Football Weekend

For the first few years after college my buddies and I picked a weekend and all met back at our alma mater for a home football game. The trips really weren't all that expensive, but they were over-the-top indulgence benders that heavily taxed my body for weeks after I returned home. After my fifth annual game I thought it would be best if I only joined the reunions every other year. I took last year off, so I booked my flight last night for this year's booze-fest.

During college our football tailgaiting consisted of 30 cases of Natty Light, and a case of Mad Dog (or more, if we could afford it). The booze was generally put on ice in the trunk of someones car since we had no money for a cooler. We rarely had any food at these events, and when we did it was misappropriated from the dining hall. Tailgating started by chugging a bottle of Mad Dog as soon as you woke up, then spiraled quickly out of control from there. Sunday mornings resembled the opening scene from the movie The Hangover. One such morning a friend woke up with a sheep in his dorm room. Our buddies, stupendously drunk, liberated the sheep from a nearby farm and carried it up two flights of stairs and quietly placed it in his room. Things like this were not uncommon.

The first year after we all graduated we had a little coin in our pockets, but we decided it would be fun to throw a tailgater like we did in college, so it has become a sort of tradition. Every year we rent a car and fill it to the gills with beer and kiwi-flavored malt liquor. To say things "regress", would be a massive understatement. After witnessing some sort of atrocity, one bystander two years ago poignantly commented "you have no respect for yourselves or others".

The true treasure of these trips has always been that they are a venue for scoring with the girls that were unattainable during college. I talked my fair share of women into bed during school, but it's downright amazing what happens on these weekend. Girls who would never have given you a second glance literally throw themselves at you. It's an environment completely devoid of judgment or consequences.

Obviously, this may pose a bit of an ethical dilemma to me this year.

Dating Ten Other Girls

Last night I got into bed at around 10:30, at 10:32 I heard a woman screaming bloody-murder in the street outside of my house. I jumped out of bed and ran for the front door, but I was naked and had to turn back to put on some shorts (and grab a gun). By the time I got to the sidewalk the street was empty except for two other concerned neighbors. The cops came 15 minutes later, it turns out a couple was mugged as they got out of their car. It's hard to get to sleep after that kind of excitement, so I was up late and am exhausted today.

Friday Night:
I took a half day on Friday to get an early start on the long weekend. I texted Kay to see what day she was getting back from Nashville and she said "today". A woman commented on my Match.com post that I may not be "relationship material" because of my "asshole attitude", so I decided to be a nice guy and drive up to BWI and pick Kay up. I think she was pleasantly surprised. I'm trying, what can I say?

Kay was exhausted from her trip, so we decided to stay in and cook dinner Friday. I won't get into the details, but over dessert Kay and I discussed what we were doing together, and I explained how I saw her on Match.com and wasn't too excited about it. Her response was "Well, I figured you were dating ten other girls." I have not instigated a discussion about having an "exclusive relationship" in a long time, and it didn't seem to be off to a good start. However, after 30 minutes of talking Kay made me swear that I wouldn't "break her heart", and said she would gladly take down the profile.

Saturday Night:
Kay and I went to the Nats game then grabbed a bite to eat on Barracks Row, where we ran into not one, but two of my former female acquaintances.

While we were walking down the sidewalk I noticed a girl was looking rather intently at me as she approached. When she was about 20 feet away I realized it was Bear. I said "Hello Bear", but kept walking. She later admonished me for not stopping to make small talk. I'm not sure what she was thinking, but there was no way I was stopping, or even slowing down, so that the three of us could make small talk about how we all know each other.

We chose a restaurant on 8th Street for dinner and waited for a while out front for our table to be ready. While we were standing there I noticed a table of four girls kept looking at over at Kay and I. I didn't recognize the three girls that I could see (one had her back to me), and thought that maybe Kay knew them. However, after a few minutes it was obvious they were talking about us, and I was starting to get nervous that I had hooked up with one of them. Luckily, our table was ready a few minutes later and I wasn't called out. After dinner, I was able to see the fourth girl's face and realized it was one of the girls from Match.com that I took out (the one that suggested we bring our dogs with us on the first date). We breezed out the door after dinner, I didn't give her a chance to say hello, or mention that I hadn't returned her three voicemails.

We tried to get into Phase I, a bar on 8th. I had a buddy try to go in one night and he was told by a rather brawny woman that he "wasn't welcome" inside, so I just wanted to verify. In case you didn't know, it's a lesbian bar and I apparently wasn't welcome inside.

My crazy neighbor was having a party Saturday and sent me a text to come over for a drink. Kay knows the whole story about the neighbor, and shared my lack of enthusiasm for going over for a drink. Instead, we had fairly loud sex in the hot tub, which more than a couple people at the party heard. Oh well.

Sunday:

Sunday morning I cooked a hearty breakfast then we packed up our one tiny travel bag for our trip to Annapolis. The bag was only big enough for us to each bring: a tooth brush, a pair of flip flops, a pair of shorts, and two shirts. Kay also brought some underwear (I don't wear any) and a small pouch of "stuff", that I assume was make-up and such. Kay joked that our trips together seemed to be a series of tests of her packing abilities.

Earlier in the week I had tuned up my Ducati for the trip, and had been riding it all week to make sure it didn't develop any issues. I put the bag on the tank of the bike and fired it up. It started on the first try, and then died. "You motherfucker!" I hit the start button again and nothing happened, there was just a slight clicking noise. I looked over at Kay, who shrugged and then laid down in the hammock. I took off the gas tank and fiddled with the engine and battery, but it was clearly not going to start, and if it did I didn't trust it enough to take on a trip. Kay said "Can we take the other one?". It had crossed my mind to take the Honda, but she never really seemed comfortable on it, and it wasn't exactly a touring bike (a Honda RC51 is a race bike, and uncomfortable to the extreme). I've only put about 400 miles on the bike, so I'm not 100% comfortable on it yet, especially with a passenger. However, I said we could take it, but I gave Kay a ten minute lesson on how to properly hold onto me when we ride. The bike is very tall, and has a harsh suspension, so I was scared she would get bucked off the bike on the highway, but she did fine.

Overall, the trip from DC to Annapolis was nice. We took Suitland Parkway to Rt. 4 to Rt. 2. The drive is only an hour or so. The weather was perfect and part of the route had some really nice scenery, we rode through lots of farmland and a couple of small towns. The only section that sucked was the first part of the Suitland Parkway, which is totally ghetto.

Annapolis was a good time. We essentially ate and drank our way through town. After a great dinner we sat on the docks at Pusser's, shared a cigar, and had cocktails until a little after midnight. The people watching is fantastic, really a world-class mix.

Maybe I am the only one who has this problem, but going away with girls, especially ones that you are still getting to know, is difficult because you really can't stick to your normal bathroom schedule. Sure, I know guys that fart in front of women, and have no shame about smelling up the bathroom while they are in the next room. I never fart in front of women, and really try to avoid smashing up the bathroom if they are sharing it. I realize it's a normal bodily function and there's nothing to be ashamed of, but I still avoid it. I generally end up devising complex ways of using alternate bathrooms for NASCAR-pit-stop-style craps. I'm sure it's not healthy.

Haircut and Sushi

My first haircut was at a little place called Harry's Barbershop on the main drag of my hometown. My dad took me there one Saturday morning in his maroon Chevy Caprice, and said I could drive home (just sit on his lap and steer) if I didn't cry. Harry old as hell, and bald, which even at that young age struck me as ironic. Harry smoked like a chimney the whole time. When he was done he hoisted me off the chair, set me on the ground and gave me a lollipop. I went to Harry's for a long time, but eventually he became senile and would poke the shit out of my head with the tip of his insanely sharp scissors. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and had to find a new barber. Harry has been dead for at least ten years now, but when I look for a barbershop, I usually seek out one that looks like Harry's. Plain, clean, and always with the spinning red and white barber pole in front.

When I moved to DC I spotted a place that looked a lot like Harry's on the outside, so one afternoon I went in for a trim. As soon as I walked in I realized this place was a lot different than Harry's. P-Funk and Sportscenter were both blaring and competing for your attention. Clean is not a word I would use to describe the place, but it was tidy enough. Along one wall were four barber chairs, with four men in the seats, and four men cutting hair. Along the other wall were eight red plastic chairs, all but one were filled with men waiting for cuts. There was one young kid sweeping the floor with a push broom that was taller than him. There was another, tougher looking, kid sitting in a chair in the back of the room near the restroom. All of these men were black. The proverbial record scratched when I walked in and I had a few dozen eye balls on me. I thought "Okay, it's a little different than Harry's, but a haircut's a haircut.", and I sat down in one of the waiting chairs.

That was three years ago, and I have been back for every haircut since then. No matter how long your hair is, or what type of cut you ask for, it's done entirely with clippers. I don't even think there is a pair of scissors in the shop. The Skins are one notch below God there. Never, EVER, utter a bad word about the Skins no matter how shitty they are doing. Oh, and the kid that was sitting in the back of the room by the bathroom, he sells dime bags of weed and does a little booking. Not one time in three years have I ever seen another white kid in the place. I'm not sure what the barbers make of me, but the cuts aren't bad, you're out in like 15 minutes, and it only costs $22 with tip. I really like the place and wish I could give them a plug, but won't for obvious reasons.

I went for a trim last night, then rode down the way to get some take-out at a sushi place I like. The restaurant is not known for it's stellar service, so I sat at the bar and had a beer while I waited for my order.

When I came in there was a tall blond girl working the bar that I had never seen in there before. Halfway through my beer her shift ended and another girl took over. The blond punched out, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of sushi and sat down next to me.

Blondie: The bartender was about 5'8", in her mid-to-late 20's, with a curvy body and a mediocre face. She was wearing a small jean skirt, boots, and a tight wife-beater. Under the t-shirt she had on a black bra that was clearly struggling to contain it's huge cargo. On a scale of 1-10, though, Blondie was only about a 5, 6 if you wanted to be generous.

Blondie had checked my ID when I ordered my beer, so she knew my name and asked me what kind of bike I rode. She knew a fair amount about bikes, even the engines, which is unusual for a woman. It was about 8pm, and she said she had been on since that morning prepping for lunch. The other bartender dropped a shot glass in front of Blondie and filled it with Patron, then the bartender nodded towards me and held up a second glass. "Thanks, but I can't." I said, and pointed towards my helmet, which was sitting on a stool near me. Blondie downed her shot without "training wheels" (salt and lemon), then took a swig of her beer. We talked for a little while, mostly about sushi joints in the area, and had a little debate over what the best tequila was (Herradura is my favorite).

Blondie finished her last roll and said "So, is all that sushi you ordered for you?" I said yes. She said "Good. I want a ride on that Ducati. Why don't you give me a ride to my place. You can have a beer and eat your sushi while I shower, then we can go out and get a bunch of tequilas together." It was an interesting proposition. On one hand, she wasn't that great looking. On the other, things are clearly in limbo with Kay and I could use a roll in the hay to decompress (and that is clearly what this was about). Also, I had a feeling that this girl knew a few tricks in the sack.

"Tell you what, I have to work tonight, but let me get your number, we'll shower and get drinks another night." She laughed and rattled off her number, which I punched into me phone. I obviously didn't have to work last night, I just didn't feel like getting tangled up with that chick, who frankly looked a little dirty. Another problem is that I get sushi from this place a lot, and didn't want to get black listed from it by having a one night stand with the dirty bartender who probably fucked every waiter (and maybe a few waitresses) in the place. I had a vision of a wad of jizz on my next spicy tuna roll if I nailed Blondie. I did appreciate the offer, though.

I rode home, ate my sushi solo, had vodka, then went to bed.

The Cunning Linguist

Let me make a very long story short. I was in the gym locker room last Thursday talking to some of the guys I know, and I was floored that none of them go down on their wives. Or, more likely, none of them admitted to it. How we got on the topic is really not that interesting (it started with a discussion on having TV's in the bedroom), but it may be noteworthy that all the guys were black. My good friend L, who is black, said he loves to go down, so I don't believe the stereotype that all African American men are averse to this, but it may be that in a group setting they are averse to talking about it. I told them they are all full of shit and they all go down on their wives, but they insisted they "never have and never will".

My question is, how can you not like licking pussy? Honestly, I love it. I do it as often as possible, and for as long as allowed (after a while most girls like to move on to other things). I am happy to make an evening out of it. I'll prop a girls butt up on some pillows, make myself comfortable, and easily spend 30-40 minutes down there. I've never timed it but I would bet I've spent an hour or more at times. I only have two requests: keep everything neat and trimmed, and give me regular progress reports, and I'll spend all day doing this.

I've already said it, I don't like any hair on my girl's cha-cha. I like it totally bald. But I realize that is a personal preference, and the ladies will do what they like. To each his, or her, own.

When I say I would like progress reports, what I mean is give me a little direction. If something feels good, let me know. A moan will suffice. If I'm missing the spot, give me some coordinates. "A little to the right. A little to the left. Faster. Slower. Softer. Deeper." Don't be shy, I'm doing this for you. And here's a big one, ladies, we're down there to make you cum, please let us know when we reach our goal. Sometimes it's hard to miss. I had one girl in high school clap her legs together when she came and my left ear is still a little hard of hearing, but sometimes it's not that obvious. I, for one, can't always tell, so send me a signal if you are a quiet girl.

The Smell:
Enough already. Yes, pussy has a very distinct odor, but unless there is something wrong or the girl isn't clean, I don't think the smell is bad. On the contrary, I like the smell, and the taste for that matter.

Technique:
Here's the thing with going down on a woman, you're dealing with the vagina, which is a complicated region. Unlike the penis, which has just three distinct parts in ALL cases - head, shaft, balls, that's it - the vagina has more parts than a Swiss watch. I am not a doctor (I flunked out of pre-med my sophomore year), and don't pretend be an expert on the topic. What I don't know about the female anatomy you can just about squeeze into the Grand Canyon. But I've done a bit of research on the topic and believe that I've found a technique that seems to please in most cases.


Some people swear by the "Alphabet", where you trace the letters of the alphabet over her clit. Some people (and I say people because I've discussed this with women who go down on chicks) hum while they lick and flick. Some prefer to suck on the clit while others do figure-eights around it. I'm sure every woman likes her own thing.


I generally try to stick to a tried and true method. I realize it may not be for every girl, but it seems to work for most. It's pretty simple, basically I do circles around the clit with my tongue on one direction (let's say clockwise). Then, with my hand, palm up, I put two fingers (middle and index) into her and curl the fingers back towards me like I am motioning for someone to come to me. With those fingers I rub the inside wall of her vagina, the spot that is basically right behind her clit (the disputed "g-spot"), in a circular motion opposite of what my tongue is doing (counter clockwise in this case). One way to think of is it your fingers and tongue are pointing towards each other. I like circular motion as opposed to flicking because it's steady pressure, and that seems to be the trick. This is my main technique, but I never jump right into this. I like to take my time and lick her all over first. Pay attention to her whole body.

I haven't even hit the "Publish Post" button, and I can already hear you sarcastic fuckers typing away: "You don't know what you're talking about. You're doing it all wrong. What, circles? No flicking? No sucking? Your fingers are bent up, they should point down." And on, and on.

Let me say it again for those in the cheap seats: I'm not saying this is the best technique. I'm just saying this is the one that has gotten the best reviews from my lady-friends. Have a better idea? Share it, let's see how your technique holds up with this group. Try exposing yourself to mass-ridicule for a change.

Wednesday Nights

Kay has a pretty hectic schedule weekdays, but we have hung out every Wednesday evening for about 6 weeks now. Last night I received the following text message:

"It's Wednesday...you should be inside me."

I was asleep when I got it, but it's not bad waking up to that.

So, Tuesday I was drafting a post on cunnilingus before I was distracted by other topics. Barring any shenanigans I should have that finished and posted today.

I am trying to take a personal day tomorrow to get my car registered in DC. Between the DMV and my bike trip with Kay this weekend I should have ample material for Tuesday's post.

Match.com II

Last night was about what I expected. No sleep, bad mood. Normally I would have gone to a bar with a buddy and gotten really rowdy and taken a girl home, but I figured that as self destructive. I ended up sequestering myself from the general public to avoid any potentially felonious behavior. I had a two hour workout (saw GG, always nice), cooked a good dinner, took the dog on a long walk, then watched a solid two hours of the Discovery Channel (I'm a nerd at heart).

What to do, what to do.

Since I didn't sleep much last night I had plenty of time to brood over the situation. Have you ever noticed that you are totally irrational when you wake up in the middle of the night? When I am in the middle of a big construction project I wake up at night in full panics about money, or permits, or workers. Then in the morning I always think "What were you so worked up about?". Last night was the same. I was so pissed that I contemplated sending Kay a text that read "WTF are you doing on Match.com?", but luckily I didn't, I would have regretted that today.

I told D-Ron about the situation and he helped out in his own sarcastic way.

Here's what I am going to do - just be myself. No pressure, no strings, no worries, no relationship labels. I'll be the nice guy that she agreed to have a lobster dinner with. The guy that she sips drinks with in the hot tub while listening to reggae. What am I stressing about, it's not in my nature. If she doesn't like me for who I am then it won't work and there is no reason to try and force it. If she comes back from her trip and tells me it's not working out and she never wants to see me again, what have I lost? It would suck, don't get me wrong, but I would deal with it. The timing was wrong, we're not right for each other, or I'm a jerk. Whatever the reason, maybe it's just not right.

But don't get me wrong, I'm not just going to roll over and give up. That's also not in my nature. I will reiterate that I really enjoy hanging out with her and think she's a great person. The one thing I am wrestling with is whether I should say that I am not seeing anyone else right now, I don't know if that qualifies as "pressure". The main reason I want to bring it up is because we don't use condoms, and I need to clarify that if we are going to see other people we will start using them.

Match.com

A month or two ago I mentioned that I had signed up for an online dating membership. On the recommendation of my friend D-Ron I picked Match.com. It was a fiasco, both the dating and billing aspects. I didn't have any great dates from it and Match billed me for a month or two more than I signed up for. I cancelled my subscription but I still found a charge from them last month. I disputed the charge on my card but they are still billing me despite closing my account. It's very frustrating.

I spent 20 minutes this morning on the phone with my credit card company trying to get the charge credited. You would think it would be easy to dispute a $30 charge, but it practically takes an act of congress. Finally, the lady said the credit would appear immediately on my account. A few minutes ago I logged into my online statement and the credit was shown. This is the good news.

I had taken my profile down last month, so I logged into match.com and made sure all my photos and profile were gone. The pictures were gone, but my account still appeared to be active. I was hoping everything would be shut down as that would be a good sign that I would not be charged for further services.

The bad news is that while I was logged into Match curiosity got the better of me. I mentioned before that I had stumbled upon Kay's profile, so I tried to find it again. I didn't know her user/profile name, so I typed in her age and did a search. A few pages of profiles came up and it took me a minute to find hers. When I did, I noticed that her profile picture had changed, and that the tag at the bottom of her profile said that she had been active "within 24-hours".

There are two sides of me battling for control right now, and they each make compelling arguments.

The rational side is making the following argument: "Match.com is a scam, look at your billing. And those counters are probably inaccurate. In fact, you have always suspected that they were specifically designed to be misleading and to make you think that more people are active online than there actually are. Their business model is based on membership and activity levels being high. Plus, Kay is away and probably doesn't have access to a computer anyway."

The easily enraged, highly flammable, irrational side said: "That fucking douche changed her picture, was online last night, and is still trawling the web for dudes!"

I'm really not sure what to make of this. I am generally not a trusting person, and rarely give anyone the benefit of the doubt, it's not in my nature. Some may interpret this as an insecurity, but I say that's bullshit. Suckers are trusting, I'll take skepticism over trust everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. However, I would like to think that I am skeptical and rational.

The important question is, "What do I do about this?".

Since Kay and I have never had any conversations about our relationship (or if we are even in a relationship), I suppose I really don't have any grounds for being angry.

To put the shoe on the other foot, if I confronted her, Kay could turn around and say "Well, you were online looking at chicks and stumbled across my profile. What does that make you?". While not true, it certainly does make me look sneaky.

I guess the adult course of action here is to have a discussion about where we stand. Then either bring up the match.com membership or not. I don't want to blow this out of proportion, but it does aggravate me a bit.

I have a feeling today is going to be a productive day in the gym. Should be lots of sore muscles tomorrow.