That went well.

***Note from Bambi: This posting will probably be part one of an approximate 172-part series in which I attempt to outline how exactly my private life crossed over into urban legend status. Part 2 through 169 will cover how and what in the hell happened, and hopefully by the time that's done...I'll have figured out at least one happy ending. For now. Part one.


This time, the sex was going to be different. Firstly, it wasn't going to be with myself, so there was that. Secondly, this new guy was single. I can't even stress how excited I was by the prospect of being with a guy who didn't have to ask his wife for permission first, as I'm sure is typical in most intimate relationships, provided you are me.

Also...the guy wasn't Alex. Therefore, there was no girlfriend, no heartbreak, and no scary sexual history that read like the white pages. And some blue ones. This guy was a new start – totally different. Totally normal, and therefore totally exciting.

Unmarried, unattached, mildly employed, passably literate, totally hot and young enough to barely pass the most generous of gay math algorithms – I was exceptionally pleased with the catching of this particular cub.

Approximately three months prior to this earth-shaking date night, I had posted an ad in desperation on Craigslist, seeking “entertainment for the summer.” In response, I received 37 different pictures of penises. Peni? Lots of wangs.

It's true that everything I understand about the male species can be written on a grain of rice in bubble letters, but there is one aspect of the male psyche that baffles me more than anything else: a man's belief that women will be driven wild by a poorly lit photo of his disembodied nubbin.

Apropos of seriously nothing else, captured in all of its glory(?) by either a poorly focused webcam, or the ubiquitous bathroom mirror self-portrait, men everywhere seemingly believe that their wieners have the power to...well...I have no idea what.
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It's not as though I've never met a penis I've fallen for, because I most certainly have. There are some very charming appendages out there, but this strong affection usually comes with some all important context. By the time it's waving in my face, I've usually made the decision to go ahead and get better personally acquainted.

Never before, and never will an email attachment and some sort of clever email introduction such as “Hope U like what U see!!!!!!” drive me to tear my clothes off in steamy anticipation of what could possibly just be an adequately sized sea slug for all I know.

My favorite penis pictures received were the thoughtful comparison photographs. One enterprising fellow was kind enough to forward along a picture of what I can only assume was his dick, photographed alongside of a Coke can for my careful analysis. I remained unimpressed, although strangely thirsty.

The point is, I got a lot of idiot replies, but one response stood out from the crowd. Funny, friendly, and the kid included a head shot – of his actual head.

We texted for long enough to determine he wasn't looking for anything serious, but neither was I. I expected a quick coffee meeting next to determine what could possibly be wrong with him, and then he blew my mind completely by taking me on an actual date.

He dressed up to meet me. Took me to shoot some pool. Did the whole manly man showing girl how to shoot properly so he could look down my shirt. Tried too hard to make me laugh. Paid for everything. Took me for tea just because I said I like tea. Tried to pay for that too. Insisted we go for a walk by the water, and steered himself between me and some drunken pan-handlers, like I might be something worthy of protection. Walked me to my car. Gave me such a swooning good kiss goodnight that the peanut gallery waiting to get into the nightclub where my car was parked started cheering. Texted me before I even got home – when could he see me again?

I don't date. Guys don't want to date me. They want to fuck me or they don't, and my options are limited accordingly. My romantic bar is set so low, a guy spending $22.50 on a few games of pool has now performed the equivalent of building me the Taj Mahal.

It was several weeks before we saw each other next, as he had a few issues to deal with including losing his job, his license, and being 25 years old. But...I mentioned he was hot, right? Like, really hot.

This is how we managed to keep texting through it all, and how he eventually came to be making out with me on my bed, and how I came to be four minutes away from having sex with somebody who wasn't me, wasn't married, wasn't attached and who hadn't yet made me cry.

Four minutes later...sex! I wish I could say amazing sex, or mind-blowing sex, but the words that sprang to mind were...clumsy. And, kind of...ow. And, holy shit kid haven't you ever done this before because the whole foreplay portion kind of feels like you're looking for change down there, and I assure you, that's not where I keep it.

Nonetheless, this was really an accomplishment. Normally so paralysed by fear and anxiety surrounding sex, for once I was just excited about somebody new like a normal person. No fear. No worry. Just happiness and...

“I think you're bleeding.”

...blood. Apparently blood. Happiness and blood.

He had backed off away from me on the bed, and I could his hands, elbows and knees covered in something that looked black in the dark. Underneath me was a pool of black that was getting wider by the second.

A moment went by and I honestly couldn't think of anything. Not just what I should do or say, but anything at all. So I just sat there. My bed was ruined, and I should probably have a shower. That's all that came to mind.

I ordered the guy off the bed, stripped the covers off and ran to the shower, shouting that I'd be back in just a moment. Standing under the shower, still wearing my bra and tank top, I sincerely believed the water would fix whatever was wrong, and the bleeding would stop.

It didn't.

The boy had followed me into the bathroom, apparently unfazed by my exploding vagina. Hurriedly scooping clots off of my legs, I yelled at him to go wait...I would. Be. Just. A. Moment.

I seemed to be panicking a little. Was I panicking a little? There was no need to panic – I was just having my period was all. No big deal. It totally happens. I should just come out of the shower and chill out.

A couple of things were just not happening. For one, I was not having my period. Secondly, I was not coming out of the shower. I was however, panicking.

As nonchalantly as circumstances allowed, I let him know I was not having my period. In no way, was this my period. This may in fact be the result of my vagina being under some sort of heavy security and perhaps he had inadvertently set off the dye pack placed strategically next to my cervix, but this was not my period.

He finally left the bathroom, and I finally left the shower. Pain hadn't hit just yet, so I could run from the bathroom to the bedroom, leaving a biblical mess all over my carpet in search of a towel to cram between my legs. Wrapping a towel around that, I felt I could pass for normal.

Finally sorted, I found the boy in my living room checking text messages. I noticed that he really needed to wash his arms. Also, I had totally ruined his socks.

By this time, pain had hit. Was still hitting. Pain like I couldn't have imagined words for. I apologized for his socks and curled into a ball on the couch, determined to keep the party going.

“Would you like me to leave?”

No, I really didn't. I might need him to drive me to the hospital, but even more importantly, two people having a friendly post-coitus conversation was normal.

All I wanted was a normal encounter, and so far I had not yet managed to achieve normal. If I had to sit there and bleed to death so I could have five minutes of goddamn normal than so be it. I was going to sit, he was going to stay, and at least one of of was going to suck it up and pretend like there was nothing unusual taking place at all.

I sucked it up all the way until the pain got so bad I couldn't talk any more, and then I agreed he should go. Also, it was time to change my towels...and perhaps get to a hospital. Just like a normal person.