along the way who might explain what happened.

I tapped her on her neck. "Um... Excuse me..."

That's when I felt a pair of rapturously-familiar arms wrap themselves around my neck in a tight, joyous hug. "Oh, Ferrett!" Bari said. "I'm sorry for what I said. I - "

She looked down. The mystery woman looked up.

There was an awkward silence, made even more awkward when I realized they were expecting an introduction.

(Later on, I asked around and it turned out that during my blackout, I had grabbed this woman by the hand, swept my way into the women's bathroom, and proceeded to fuck her so thoroughly that everyone who entered the theater that day heard her shrieking out my name at the top of her lungs. She was, apparently, quite well-known for her willingness to go off with strange men, and I had to get myself tested for VD afterwards. I gave her a fake phone number and promised to call; I never did get her name.)

So. I've shared.

What's your most embarassing sex story?

Current Mood: frustrated

(Tell me I'm full of it)