I lived in Oklahoma, and there was this one guy who worked for the church I went to. He played backup guitar in the church band, and would teach music at the elementary school. His wife was also the principal. Anyway, he had a good family, his eldest son was in Yale (I think) and the school was actually about to win an award for “safest school.” His wife went to DC to accept the award, and while she was gone he was arrested for apparently fondling and fingering the little girls in his class. It made some unfortunate sense, since he was known to show a lot of movies in his class, which always seemed weird to the staff (I did tech work there as a class, and some teachers complained he did it far too often). Turns out this was when he would do it: turn the lights off, sit in the back with a couple little girls and…yeah. His son took his mother’s maiden name.
My mom knew him well, and he used to preach at her that the metal music I enjoyed at the time was going to send me to hell. It used to really piss her off. He had a creepy vibe, but for the most part that was just due to his looks: socially awkward smile, huge glasses. I always just thought he was too Christian. Nope, pedophile, apparently.
My dad was a pretty violent pedophile, and also extremely charming, and was a certified genius.
Nobody suspected him of doing anything. I myself honestly had no idea until he and my mother divorced him for unrelated reasons, and I had to visit him in his new apartment with my little brother. He had no roommates or girlfriends. We were completely alone with him. My brother wasn’t his type, but he would hurt him to get me to comply. He was very good at keeping us silent about everything. We haven’t ever even spoken to each other about what we went through, though since therapy it’s pretty easy to type it out anonymously. I still have only verbally discussed it with my wife, and one other person while hammered.
I realize looking back that a few of my friends were terrified of him even before the divorce for what I thought was no reason.
Nobody would have believed us, even with the physical evidence… he was just too good with people.
Later in therapy as an adult I realized that all of our pets disappeared within a month of bringing them home, and there was never an explanation. I have a lot of theories there, but no proof.
He was diagnosed as a true sociopath later on from what I’ve heard from my grandma (don’t know the validity of that statement because it’s second hand from a woman that isn’t entirely sound herself, but I believe it). He lives with my equally insane grandfather (grandma’s ex husband) when he isn’t locked up.
Fortunately, meth really did a number on him. He finally started looking as scary as he is, and his brain was just fried last I saw him over a decade ago. No longer smart or attractive, and he is isolated from the world. recently his dad has tried to reconnect us. That landed me back in therapy, as every day I was afraid they would find out where I was from some unwise relative.
My seventh-grade math teacher was a really flagrant creep. Had a bunch of pictures of one of the female students hung up around his room, and allegedly got mad at her when she tried to take them down…and we spent class time watching a cell phone video he had on his computer of one girl covered in mud in a riverbank at a field trip…and we spent class time watching three girls dance to Backstreet Boys in the front of the class…every one of these girls was blonde and of above-average attractiveness. So…yeah. After that year, he did not teach at our school anymore.
Ended up getting a job at an adjacent school where he apparently initiated a lot of contact outside of class with a female student who was on the track team, which he coached. Apparently he gave her a lot of gifts like new pairs of running shoes and stuff. And, I mean, I don’t know the full story, but it ended up with him groping her in his car in a parking lot. Far as I know, he’s still in jail, and whatever he gets is too good for him.
Super fucking obvious in retrospect, but the thing is that 99% of the time he wasn’t doing creepy shit; he was being the “cool teacher” who made jokes and whose class everyone looked forward to and shit, so when we spent time on things like watching girls dance or watching a video of a girl at the river, we just saw it as the teacher who was our friend letting us waste time on things that were more fun than learning math. We also wasted class time on other things that didn’t involve watching 13-year-old girls, so they didn’t stand out to a bunch of dumb kids at the time, and it’s only retrospect that all those things become really fucking creepy. Having pictures of the girl taped up around his class was something we all saw as creepy at the time, but…7th graders are fucking stupid, so we just treated it as a joke without realizing that, wait a second, this guy is actually fucking dangerous. Makes you realize how vulnerable people are even at that age.
I worked for a guy, who became a best friend—he was a very skilled carpenter, licensed contractor, husband, and father—for about 8 years, who was a great guy but often kinda creepy. Like “Hey, I know where there’s an 18 yr old hooker who’ll suck your dick for 20$. I’ll buy” kinda creepy. I was always “no thanks,” but never thought anything real bad about it since it would have been consensual. Until he was arrested for 36 counts of child molestation on another really good friend’s daughter from the time she was 8 until 16. Nobody saw that coming. He got 36 years but won an appeal claiming the acts occurred before the mandatory minimums and got 16. He will be out in 5.
Our community had a very nice, happily married, church going, perfectly “normal” man who admitted to “experimenting” with a ~10-14 year old boy. I say “normal” because there was always something a little off and I could never quite place it until it came out publicly.
My parents once lived on an old beach house that had been split up into 4 units, two upstairs two downstairs (and a shack out the back). They lived upstairs and one of the downstairs units was rented to a single guy. He went to the same school as me but was two grades ahead of me. This was back in the early 80s in a somewhat sleepy seaside town.
He was gay and would often surround himself with young surfer dudes, apparently he would supply them with pot and they would…well, to be honest I would just be guessing. I’m sure some of them would sleep with him but like I said, it’s just a guess.
My parents didn’t mind him; he seemed harmless enough. I knew something else about him though that I never told them, mainly because I was young (like 9) when I found out the darker side but this was something like 15 years later so I guess I just figured he was harmless and what happened when I was younger was just kids being kids. He was only three years older than me, after all.
Anyway, turns out it wasn’t all that harmless, he had been playing around with surfers that were way too young to be doing what he wanted them to do, so he got a visit from the local police. They suggested it might be an extremely good idea if he was to pack up his stuff and move to a new town, preferably in another state, otherwise there was a good chance that his comfortable life would become decidedly less comfortable.
I guess he decided that this would be what his life would be like from now on, or maybe he felt guilty, or maybe he was just tired of it all.
So a couple days later he went for a walk into the surrounding bushland with a gun and put an end to the whole sorry mess.
My folks didn’t really understand why he did it, I don’t think they knew what it was he was doing. I knew though, and I guess a part of me felt a bit sorry for him. These sorts of things are not choices people make, no one chooses to be straight or gay, or attracted to kids, it’s just what happens and you deal with the hand you’re dealt. I should point out that I think it’s wrong for pedophiles to act out on their attraction to kids, but it must be hell knowing that you’re like that.
Anyway, there was no big news story, there was no investigative journalist trying to get to the bottom of it, it was just a quiet tragedy in a sleepy little town that few people knew had happened and even fewer knew why it happened.
My girlfriend’s, at the time, brother-in-law, got arrested for possession of and distribution of child pornography. I’d known him for approximately 5 years before it happened. He was always an odd guy, but usually very nice and helpful. Some of the oddness was that he was a pack rat. He hated to throw anything away. He kept old boxes and had hundreds of them throughout his place.
He started to get weirder, though, in the year before he was arrested. He’d stopped shaving completely and almost never left his place. He was often sickly looking. I was told that he’d developed a short temper as well, although I was never subjected to it personally. He was also fiercely territorial over his computer equipment.
I wasn’t surprised when I heard that he was raided and in jail for child pornography, but I didn’t suspect it at the time. A lot of it clicked afterwards, though.
My oldest brother told me as an adult that when he was 16 and I was three, he used to make me take showers with him and touch his dick. I don’t remember it at all, and really wish he just wouldn’t have told me.
My grandfather once turned to me and said “I’ve noticed a lot of homosexuals have mustaches. Do you think that improves the sensation? You know they call it ‘sucking off.’”
Yes grampa, I don’t know grampa, no they don’t grampa.
My grandpa raped my mom for years. Everyone on that side of the family has had a drug problem at some point. My grandma tried to shoot my grandpa with a shotgun once.
I tend to stay away from that side unless necessary.
Cousin 1 is a woman. Cousin 1 wants to fuck cousin 2. Cousin 2 is a man. Cousin 2 wants to fuck cousin 3. Cousin 3 is a man. Cousin 3 is me. Cousin 3 wants no part in any of this.
My great-grandfather molested my grandmother and aunt. When I was a child my father was concerned he was doing the same to me. My mother knew nothing at the time (neither did my father)—but he always had a bad feeling.
My grandfather cheated on his first wife A LOT, being a teacher at the middle school and a pillar of the community a lot of people knew. Including my aunt (same aunt as above), who was in her early teens. Women would approach her and ask intimate questions about my grandfather, wanting her to relay information to him, etc.
My step-grandmother (g-father’s second wife) was forced to have multiple abortions by her very abusive first husband, he also induced several by beating her badly enough that she miscarried.
My aunt gets drunk at family gatherings sometimes and spills her guts, that how I have all of the above information.
Oh and! and I was a surprise baby when my mom was 19. I was told by various family members that everyone told her to “just abort it” up until I was born.
My family is crazy. My mom married her second cousin (not my father), my father was molested by his stepfather, and my uncle tried to rob a pizza place.
Everything. My family is bat shit. My dad’s (former) best friend knocked up two of my sisters (one was 16, the other 22) within months of each other. Apparently he’d been fucking both of them for over two years. Dad found out and beat the shit out of the 16-year-old sister and praised the 22-year-old, because that makes sense. She told her school counselor and Child Protection Services stepped in. Thus the long journey of everyone getting thrown into government custody. I was 17 at the time, so it didn’t matter much to me. I aged out and got a ton of benefits that I never earned—free college for life in the state of Texas, living assistance, Medicaid until I’m 25 just being a few. The only thing that bothered be about the entire ordeal was seeing my little brother go through it.
My mom’s a whore. Her and my dad had knock-down, drag-out fights for over 13 years before he got in a car accident that put him in a coma for 6 months…at which point she left him for his childhood best friend of 17 years, whom she’d been fucking for months. She’s a raging alcoholic and he’s a control freak to the highest nature. They have money though, and money goes far. My brother was returned to their custody, my sister and I aged out, and I get to watch from afar as my mom drinks herself to death and my brother is caught in the crossfire. He’s already been thrown from a vehicle she was behind the wheel of three times, and despite trying to have him live with me (which he prefers) it never works out.
Dad survived a coma, obviously, and suffers short-term memory loss and a stick up his ass.
My grandmother forced her other son into a lifetime in prison because she paid him 20 bucks to kill her husband.
My sister (the previously 16-year-old) had her kid and cleaned up her act for a while…but eventually left it with my mom and started doing meth. Cleaned up, found a sugar daddy on Craigslist, and fucked everything up again. She’s currently pregnant and living in my house—sober—with her daughter.
I’ve tried to cut ties with my family so many times.. But I can’t. It’s just not possible. My brother means the world to me and I could never leave him to the wolves, but there’s only so much you can do as a 21-year-old trying to get up on her own two feet.
I wish I knew nothing about my family. I’d rather live with the curiosity of who they could be than face the reality of this.
My great-grandmother lived with, and slept with, her brother, my great-grandfather. They had ten children together, and basically all of them had mental issues ranging from depression to schizophrenia to pyromania. All but two of them died of suicide. It’s pretty gross.
When I was a snoopy little 10- or 12-year-old I would snoop through my dad’s room (parents divorced, he’s never dated or anything since, as far as I know)I found briefcase opened it and it was FULL of sex toys, MASSIVE dildos and anal beads of all kinds. Although, I know the reason of my parents’ divorce I’ve always kind of wondered now if my dad is into dudes.
My grandfather saw my girlfriend naked before I did.
After my grandfather passed away from multiple strokes I was asked to go through his belongings. I booted up his external hard drive and found odd documents about mind control, telekinesis, and oh lord, the biggest collection of porn. Probably over 10,000 photos judging by the size of the scroll bar. In the top row of them is a face that looks rather familiar… my girlfriend. She’s on her back getting plowed by her ex. Naturally the hard drive is immediately reformatted as I lose my mind. I had introduced my girlfriend to my grandfather a month prior to his passing. He seemed on edge around her…now I wonder if he recognized her. Two weeks and an anti-depressant prescription later I meet my new girlfriend, an amazing woman who I marry a year later.
My grandpa’s fapping led to my happy marriage. I don’t know how to feel about that.
My dad has casually told me how he plans to kill himself, give himself a high dose of insulin or use a shotgun. Before he told me, I had seen the shotgun leaned up against his bed, I was too afraid to go near it. He has cancer now and chemo seems to not be working, and I’m afraid of him killing himself. I asked him please don’t let that be the last memory of you. But on the other hand I’m not sure what I would do if I was facing a countdown to a miserable death. He’s been really happy lately though so maybe it will all be OK one way or another.
Mom caught me watching piss porn once. (Yes, it’s my kink.) She then proceeded to tell me that my dad was into the same thing and that was part of why they divorced.
My grandfather was a Nazi. I’m not kidding, he really was and he somehow managed to make it to Canada after the war. With fake documents (oddly no birth records forged records show him just popping into existence as a grown man) with a new name. He then moved to the States soon after, where he then started a family.
The crazy bastard even brought his Luger along which one of my uncles still have to this day. He died before I was even born but my aunts and uncles had shared the things he told them apparently he personally executed people. Was fluent in German and was not very find of minorities, especially Jews. So he was unremorseful for his actions to say the least.
I’m glad that I never got to know him and I am ashamed to be related to him. I honestly wish I didn’t even know about it. It’s odd to know my last name isn’t really my last name too because of this and I likely will die not knowing and perhaps that’s for the best. I’d rather not be able to find out actions of the monsters I am directly related to.
When I was 18 and my parents were still married, I found my dad’s profile on a hookup site. (My mom had been getting weird charges on her credit card and asked me to investigate.)
He was looking for two teen or young adult lesbians to have a threesome with him. Girls my age. Gross.
My mom had a thing (I say ‘had’ because we are estranged) where she would tell me entirely too much information about her latest flavor-of-the-month boyfriend…including her boyfriends’ penis sizes, how good they were in bed and other gross stuff I wish I could bleach from my brain. She was pretty bad about strutting around like a hot-to-trot peacock. Groans.
I was sitting on the bus on my morning commute and I offered the gentleman next to me a piece of gum. He accepted, even though he had no idea who I was. So I thought about how easy it would be to make poisonous gum, hand it out to people, and have them die a slow, painful death without being a suspect.
If I step in front of a car and break my everything, I won’t be expected to complete all my homework and get a job….Of course, this thought is highly irrational and I’d never follow through with it, but the thought crosses my mind every time I walk that crosswalk.
Generally doing lots of not nice things to other people. Not anything anyone should really be worried about in reality, though; just don’t go giving me unlimited power anytime in the near future.
I may sound clinically depressed, but at least once a day it hits me that everything I’ve ever done, am doing, or will do is pretty much pointless and futile, and that even though I hope for the things that I want and it keeps me going, the reality is it’ll probably never be as good as what I dream will happen and maybe I should just give up trying because there’s really no point and it’s not going to get any better by tomorrow. Again, not suicidal, but I feel completely pointless and like I’ll never be truly happy or be with my soul mate because if it hasn’t happened or gotten better by now, chances are it’ll be the same meaningless crap tomorrow, too.
I work in a dementia unit and have thought, “What if I end up alone, confused, and dying?” They’ve achieved so much in their lives but now it’s like…I don’t know, I can’t explain it.
I would also like to tell a story about this woman who came to us on respite care. I work in a dementia care where the people have advanced dementia (to the point they can’t do anything for themselves), but this lady who came to us appeared normal. If you saw her walking down the street, you wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong. But she had telling signs of dementia. She constantly repeated herself and the stories she was telling me and was very paranoid as she believed her partner’s sister was out to get her. Her partner of five years also wanted to leave her because of her constant anger outbursts.
She said this to me, though. “I know my mind is going, I can feel it slipping away. That scares me so much because I can feel myself going.” She then saw this lady walk past her room (who had very advanced dementia) and asked me, “Will I end up like her?”
I answered no (because I didn’t want to upset her), but Jesus Christ, that broke my heart. When she’s dying, surrounded by loved ones, she might not be able to remember who they are or what she has achieved in her life, but I like to think at the last minute before they pass away, they remember everything.
Sometimes I stop and realize that society is entirely made up. No one has any idea why we exist or what happens after we die, but we all live our lives as though we know what we’re doing and where we’re going. There are people that the entire world knows, but that’s just a product of humanity. We have our 9-5 jobs, we start families, we have fun, but everyone’s just ignoring the fact that our entire existence is unexplained. There’s a layer under our created reality that no one will ever understand.
I am supposed to wake up every day and convince myself that I have a sense of purpose even though the human race has survived without me for thousands of years, and it will continue to survive without me when I die.
Every time I hear about a mass shooting on the news and they give the number of people dead/injured, I always think to myself, “Only X casualties? I could do better than that.” Which is weird because I’m an aggressively nice guy, or at least I try to be. I guess what’s more disturbing is that there are enough mass shootings that I get to have that thought fairly regularly.
My mind also tends to go, “What could go wrong in this situation?” and then ends up playing out the scenarios in my head. I was driving earlier with my girlfriend in the passenger’s seat and my mind played out a scene where a cyclist slammed into the window, smashing it. IDK; my mind is weird.
Sometimes I abruptly think “kill yourself” and it used to alarm me until I realized it wasn’t a call to physical self-harm but a desire to destroy my ego and my preconceptions about what constituted myself. I firmly believe the only thing standing between you and what you want is that you are the one who wants it. If you let go of who you think you are you have no self-imposed limits and hence can achieve what you actually want without the misconceptions of what you think you want.
I often think about what someone thinks of me (as I’m sure most people do), the only difference is, I will then ask myself what I would be able to get away with? If I punched this guy, could I play it off as a joke? Or how it would work out if I told friends that, while I’m not necessarily attracted to them, I feel very comfortable around them and would be completely down to have sex with them? Are my best friends and I close enough that I could actually tell them that I love them?
”I’m tired. Burned out from a long day. My mind drifts off and I think about a thousand things at the same time. How it is weird that we have never found aliens, how some people react to certain situations. I think about my life, though it is just a short 18 years, I think of them. How I was such a playful kid back in the day and how careless it was. My responsibilities drifted me away from being able to play, but I’m fine with that. I think on how I should’ve done things differently and how I would’ve turned out if I did decide something else. My life could’ve been different, for the good or worse. These thoughts drift through my head as the day ends and the sun goes down. Then one thought occurs to me, that one thought. I’m one in 7 billion who thinks at this moment. One in 7 billion on this planet. Everyone has thoughts, and mine are just a small breeze compared to the hurricane of the world. I decide to deal with it. My thoughts are just inferior memories in a chaotic world of thoughts.”
This is really weird but I’m a tall (6 foot 2) guy, bags under my eyes, with kinda muscular arms and when I’m alone with a female that I don’t know (like in an elevator) I think to myself, “I hope she doesn’t think I’m going to rape her or kill her.” This happens almost every time and I just don’t want girls to feel scared around me!
I literally don’t even like killing wasps or flies; the only animals I have killed are mosquitos.
Fairly often I kind of “challenge” my own morals in ways that just makes me really uncomfortable. An example of the thought process would be like, “I really love my friend/girlfriend/pet/dad, etc. But how much do I love him? Would I choose my own unhappiness for their security or happiness? What if it meant it would bring somebody back to life who I really miss? Would I be willing to sacrifice x, y, or z in my life for that?”
I suppose a better way to describe it would be a real-world example. Let’s say somebody close to me is about to die of cancer. My mind will start playing these morality games with me by asking myself questions like, “If it meant that they were cured, would I become celibate for the rest of my life? And if not, isn’t that completely selfish?”
And these thoughts honestly bring me some sort of anguish. Like, in the end I feel like I would choose the selfish option, but the fact that I am choosing something like my sex life over another person’s actual life, just makes me feel so wrong.
Along similar lines, I also ask myself questions like the classic, “If there was a button that, when pressed, would kill somebody who I never have and never will possibly meet, but that also ensured healthy financial stability for the rest of my life, would I press it? What if said person had a moderate chance of dying regardless?”
As you can tell, morality is kind of a big deal to me. Doing the “right thing.” So when my mind starts to blur the lines of morality on me by pondering these hypothetical scenarios, it ends up making me feel some sort of weird guilt for something that I’ve never even done.
I wish I had died during my thyroidectomy years ago. It’s not that my life sucks, either. I graduate college in December, have friends, a decent family, and a good boyfriend. It’s because after losing a year of my life to my thyroid basically killing itself that I saw how arbitrary and meaningless life is. My body changed, too, and it’s weird knowing a small blue pill is the only reason I am currently alive. No one in my life understands what I went through and what I am going through. I have been in therapy before and it helped a little, but it’s hard finding meaning in life.
I wonder if I’m capable of starting a cult. During my psychology and sociology classes in college I was always taking notes on what would be important for starting a cult: Personal traits, group dynamics, how much of their lives you would need to control, how much isolation. I wonder how far I could get them to go?
I cross over a bridge everyday, and I always think/fantasize about jumping off. I wouldn’t call myself suicidal, but goddamn I can’t escape that thought while over the rapids of the Ottawa River.
I remember when my 95-year-old great-grandmother flew out to California from the east coast to visit me. She was walking in being helped by my great aunt, as she struggled to walk, and the first thought that came through my head was, “I wonder what would happen if I pushed her over.”
NSA gonna mark me for this one. I often consider how big of a crew I would need and how many resources it would require to kill every member of Congress who isn’t acting in the best interest of the American people. Crazy? Yes. Sadistic? Yes.
Rage-quitting my job. Like all-out flipping my boss’ desk over right on top of him. Punching him in the face, calling him a fucking douchenozzle then pissing all over his sports paraphernalia.
I constantly want to know the secrets of the 300 active serial killers at large in America at any given moment. I want to know how the best don’t get caught… because there are a lot of people that need killing.
”That person’s had sex,” and then I imagine my 60-year-old teacher doing the reverse cowgirl.
Sabine Heinlein spent almost a year reporting at “The Farm,” a program for mental patients at the notorious Creedmoor Psychiatric Center in Queens, New York. The result is this book, which is informative and tragic, and available to read today on Amazon here.
A few years ago my brother would get a call on his cellphone around 2:00-3:00AM every night. He would answer and it was this hellish sounding noise. Like static mixed with screams. He changed his cell number after a month of this and it stopped.
Then after a week or so it began again. The exact same noise. Exact same time. Finally one day he decided to back-dial the call. It was an old man that had no clue what he was talking about. Still the calls persisted. If he didn’t answer, it would call a few more times. No messages were left.
He decided to say screw it. Ended his contract with his phone company, switched to a new one, and then got another new number. You guessed it—the screaming static calls continued after a short delay. By this time he was terrified every night. Unsure why this was happening. He back-dialed the number again and got a different person.
Around this time he lost his job and his phone. The calls stopped of course. His phone was disconnected now. So one day my mom asks me to listen to this weird message she got on our home phone.
It was the static screaming. We showed my brother and he was freaking out. He back-dialed the number again and it said the number was disconnected this time.
I worked in a nursing home as an aide in a hospice unit. One night I had three patients trying to die and my job was to ensure that they were comfortable. The girls that worked the floor with me at night were awesome. We would always try to make each other laugh and get through the night as best as we could. I was known for scaring girls. Sometimes I’d hide in the closet of a room where someone had recently died (their body and belongings long gone in the empty room) and I’d press the call light and wait. The girls would come in and hastily shut it off but I’d always jump out and scare the shit out of them.
One night I was in the nurses’ station filling out a report since I had to give a patient some narcotics when an aide rushed in. She swore that she thought she saw my shadow on the wall as if I were hiding trying to scare her, but then she heard me laugh in the nurses’ station. I decided to check it out since there wasn’t supposed to be anyone on our floor. As I walked over to the wall I stood where the light would have created my shadow and there was nothing. I laughed it off until the Certified Nursing Assistant started shrieking and I turned around and a shadow seemingly rose up the wall from the ground out of nothing. I just stared at it and said, “Oh, for heavens sake, is that the best you’ve got?” and walked back to the nursing station.
A while later I had to do rounds. As I walked toward a patient’s room I heard three knocks on the door that led outside to the patio by their room and I saw an older gentleman dressed in all black. I couldn’t let him in because I didn’t have the access code so I told him to hold on a moment and I would get the nurse to let him in. When she and I returned to the door he was gone. She went outside and we couldn’t find him, so I continued to the patient’s room to check on him.
Blood everywhere and the patient is on the floor bleeding. He had tried to get up it appears and flopped around a bit in his blood trying to get up. The nurse lifted him back into the bed and we cleaned him up. There was nothing else we could do as he was DNR besides make sure he was comfortable. I went to my next patient’s room and bam…dead. He had stopped breathing. I rushed to get the nurse and pulled his file. DNR also. We call the morgue and his family while I clean his body with an aide. I go to check on the patient that fell (vitals every 15 minutes for non witnessed fall) and he’s dead. I’m get the nurse; she’s frustrated because this takes two aides off her floor to care for the deceased and lots of paperwork for her. As I’m walking down the hall for linens I see the old man I originally saw outside walking past the nurses station and he whispered, “One more, and then I’m done for the night, just one more.” I jumped up because his whisper was so eerie and I run to the direction he was going. A patient’s room door slammed shut and when I ran in she looked directly at me and took her last breath and died, her eyes still staring directly at me. For some reason I remember her window being open and how odd it was. I ran to the window and didn’t see anything and slammed it shut, checked the woman for a pulse, and found nothing.
The nurse had followed me and saw exactly what I saw and heard the voice whisper as I did. She was coming around he corner and swore she saw the man and then me jump up and run after him and, like me, saw the patient’s room door slam shit before I could get in there. When I had turned around I saw the nurse standing in the door way and she could only say, “I fucking saw it too oh my god I fucking saw it too.”
This occurrence didn’t happen to me, but to my grandmother. It would have taken place in the 1930s. My grandmother was a young teen at the time and she lived with her mother and five siblings in an old house in the middle of the woods. The area was the Ozark Mountains in southern Missouri.
My grandmother had gotten into a fight with her mother. She took off into the woods all day to get away from her for a while. When it got dark she decided to come home. When she got home, the doors were locked and everyone was in bed. There was an old cot sitting outside the house and she decided to just sleep on the cot until morning.
In the morning when she woke up, there was some creature sitting at the end of the cot. It has been 15 years since I have heard this story, and she only told me once, so my memory is a little fuzzy. I remember she said it was really ugly and had a full set of sharp teeth. It was shaped like a person but didn’t look like a person. She said that it just sat there and smiled at her with its abnormally large mouth of sharp teeth. When she started to get up from the cot to get away, it would start to get up and move towards her. When she would sit back down, it would sit back down. She sat there staring at it for a few seconds and it continued to sit and smile at her. The creature was sitting between her and the front door. She finally jumped up and made a run for the back door.
When she got to the back door it was locked but her mother was in the kitchen making biscuits. She was banging on the door screaming to be let in and her mother told her to go around to the front because her hands were covered in dough. My grandmother screamed that she couldn’t and was frantic enough that her mother ran to let her in.
She told her mother what she had seen. She had my grandmother’s two brothers take the cot out to the woods and chop it up and burn it.
Most of this story takes place back when I was just a little kid. I lived in a nice neighborhood, in a relatively small town in Southern California.
I had this…person growing up. There is a reason that I don’t call him a friend. I would see him everywhere, but the majority of the times that I saw him, it was in my house.
The man was completely black. And no, I don’t mean race. I mean actually full-on pitch-black. His clothes were indiscernible. His face was hard to make any judgment calls about. The only distinct feature I remember is his red eyes. He had the most terrifying red eyes (the entire eye was red, not just the iris, by the way). It’s weird writing about them now; I can see them in my mind’s eye. Gives me the chills.
It would never be an auspicious moment when he arrived. It wasn’t the clock striking noon (we didn’t have a grandfather clock anyway), or the second the sun went down. It would be random. I would be playing with my Lincoln Logs (never a huge fan of Legos, no idea why) and without as much as a whisper, he’d be there with me.
He would never do much. Just stare. And smile. Then leave as quietly as he’d come. The longest he stayed with me was probably a little over an hour. Just standing there. Looking down.
Anyway, as the years went by, I began to get accustomed to his presence. He’d appear, and usually I would just nod. I even got used to using the restroom around him (#2 included); that’s how often he was around. Standing ever so close or ever so far away….
I tried everything. Talking to him. Yelling at him. Asking him questions. One time, I even got the courage to touch him. He merely stepped away from my reach, so I left it at that. Occasionally, he would give me a smile.
The reason I don’t refer to him as evil or hateful or whatever is because he never hurt me. Never even tried. Just watched and smiled. Those red eyes never stopped making me shiver, but that was mostly just me.
We eventually moved out of that house. Childhood gone, I bid goodbye to the shadow man. He was there on the last day before the move. His grin that day seemed to be plastered on his face. It didn’t waver for a second. I was about age nine at this point.
The next years of my life were blessedly free of his presence. No more watchful red eyes, no more crying myself to sleep….
Fast-forward to age sixteen. I was walking up to my room. It was after midnight. I hadn’t thought about the black man in a long time. I was walking down the hall that leads to my room when the man emerged from my brother’s room. His red eyes focused on me, and he flashed me a smile. He slowly walked across the hallway into my room….
I turned around, walked back down the stairs, and left my house. I then sat on the curb until morning.
We used to own a racetrack in Ohio years ago, but we lived in southeast PA. You had to take the turnpike to get there in any reasonable amount of time, and one of the times my mother, my sister, and I were together to go meet my stepdad who was driving separately with a trailer to haul equipment.
We got off at an exit after paying a toll, and go off into a strip mall with a bunch of rinky-dink looking buildings. Not dirty, just faded pastel colors, didn’t even look like there was a town nearby. They had a diner, though, and we hadn’t eaten since we left four hours before, so we stopped in.
The food sucked, and was completely tasteless. People stared at us the whole time. It wasn’t dark like a cave, just not a ton of windows. There were some, enough for ambient light. Like a Denny’s if the power went out, that sort of thing. And an unreasonable number of people, we noticed, had bandages on them. The only person who said a word to us was the girl who took our order, who also rang us up at the end….
A couple hours later we get to the track and my stepdad asks how everything went.… He tells us he thinks we ate ghost food and that the people in the diner were vampires….
We have the race weekend and it’s time to drive all the way back. He asks me if I want to come with him since he had to drive alone the way there. I say sure. Two hours in, he pulls off….I didn’t recognize it at first coming from the other direction, but eventually it occurs to me he’s going to the diner’s exit. He wants to see it for himself.
He stops to pay the toll, doesn’t mention our story; he asks if there’s a diner at the exit to make sure he has the right one (you can’t see it from the ramp). The guy says there was one, but it burned down.
Holy shit. Okay, so there weren’t vampires, but what a fucking coincidence. We just eat there and then right after, in the span of two and a half days, they have a freak accident. This almost intrigues him more than the supernatural bit, and I am one hundred percent on board for checking it out.
We drive over, same humdrum bullshit strip mall, except where we went to eat it’s just this charred mess. Not like with holes in it, it wasn’t a wooden frame in pieces like a cartoon, you just could seriously tell there was damage. No vehicles, no tape (I’d assume they’d at least test it for being a crime) and they’d cleaned the area around it well.
We go to get back on the turnpike, and these poor toll guys are stuck in a booth hardly bigger than they are, so it’s the same dude getting back on….
Anyway, my stepdad’s like, “I thought you said there was a diner there. Guy says, “There was, like I told you, but it burned down.” He asked if they’d figured out yet what caused it, was it a grease fire or what, that kind of thing.
The guy says, “Yet?”
“Yeah, it had to have been in the last two or three days, they didn’t investigate it? It wasn’t on the news?”
Then the guy says, “Oh, we know what happened. It was on the news when it happened eight years ago.”
This is going to sound crazy but here we go. Flashback: ’07 sophomore year—our school was in the small community of Stockton so everyone knew everything about each other unless you were a recluse but that was not the case for our high school. During the beautiful nighttime of spring a fellow junior had crashed on the road between Stockton and Greenfield and died on impact. The investigators or whoever said she had over corrected her turn and smashed into a tree. She was very well known around the community so her passing happened to be one of those tragedies that everyone felt. A year or two later my friend’s girlfriend and a couple of her friends who lived in Greenfield happened to be driving out to visit in Stockton during the late night. (This is when shit gets weird.) They were coming up on a sharp corner right around where our classmate had died. Everything was perfect until they all saw this red human-like creature with antlers or horns, its body was covered in blood and was just sitting in the middle of the road cross-legged with its head bowing down when it suddenly looked up and stared at them with white piercing eyes. They all screamed and swerved around the creature. This almost ran them off the road while going about 35-45 MPH. All three girls started to freak out and cry right away and that’s when she called my friend Dave and was uncontrollably stuttering from fear while her friends were all crying and freaking out in the background.
We were on a midnight hike on an uninhabited island in Lake Michigan that you can only ferry to, no residents, but there are a few abandoned farms from the 1800s and a one-room schoolhouse deep in the middle of the island. We were hiking to the graveyard so the night was already steeped in superstition and ghost stories. It was so dark out that without the flashlights it was no different if your eyes were closed or open, and we were walking the mile and a half to the graveyard without our flashlights. Only way to navigate was to feel with your feet for the edges of the trail, but it was navigable that way, and spooky and fun. Saw some weird green glow off the trail and we all went to check it out. Turns out it was some green glowing fungus, easy to see without the lights but you’d never see it otherwise, and we smeared some on a stick and used it as a mock torch. The rangers didn’t believe us when we asked them later. Next we stopped by the schoolhouse so my wife could use the outhouse there and I wandered a bit ahead of the group, fumbling along the trail in the pitch black so I wouldn’t get light-blind while she used her light. Then I saw a figure that looked like a lady in a white dress about 10 yards up the trail coming toward me, but not walking, just coming closer, hate to say it but floating. I called out hello and asked if she was lost, really thinking someone was there, just wanting to help. Then the figure evaporated and I got super freaked-out. Called out to the group and one of the guys said it must have been the Lady of the Lake. I don’t believe in ghosts, period, but that happened. There’s no getting around it. Then on our way back to the boat ferry the next day to go home we stopped and checked out the island museum and no shit there was a class picture of kids at the schoolhouse from around 1890 and the teacher was a lady in a white dress that died on the island and is sometimes called the Lady of the Lake. I can’t really process this in any other way than a real, true ghost story. I still get goose bumps.
If you know the bartender, don’t be a dick and expect to be served first and get free drinks, etc. If you’re a real mate and don’t pressure me I’ll give you all the shit I can get away with if you ask I’ll say no (probably because I have to because asking outright is just a dumb way to get caught anyway).
When you insist on having a mocktail/virgin/non-alcohol version of something like a caipirinha, mojito, Long Island and then complain it does not taste like the real thing.
The worst thing people can do is vaguely try to describe a drink they want, with no knowledge of what the ingredients are, and get upset when you don’t know it/can’t make it. I had a very irate lady send two drinks back as we played “Guess what I drank once?”
“I want two vodka sodas and we are gonna split it on two cards, run the cards because I don’t wanna forget the cards, and charge my phone for me because the other bartender did it last time for me and I come here ALL the time how do you not know me, are you new? Ugh. It’s my friend’s birthday, can we have some strong but sweet, cheap shots for her? Wait, I have to PAY for them?! This place has changed.”
I’ve had to deal with someone who shit on the floor when the power went out. Don’t know why their first move when it got dark was to stand up while shitting. Also some girl shit in the tampon box on new years. Kind of impressive but yeah, don’t do that.
Getting too drunk. Don’t get me wrong—I’m a bartender, I love drinking, getting drunk, and getting other people drunk. But recognize your limits; having to deal with drunk adults is tantamount to dealing with children, and if you could only see yourselves, it’s not pretty.
Good for you, you know my name, please stop yelling it out from across the bar as I am serving other guests!! This includes my best friends—my hugest pet peeve!
I have been bartending for many years and have noticed some social phenomena:
1) When someone sits at the bar and immediately introduces themselves and reaches to shake my hand, I know that they are going to be trouble. These people tend to think that by introducing themselves to the bartender that they are on a first-name basis and they are therefore exempt from getting into trouble. This is most often observed in patrons who have been drinking too much before they even got to the bar. If you want to get to know the bartender, then you have to put in your time and earn their trust and respect. We are used to dealing with lowlifes and derelicts, so you need to prove that you are someone who is genuinely interested in building a bartender-patron relationship.
2) “I don’t know what I want. Make me something good. You decide.” These are the things that I dread hearing.
I don’t mind being creative and coming up with a drink for you, but you have to point me in the right direction: “Give me something good with GIN in it.” All right, now we’re talking! “I don’t know what I want, but maybe I will start with a light beer.” Okay, good. I guess the point is that you need to have your shit together. You were not magically teleported to the bar; have an idea of what you want to drink before you get the bartender’s attention.
3) “We’ll have six shots on his tab/her tab.” Oh, really? Six shots on that guy’s tab, eh? I’ve fallen for that one before. Being a bartender means that you learn all about the dark side of humanity. The desperate senseless pettiness and ignorance of the depraved and the pathetic. I will believe that she/he is going to buy you six shots as soon as they tell me so. I am not taking your word for it.
Anyways, I just wanted to get that off of my chest. I make really good money as a bartender and I usually have a fun time at work, but a bar is not the happy joyful place that people make it out to be. People always ask me: “What is the coolest thing that you have seen happen in this bar?” I usually tell them that I have seen far more sad, lonely, mean and unseemly people than anything else. The good times happen, but alcohol is a depressant. All in all, bartenders have a job that involves human intervention in very awkward and dark way that overshadows the goodness. So be kind to your bartender; they put up with a lot of depressing shit so that you can have a good time.
If you order 13 drinks, I’ve got to pour you 13 drinks. I’m only human. Screaming “Where’s my order already?” doesn’t increase productivity.
What’s even worse is if you order 3 Jagerbombs, 2 double vodkas and Coke, one single vodka and Coke, one single vodka and lemonade, three pints, a gin and tonic, a lime and soda and a packet of nuts then, lo and behold, I have to get you 3 Jagerbombs, 2 double vodkas and Coke, one single vodka and Coke, one single vodka and lemonade, three pints, a gin and tonic, a lime and soda and a packet of nuts.
I might have some unworked-out feelings about drunk people.
Never…ever….ever…..brag to the bartender about how much you have drank tonight. Now we have to shut you off. Then our tips dive because it’s a buzzkill for everyone around you. Also, your buddies leave, so that’s an additional 100 in sales out the door. I wish you hadn’t told me how much you are drinking because I honestly don’t care and you are even being responsible and walking home but that doesn’t matter because you don’t ever ever ever tell the bartender how much you have had to drink. We WILL HAVE TO shut you off, unless the bar is a super dive with some sort of impunity to the Liquor Commission. Number one rule. DON’T tell me how much you have had to drink. Don’t do it.
When I’m facing the other way or in the glass wash area and people are tapping coins on the bar to get my attention. Or sometimes if they feel that they have a very important thing to ask me, they’ll shake the charity bucket full of coins and slam it down.
When people put their money—either coins or notes—in the puddle of beer on the bar, even though I have my hand held out to them. I always make sure to put their change back in the puddle even if they hold their hand out, too.
When people don’t want their drink in that certain drink’s branded glass. “I’m not drinking out a vase like some fucking puff” is usually the line when I begin pouring a Stella. How insecure are you, really?
I’ve been a bartender for 10 years. I’ll sum it up with: being stuck behind the bar for hours at a time with no escape from gut-wrenchingly horrid conversation with people who think you are their friend.
Also the slow days suck when you the only male employee and a fight breaks out and you have to deal with it, better known as every Tuesday.
I’m a bartender in Italy, Florence, so I meet A LOT of people from the States. So maybe I can relate to many of you.
• Don’t ask a straw for a beer and be surprised if I make a weird face.
• Don’t ask for discount if I never saw you before, I’ll give you discounts more than likely if you are a good customer (you drank multiple times, you are nice, you are funny, you entertain the other customers) or come regularly.
• Don’t act like we are best friends the first time you meet me so that you can get extra discounts.
• Don’t teach me how to do my job. BUT if you nicely ask me to do something different, OR if you think I’m doing something wrong I’ll be happy to make the customer happy; just don’t act like you know better. I am very friendly so if you think I can do something better and you say it nicely I’ll probably agree with you.
• Don’t tell me you are a bartender if you did that in college at friends’ parties.
• Don’t tell me the drink is “too light” bringing me back an empty glass and act like a dick. Just tell me right away and I’ll add some extra alcohol no problem.
• Don’t bring your mother to a night full of people in their 20s. She’ll get drunk and dance on the counter EVERY FUCKING TIME. I’m not strong enough to hold her ass so she won’t fall and destroy the whole bar.
• If you are in the band who just played, don’t act like I owe you and I have to make you a drink without being asked nicely.
• Say “thank you.”
• Sweet eyes don’t work on me for a discount. Just act normal; you don’t need to be pretty to get a discount from me, talk to me like a human being, be polite; and I’ll give you some shots for free; that’s our policy. We treat good customers good.
• Don’t touch anything in the fruit tray FFS.
• DON’T BRING YOUR OWN ALCOHOL EVER. That’s considered very rude and disrespectful. If you reeeaaally need to, hide it and drink it before or after getting in my bar.
Okay, this is transcribed directly from my wife, a bartender of 15 years who has worked in about 15 different bars, clubs, and restaurants:
“I’m totally gonna sound like a bitch when I say this stuff. God, okay…
• Splitting up your tab when you can’t remember exactly who had what, but you don’t want to just split it evenly. I immediately hate you if you do this when I’m very busy.
• Ordering one drink at a time so that each time your server comes back with the drink you just ordered, you have a new drink order for someone else in your group. Try to synchronize your drinking cycles.
• Getting up to the bar before you know exactly what you want, and there’s 50 people waiting behind you, and you’re acting like you’re at Burger King at 2AM: “Uhhmmm…let’s see…hmm…I think I might want…okay, what’s in a…Buttery Nipple? Really? Ew, no thanks! Well hang on, okay, ‘Hey Tiffany, what do you want? Okay what about you Becky?’ Okay, so she wants a Vegas Bomb, wants—AAHH!!! MY EYES! YOU STABBED ME! MY EYES, THEY’RE GONE!! YOU TOOK MY EYES!!”
• People not knowing their own limits as far as how much they can drink. That’s rookie shit; don’t do it.
• Ordering fancy frozen drinks at a crowded club.
• Telling me that I didn’t make your obscure drink order just like the last bartender did at that other bar—that’s like asking a chef at one restaurant to make your dish just like they do at another restaurant—drink recipes are not always absolute, and they’re often open to interpretation, just like cooking. The basic idea might be the same, but the specifics of many drinks can vary from one bar to another, which brings me to my next one:
• Telling me that you want a drink with a name that another bartender at a different place just made up. If I’m not ridiculously busy, I am happy to let you tell me what’s in the drink, but don’t yell at me for not knowing what a Mexican Cheeto Fucker is if it’s not in any drink recipe books. There are about ten thousand drink recipes that I need to be able to mentally pull up in seconds, hundreds of times a night, but I’m not so great at telepathy or ESP.
• Snapping to get my attention, or yelling at me. I promise we see you, and we know you’re there, but we have our own mental order of who is first (sometimes according to how much you’ve been tipping me, sorry. That’s why tips get you faster service, it’s just how things work if you didn’t already know this),
• Not tipping after I give you three chances. By your 4th drink, you’re not going to be served by anyone at my bar, because guess what? We don’t work for free, just like you don’t work for free even if your boss is making money off of you. We aren’t so much concerned about how much profit the owner is going to make off of you; if you’re not tipping, you will eventually start getting ignored. That’s why it’s always a good idea to give your bartender a decent tip on your first drink—we’ll take good care of you for the rest of the night with stronger drinks and faster service. Tipping is not just a courtesy or a way to say thank you; with your bartender, it can actually get you better service preemptively. I really don’t care how you feel about tipping or your own personal tipping philosophy, or the reasons why you don’t do it. Change the laws and the culture someday through a petition, a protest, hell, make it a fucking Constitutional Amendment someday, fine, but if you want good service, say…tonight? Like, right now? Then tip your bartender.
That’s it, okay read it back. God, I do sound like a bitch…Sorry!”
Snap fingers. Whistle for attention. Grab my arm or any part of me. Say how much better you are than me. Insult my staff. Piss on the seat. Smoke inside (even though it’s illegal for over 10 years). Take drinks that are not yours. Ask for free stuff. If you’re cut off please accept it and don’t try to fight anyone. Dirty underwear, leave dirty tampons in the ladies.
• ordering one drink at a time when you are in a group and I am a sentient competent being capable or remembering strings of information.
• not having cash or credit ready when ordering. Yes I am busy, yes you could have been digging through your purse or wallet long before I came back with your drink.
• Making jokes about: not wanting to pay, taking percentages of my tip away for making mistakes, etc. etc. etc. These are dad jokes, and dads can suck it for making jokes like this—do not be that guy.
• Ordering crazy shit, then being offended when I do not know how to make it: How the heck would I know how to make your cousin Tony’s secret shot from his bar in Philly?
• Saying you cannot taste the booze: You are drunk, have smoked far too many cigarettes this evening, and you just insulted my work. Pro-tip: If you want extra booze in your drinks leave a good tip and that is how it gets done.
• Bringing children. State law says it is okay to have kids in the bar with you until 10pm where I live. But seriously, WTF. I can understand once they are like 15, 16, 17 year-old children who have probably seen and heard mommy and daddy things. But it’s trashy to bring your three-year-old into a saloon. Furthermore, if you think the retired regulars who drunkenly sit at my rail and cuss everyday are going to change because you just brought your kid you are definitely mistaken.
• Shaking a glass of ice at me. It’s only happened to me once, but it made a fire burn deep inside me. Totally disrespectful and douchey thing to do.
• Also, reaching behind the bar for any reason. Umm… NO! That shit’s my office…my personal sanitary work space…keep your drunk, nose-picking ass-scratching fingers away.
• Asking for “the hook-up.” If you have to ask it’s not gonna happen! If you want strong drinks, or maybe one on the house, you can do a few things: 1. Come and come often. 2. Be respectful of your bartender and fellow patrons. 3. Come at times other than peak hours. This helps you get recognized when there are 15 other people vying for my attention.
• Reminding me about your drink order. I remember. If I don’t, I’ll ask. I may have a list several beers, shots, and/or cocktails long in my head that I have to make before yours, and you shouting “My Jack and Coke?” at me doesn’t help.
• Being an asshole when you get refused service. By the time it gets to here the situation really relies on whoever that person came with 9 times out of 10. If you see your friend get refused and he or she gets bitchy about it you need to get them and go somewhere sans alcohol. Don’t try another bartender. We will almost immediately recognize and/or tell each other when someone has been refused service.
• Getting pissed off when we ask for ID. If you come in when there isn’t a bouncer it is my job to ensure that I’m not serving the young’uns. In my state this offense is a $2,000 offense, and several bars make their servers sign contracts saying that if this happens, then the server is liable and legally responsible for the fine. Sorry, bro. Not doing it. Also, some restaurants require their bartenders and servers ID literally everyone. Regardless of whether you’re 15 or 50, dem’s da rules.
• So basically, don’t be an asshole. Just remember that bartenders and servers are people too. This is their job. The customer is not always right, but neither is the server. A lot of servers forget that.
You motherfuckers. Here we go. I work in a college bar and therefore see a lot of douchebags.
• Stop slamming your hands or empty glass on my bar, you dick.
• Stop leaning over my bar; it’s not going to get you served faster.
• Do not touch us. Unless we are clearly cool with you it’s not a fun time fur us and it happens often; we are not meat.
• If you can’t afford to tip, then generally you can’t afford to drink at a bar.
• Have your order ready. Do not flag me down and then say, “Hold on, I don’t know what I want.”
• Do not snap your fingers at me. Ever.
• Do not scream your drink order at me the second I’m within ear’s reach. Chances are I’m already serving someone.
• Wait your turn. Unless you are a usual that tips well, expect to see everyone that was there before you served before you. You are not special.
• Know your limits, kids. Ask yourself, “Do I really need another shot?” The answer is usually yes. It’s up to you to know when it isn’t.
• Here is the big one. No string ordering. String ordering for those that don’t know is when a customer orders a drink and also possibly one more for their buddy waits for me to make said drink(s) then when I ask for payment so that I can continue on my way serving the thirsty this ass hat wants to order drinks for the two friends behind him also and then the two friends behind them. Don’t do this. I have a full bar and am trying to serve everyone fairly. You are an ass if you do this.
Um, no—not anymore. I actually dismounted. It was like something a schoolteacher would ask me.
2. Ashley, 22
“When is a good time to tell you I’m really emotionally unavailable?” He literally said that.
3. Christopher, 24
It’s something I said to a girl instead. One time I was dating this girl who was really sweet, but her skin smelled so weird. She said something sexy and I said, “I’m sorry I can’t do this because you skin smells like Ajax.” Shockingly enough, we broke up soon after.
4 Jessica, 23
I have plenty:
“You like that, little girl?” The guy had told me on the date his favorite book was Lolita. Should have known it was a red flag.
“Yeah! Take that, you whore!!” Hadn’t previously discussed being called a whore so it was surprising/a mood-killer.
“Wow”—repeated every 20 seconds. Expand your vocabulary, thanks.
“Your skin is so milky.” Uhm…
“You’re so hot. You’re so hot. Wow. Wow. Great body. Wow.” Repeated 5 times during 15 minutes.
“Is my dick really small?” If you have to ask, then yes.
5. Amanda, 21
“You remind me a lot of my ex sometimes.” He then tried to save it by saying that I was much better than her. Also we were just spooning/kissing, but it feels close enough.
6. Sarah, 20
This happens too often, but when people say: “Did you…you know………did you?”
Honey, for both our sakes, let’s hope you’d know.
7. Brittany, 22
“Nice boobs. they won’t be a liability when you get older.”
8. Emily, 23
When he asked me, “Is it in?”
9. Matt, 29
“Is that all you got?” Worse than that was the girl who puked on my dick during a blowjob and then tried to finish.
10. Josh, 27
“One minute, I have to wash my hands.” Said three times during sex. She was cuckoo.
11. Andrew, 26
“I have father issues.” Probably the best fuck ever!
12. Daniel, 31
“Make blood come.” Not to get too detailed, but she’d scornfully broken a wine glass given to me by the girl I was cheating on. She told me to cut her with it. I declined.
13. Ty, 32
I’m so boring. Nothing noteworthy has been said to me during sex. I tried to say something sexy once in years ago, and it made ME laugh. I think it was something over-the top like “you’re so hot.” I’m a regular Barry White.
14. Stephanie, 30
There was this guy who, while we were in the middle of doing it, felt the need to tell me had performed a karaoke song by the band Tool the night before. I stopped and told him my mom was coming over.
15. David, 31
“By the way, I’m HIV-positive.” She didn’t say it during sex, but as we were cuddling right after the first time we had sex. Then she told me she was only joking. Funny girl, that one.
He won’t take off his shirt. No matter what. And this line of thinking only applies during sex. Swimming? No problem. Changing clothes? Done. Start to initiate sexy times? Hold on, let me grab a T-shirt.
Tells me “You don’t have to make those noises” or “You don’t have to pretend.” I sound like a porno when I’m into it. I’m moaning and cursing because I wasn’t thinking about how I sounded during sex…. But now I am, and my vagina is dryer than the ice cream.
Go in while I’m dry. Excuse me, but is this really comfortable for you? ‘Cause it hurts me. It’s got to be like going down a waterside, buck nekkid, with no water.
He wouldn’t be able to cum unless he was watching porn. At first, he didn’t tell me and did it behind my back on his phone. Made me feel incredibly self-conscious and really unattractive. Just insecure. The sex is mind-blowingly, incredibly fantastic, so much so that it’s almost like an addiction. So I never understood why he would need it.
One of mine used to giggle. A lot. It took me a while to get used to the idea that she was doing it because of how she was enjoying herself, and I eventually came to love it, but goddamn if it didn’t make me self-conscious when we first started boning.
Ex used to laugh. Not a cute little giggle, but huge belly laugh.
I know she couldn’t help it, that it wasn’t a shot at me, and it was simply her enjoying sex. But fuuuck, it could be off-putting when eating pussy and I would pull out my dick while she’s laughing her ass off.
He puts the blanket around me when I’m on top. It makes me too hot. I’m already working up a sweat here; I don’t need a comforter around my entire lower body.
When we are roleplaying she takes off the outfit before the actual sex part. If you are dressed as a slutty nurse then I wanna fuck a slutty nurse! Leave it on!
Goes to give me a blowjob and stops after 5 seconds. After I’ve just given her 10 minutes of oral. Doesn’t do it every time, just occasionally so I tend to skip oral altogether now as it’s just going to annoy me.
He makes me suck his dick like every. Time. And don’t get me wrong, I love doing it for him, but when I’m MADE to do it almost every day, I really kinda end up wanting to bite it off….
When my GF cums, she uncontrollably kicks, hits, and grabs anything in her path, and then I can’t touch her because she starts to laugh uncontrollably. It’s not annoying, I just don’t like to get kicked in the face after going down on her.
Is impatient. It gets seriously annoying when were enjoying things and all she wants is to get the orgasm, quick as she can. She also cums waaaay too fast.
My ex-girlfriend made me choke her. Like serious hardcore choking until she turned blue. I’m all down for some slight BDSM or whatever, but that really made me uncomfortable.
My ex would always stop me just as she was just about to have an orgasm, “Stop, Stop….”: “What, why?” : “I feel weird, think I need to pee…” All that effort wasted, sigh >_<
He bites my face. My ears and lips and stuff too which I don’t mind but he full on nips my cheeks and jaw. I’ve told him heaps of times to not do it because it hurts and he gets shitty. Urgh.
Can’t think about anything else but sex. Every word, every phrase. Constant pulsing, panties get wet, clit easily aroused just by moving in a chair. Lips get fat, skin tingles, hyperaware of your breasts in your bra and wanting them to be fondled. Constantly deep breathing trying to control the urges. Neck is hypersensitive, get a look in your eyes like an animal ready to feed.
Ahh…for me, it’s the feeling of wanting to be filled so badly that it hurts. Like, it physically aches from how badly I need it. And the feeling of wanting to be touched is overwhelming, and craving the weight of a man on top of me.
This is really sad but…I’ve been single for a while, and sometimes it gets so bad/overwhelming that I’ll actually cry :/ Oh god now I’ve made myself sad.
I don’t know how to describe it from memory, not horny right now. I guess I get pretty sensitive down there and have the urge to hump/rub against anything. I also get butterflies in my stomach.
For me it starts in my neck and works its way down. When my toes curl and my body starts twisting in desire it’s usually because I’ve gone from goose bumps all over my body to trying to press myself deeper into my partner. I also almost feel ticklish.
Okay it’s like this: you’re a little hungry, and there’s this burger joint right down the street. Not a shitty McDonald’s or something—this high-end classy burger joint where everything tastes like heaven.
You’re not hungry hungry, just enough to notice it, but when you do you start thinking about that burger place…and it makes you hungrier, and you start to feel that emptiness in your belly, and you’re like “man, I could go for a burger.” So either A) you go get your burger and it feels so juicy and good and you feel full and happy afterwards and you get all fat and lazy or B) you ignore it/eat something else and it’s okay but it’s not nearly as satisfying.
Mostly (for me, anyway) horny is about scratching that itch and getting that fullness and satisfaction and all the happy hormones. Turned on is a whole different thing altogether and requires intimacy or mental stimulation.
Starts with a warm, tingling pulsation of my clit and increasing wetness and builds up from there, to the point of frustration where I have trouble thinking about anything other than my complete desire to be filled.
So I start off just getting a little bit flushed. I feel mildly hotter all over my body and I start to get really aware of how soft my skin feels. A mild touch of my hand on my thigh might send me shivering. I often rub my thighs together if I’m in public to alleviate the need to move, but it pretty much ends up with me getting hotter.
I can feel myself start to throb and my breathing starts to fluctuate. Then the thoughts start coming, every hot situation you’ve been in, all the guys you thought were cute, and all the fantasies you’ve been having lately. I often find myself thinking about a fantasy and have to abruptly stop or I’ll get really frantic with the need to have sex.
Something that always happens is the need to be filled, I can’t describe it but I just feel empty and want something in me; sliding. Even if you take care of yourself you can still feel the echoing throb, the clenching of your muscles wanting to pull something inside of you.
Sometimes I have so many other symptoms going on that I don’t even realize it’s horniness. I get very antsy, I just want to go on an adventure. I want to eat good food, drive fast, do something exciting! Then when I finally have sex I’m like, oh that’s all I needed, and I can finally relax.
Am I the only chick here who doesn’t like the” itch” analogy? That sounds gross. To me, it’s more like this achy, throbbing desire for pressure on the outside parts, and the feeling of needing something in me to grip on. Damnit, now I’m horny.
It’s sort of like a craving to be touched that increases the more aroused I am. It spreads through my vulva with a flushing feeling that builds up. There’s a tingly sensation as well as a lot of warmth and I start getting wet. As it all increases I just get this really really tingly and warm feel that makes me have such a strong desire to be touched.
So following up to that, when I’m like just really really aroused there’s this tingly (yes more tingles!) butterflies-in-stomach kind of feeling which basically like pulses throughout my body and into my pussy and it just is a really intense and kind of different response. It’s hard to explain and I’m not sure if it’s like this for others, but it gets really strong. It also makes me feel really dirty…though not in a bad way. On my clitoris and in my vagina is just like this constantly racing and very moist sexual warmth and my legs pretty much spread involuntarily and I get squirmy at this point. There often also comes this strong desire to be…filled. On the topic of wetness, its pretty easy to notice and everything becomes so much more sensitive, not just sexual parts (though they definitely do too) I get a real excited feel in my head, but its also really relaxed at the same time. I just kind of go into a trance lol. My breathing normally speeds up, and mentally I just shift into this more sex-centered zone where I feel this need to be stimulated so very much or if with a partner then things like kiss them.
The clit is basically like a little pleasure button with a bunch of nerves bundled up behind it. 99% of the time I forget it’s there because I’m not actively thinking about it, but when I get horny it throbs sometimes. It also gets hard when aroused (this is true of most women I believe). But, when touched on its own, it’s just uncomfortable. It’s more of a pleasure enhancer than the whole experience. If I’m wet, or already having sex, touching it in the right way can make me squirt…which I’m sure you can understand by comparing it to how a man cums.
Also when I’m aroused I get wet (obviously) and my labia gets thicker, and the muscles of my vagina contract. Imagine having a meat cave in between your legs that really likes the thought of having something inside of it, stretching it out and pounding it repeatedly. I know that’s not very helpful but hear me out. Each new thrust inside of the vagina makes all of the walls of the vagina feel a tingly but satisfying pleasure sensation. It builds up, and the more you tease it the more it wants. Each thrust feels so good that when the thing is taken out of it (dildo, penis, whatever) that it misses the feeling and wants it even more… it’s a constant buildup and takeaway.
At the same time, the rest of the lady parts are also engorged and wet and would enjoy teasing too. The g spot is fucking AMAZING. It’s pretty much an insta-cum spot, at least for me. It’s like taking all of the pleasure from sex that gets built up over time and concentrating it one area. My vision goes black and I can only focus on pleasure. But that release eventually leads to fatigue or soreness, it’s like when you eat to curb your appetite but you just keep eating… it can be too satisfying too soon depending on what you’re going for.
Anyway those are just some thoughts in the best way I can articulate them. Feel free to ask any questions.
I saw this thread and thought “I was born for this” because I have the biggest sex drive of anyone I know but then I realized I didn’t have anything interesting to say that hadn’t already been said. Clit gets bigger, feels more sensitive, and warmth from the rush of blood. Sometimes I can feel my pulse through my vagina, which is cool.
Tingly and wet. When you want to touch yourself but can’t because you’re in class is the worst. Rubbing your thighs together just gives you a tiny pleasurable sensation.
It depends on the amount and type of horniness. Whatever I’m craving completely occupies my mind and has different effects on me. I have what I refer to as oral, boob, clitoral, or vaginal horniness. They can all stand alone or there can be a blending of two or more. Descriptions of each horniness in stand-alone mode:
• Clitoral horniness: When this is the only type of horniness I have, the only thing in the entire universe that I want is a tongue lapping at my clit, or maybe something vibrating against it. If there’s no face or toy immediately handy, I can just lay there and fantasize about it for, like, hours. This horniness is the one that makes my clit the most achy and…. throbby. You know how, if you’re ticklish, you can sort of feel someone’s touch already if their hands get close to a ticklish spot? If I’m horny enough, I can almost feel a tongue on me in much the same way.
• Vaginal horniness: Primal, hungry desire to have something inside me. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. This is the one that causes me to mindlessly hump things. Conveniently, I seem to get wettest with this kind of horniness. Thoughts drift to fantasies of insertion in super slow motion, but I usually act on this kind of horniness more quickly than clitoral.
• Oral horniness: I want a dick in my mouth right now. If I’m in public, I will think about sucking off any halfway decent-looking guy I see. I’ll nervously chew on things or rub my lips a lot to prevent myself from biting them to hell. Eating becomes a more enjoyable/sensual experience. It’s really hard to talk to guys without coming off as aloof.
• Boob horniness: I really, really want my boobs played with/looked at. The thought of having my tits sucked on is the sexiest thing in the world, and I couldn’t care less about getting off. I’m much more likely to try and show them off when I’m feeling this way, or subtly play with them/fondle them in public. I feel weirdly more dominant with this horniness than the other types.
A lot of people are describing it as a tingling or warm feeling, but I tend to experience it as almost like the feeling of having an itch, but instead of needing to be scratched, you want pressure. I also find that if I read/see something erotic I feel a pulse/throb.
For me, it starts out in a way that I imagine is similar to guys. I start getting distracted. In the car alone or when watching TV, I find myself subconsciously getting restless in my seat or touching my neck. I meet mediocre looking guys and immediately seek to confirm a vacant left ring finger, then start scrounging for their best attributes and justifying why I feel like I’m holding back to keep from pressing my body against them. It clouds everything. Then, once the engines are actually revved and you’re getting down to business with someone who is halfway talented, the touches are amplified, everything gets warm and relaxed, yet intense. I, personally, have a tendency to get needy and rush things. My hips want to grind. Then comes the entrance. Everything is warm and swollen and wet and the feeling of oh. god. yes. That’s what I’ve been looking for! It’s tingly and relaxing and satisfying…
Guys. Tip (ha): Don’t rush that moment. Get in, all the way in, and press your whole body against body, chest to chest, add a deep kiss, hold it for just another second and…then go to town.
It starts with my clit feeling “itchy,” like it needs a thumb or a tongue or a dick on it. Then the sensation builds and builds to where I must.have.clit.scratching.
It’s more a void to be filled than anything else … And once that void is filled, I want more.
I want to be fucked, and flipped over, and ridden hard. I want to be used. I want to be violated in the most fucked-up ways possible. And then … After everything comes galloping to an orgasmic end … I just want to be cuddled. Hugged and felt safe and warm and that’s all. Maybe have my back scratched, in exchange for back scratching.
My nails aren’t long, but they’re scratchy. I want a man who appreciates that.
Well it’s different for everybody, plus I’m on the fence about what I identify as, but meh.
I’ve always just felt warm (vagina wise) and it just kinda spreads to everywhere the longer it goes on. You know the weird feeling you get when you have goose bumps? I get that on my thighs/waist and have this desperate need to be touched. It’s even better when I’m already cold because then I just start imagining how warm and snuggly it would be to have somebody hold me or something, and it’s just like fuck man I don’t even care about who it is anymore, just do it.
It also happens very randomly for me. Thinking about kissing does it, but most of the time it’s just “vagina no” but then vagina’s all like “vagina yes ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)” and I end up getting horny at very awkward times.
Then I remember that I’m single and eat some cheesecake because being horny makes me very hungry.
For me it starts as an overall tingling sensation in the pelvic region. There is increased wetness that can be felt. At this point, an overwhelming need to have something, as a straight women (cannot speak for others) this is the point where I feel an overwhelming need to have a penis inside me. Whenever I am actually horny, a vibrator will never suffice.
It’s a slow build-up. It just starts as a slow dull pulse combined with a pleasurable ache that starts to put pressure on your clit. It starts to build, the pulse turns into a teasing throb, you can feel the slickness building. You can’t move in your seat without having the urge to continue to grind down to get some relief. It just gets more intense, builds, and won’t stop until you finally get a much-needed release.
For me, it starts deep in the pit of my stomach. It feels sort of like the normal butterflies-in-your-stomach, but much more intense, an unceasing tingling. It spreads down to my clitoris. Along with the tingling is this heat that spreads throughout my body until my ears are burning and I know I’m blushing.
When I get horny, it’s not just a feeling in my pelvis. I also desperately want my boobs to be played with too. I want to feel them bounce around or get sucked or groped. They get all sensitive and my nipples get hard. If they actually get touched it is the best feeling EVER, chills throughout entire body. I want that just as much as I want to be filled.
Sometimes it starts with a warmth unfurling in your belly which blooms and spreads between my thighs, accompanied by a throbbing in my clit (I can feel my pulse between my legs, thumping and throbbing.) Then there are tingles which feel like they start inside my opening and radiate out over my labia. I imagine I can feel the swelling and buildup to the wetness of my arousal, and all I want is pressure. It becomes maddening, and the blossoms of warmth (almost the same as butterflies or the feeling you get of anticipation or nerves) will roll over and over inside me like a precursor to that orgasm I’m so desperate for at that point. Inevitably I’ll be more aware of the rest of my body; if I’m walking they’re might be an exaggerated sway to my hips, or if I’m sitting I will squirm like the sexy ladies have mentioned, or run my fingers over any exposed skin because it will all become hypersensitive. I’ll egg it on by contracting my pelvic muscles so that they clench and send delicious waves of intense sensation further inside me and cause the throbbing to increase. My heartbeat gets irregular, my pussy feels like it’s empty and in desperate need of filling, and eventually the tingling radiates to my extremities if I let it go long enough. Also my sense of smell heightens….
I’ve now reached the persistent fantasy of having my face shoved into the pillow, hair in hand, and a big, thick cock pushing inside of me agonizingly slow before pounding the shit out of my eager pussy until I’m spent. To the point I can almost feel it now.
You get a “rush” of warmth that goes from your abdomen to between your legs. It’s kind of like feeling queasy, but not quite unpleasant. It can feel a little overwhelming, so that’s where the squirming comes in. The whole area feels warm and all you can think about is getting fucked in the most depraved, primordial manner. You look at people and think about fucking them. The way a man sits becomes attractive. A girl bending over is too. It becomes impossible to concentrate on anything else.
My cheeks will flush and I hear things in hi-def, as weird as that sounds. I really want something in my hands. My hands feel empty. My mouth feels empty. My body feels empty. I have this strong desire to be defiled and I get agitated until it’s fulfilled or I get distracted somehow.
It’s like that itch on the inside of your hand that you just can’t scratch. You feel the need to have something in you. There’s like a pulsing in the vulva that never stops until you’re satisfied. There’s so many fluids too. I could cure a small 3rd world country of its lack of water just from my vagina. And this isn’t until our Lady erection goes away either. It lasts until we get some. I got lady blue balls right now because I can’t get enough alone time with my boyfriend to have sex and going solo only satisfies for so long…
“I wonder if that guy has a nice dick. I bet he does. I’d touch it. I wonder if he can tell I want to touch it. How’s my cleavage? On point. Has he seen my ass yet? I can facilitate that if he hasn’t. Or remind him if he has… I really should carry a change of underwear on me, this is gross. At this point, entrance is irrelevant, someone had better stick something inside of me. I really need to get laid.”
It starts off with tingles in my clit that slowly makes its way up to my nipples. It’s barely noticeable—almost like a hum in the background.
If I’m in front of a guy, sometimes it makes me want to stretch in a seemingly innocuous manner but what I’m really doing is stretching my top taut against my breasts and hard nipples.
If I’m standing, I clench my thighs together to squeeze my clit, and the slight pressure feels good enough to make me want to moan a little.
If I’m sitting, I cross my legs and start sliding my ass around the seat very slowly, almost as though I was grinding the chair. I start getting wet and my mind starts conjuring up fantasies—usually of someone grabbing my hips and sliding their dick in.
If I’m sucking on cock, mmmm, that just makes me feel wild and dirty and very slutty, and all I want to do is to grip the cock hard and go to town. There is this enthusiasm that really can’t be faked and a drive to turn the man on.
If I’m about to fuck, my pussy is drooling, and I feel this heat and physical ache to be fucked. My clit is swollen and throbbing, and I can feel each pulse and flutter. My nipples are hard and all I want is to be filled and stretched out.
If I’m fucking, then I want to ride hard, get the cock as deep in myself as I can, have the man’s hands on my hips gripping me tight. And I want to be owned and fucked hard until my pussy is clenching and cumming all over a hard cock.
At my horniest I find literally anyone attractive. That creeper dude who once broke a chair by sitting on it, let’s bang. That old dude on the bus, let’s bang. That sort of cute checkout girl, let’s bang.
It only gets this bad when I’m super hormonal but it always takes me forever to figure it out.
Basically for me though, when I’m super horny anyone will do and it’s only after I’ve come that I realize how crazy that was. This happens after watching porn. While I’m masturbating while super horny anything seems hot but when I finish its like oh god why am I watching this Fake Cab video?!
I told him to only inject half of what he had in the syringe, I’m so sensitive to speed and I already had so much in my system. he tried injecting the full thing and I pushed the needle away as I lost the ability to breathe and stumbled on to the bed. I couldn’t breathe for what seemed like hours but was probably a few seconds. … Here come the cold sweats. The air conditioner was on 66 degrees and I was sweating my ass off. I was clenching my jaw and biting my nails to the bone. My eyes were still too scary to look at people with. I was too uncomfortable to be active, and too inactive to be comfortable. I started with illusions. … Spiders everywhere, regular objects turning into cameras, random objects getting wavy, bottled waters breathing, People in the windows, shadows moving. Horrible short nightmares of the cops and people with guns coming in and shooting at me. I was no longer euphoric.
I started to see clear outlines of people everywhere. I went kinda like predator when he goes invisible in the movie. I knew this was a bad sign. Things started to get real weird. Liquid smoke was filling my whole field of vision and I remember the outlined people getting more vivid. They would smile at me with these evil faces and wave and shit. It was scary as hell. I would be having a conversation with somebody and realize I was totally alone. Lots of times I would find myself chasing imaginary intruders out of my yard. I would see people plain as day and then when I got up close they would be a chair or lawn ornament. A lot more things happened I can’t even explain like hands touching me all over. … I am posting this report to warn anybody who suffers from mental illness be careful what they put in your body.
The next thing I felt was having the chills, the walls were melting and though the walls were painted a plain off white it suddenly had vague patterns of shadows of things I could not make out which floated and moved. The floral pattern on the curtains started to move and float. I pulled the drapes, the sunlight blinded me. I looked at my hairy arms, the hair moved like sea anemone in a light current, my skin looked like it had tiny bugs crawling underneath it, my palms were so white. I thought I looked pale but was too helpless to look at the mirror to see, besides my perception was so twisted by now it would not have mattered.
I was scared. Never have I been this scared before in my entire life.
I looked over at my cats who happened to be fighting and out of nowhere they started shouting obscenities at each other. My face had a look of shock upon it as I realized that this wasn’t something that happened to other people with such small amounts. By this time the glowing had intensified greatly and everything around me was a different color than usual and many things were shooting sparks and rays of light. There was a shadow of another person constantly next to mine who kept whispering random words in my ear. I could no longer breathe without consciously making myself do it so I spent every few seconds remembering to breathe for fear I would die.
I walked to the bathroom to splash some water on my face which was very hot and there was a man pointing to the light switch with enthusiasm as if waiting for me to turn it on. I couldn’t even see myself in the mirror because it had turned white. I was worried but I did not panic because I didn’t feel any different than when I was normally on meth I was just hallucinating. I continued to have many hallucinations that would take forever to list and I became worried that I may end up schizophrenic when the drug wears off. The only blessing in disguise I had was that when I realized I was unable to sleep for obvious reasons I just stopped making myself breathe and within a minute or two I was unconscious. I considered the fact that doing this may kill me but I figured that when I fell asleep my body would return to breathing automatically and thankfully I was right.
I started hallucinating really intense. The top of my body and my face had gotten really red and it felt like I was getting a high temperature. At first I thought it was the best feeling in the world, sitting in bed watching the wall doing waves. Shadows and lights were really doing weird things. A bug flying on the blue TV screen looked a lot like an eagle flying slowly inside my TV. Wings were very detailed. Cigarette smoke curled in the air took the shape of the mask off of scream.
At the time all of this was happening, I still had a sense of reality but the later it got the more reality slipped away and the last things I remember was looking at my wrist and saying something like ‘damn where’s the dope monster? He’s supposed to come and see me for the party. He is late.’
I had just shot up right before I left my house, so everything was great. I was smoking a cigarette and I went to throw it out of my sunroof. About five minutes later a whole bunch of ashes fall on me (it turned out the cigarette didn’t go anywhere, it got stuck between the sunroof and the inside of the car). It was then that I lost it. I felt the ashes land on my arm and I immediately freaked out. I cant really explain what I felt – it was just fear. I pulled over and began wiping myself off, and I felt the strong need to wipe every piece of dust off the dashboard of my car. I had to have everything spotless – I felt afraid of dust and afraid of ashes and afraid of everything.
I picked up my friend and I didn’t tell him what happened. I was too embarrassed and I just wanted to let it go and forget about it. A few hours later after I dropped him off I was parked in my car freaking out. I saw things coming out of my skin and I couldn’t get them to go away. I saw things coming out of the seat of my car – it was almost like every surface had pours and they were all exploding and threatening me. I was so scared! I didn’t know what to do. I saw little black specs coming through my skin. I sat there and squeezed and picked and tried so hard to get them out but they just kept coming back. Every particle of dust that I saw (and I saw a lot) frightened the hell out of me. I would jump and almost scream whenever I saw any.
Once I hit the 36th hour, I started to hallucinate. I was sitting at my cubicle and my arms looked 10 feet long. The world was spinning, everything was distorted. My heart was racing and I have a heart condition…I was worried that my heart would explode…. now I believe that methamphetamine is evil in of itself. PURE evil. It’s taken me through the worst of hells the past days, and I thank whatever god there may be that I saw that before I got in any more. As it is, I’m still waiting for my cognitive functions to return to normal. I find myself horribly frustrated because I can’t construct a sentence without thinking about it first. I have all these ideas and I get horribly frustrated trying to communicate them. It’s getting better right now, but I’ve only done meth 3 times.
I never believed in evil before I came across this, but I just can’t put it any other way. Meth nearly swallowed my soul. I looked the devil in the eye and spat in his face.
After about 10 minutes, [my friend] A. sat up and noticed that a large vortex was forming in the corner of the hotel room. From this vortex, which looked like a smoky grey cube imploding on itself, emerged hundreds of shadowy figures. They were roughly human in shape and seemed to be composed entirely of shadows. They had no facial features or clothing or any type of distinguishing marks. Being avid researchers of the paranormal, we instantly recognized these creatures to be Shadow People. Panic quickly set in as the shadow people began to circle the room.
At some point M. finally put down his pen and joined the chaos that was rapidly forming in the room. C., A., and I were huddled in one of the beds together, hyperventilating and in a general state of panic. Shadow people may not sound too frightening to those who know nothing about them, but as people who understand these creatures we knew enough to be terrified. Shadow people are not malevolent beings. They are horrible extra dimensional beings that prey on human energy. Not a good situation to be in when we are spun and paranoid enough as it is.
We began talking about what we thought the shadow people were and came to the conclusion that they were beings from another dimension that had entered our dimension through the vortex. Methamphetamine had allowed our bodies to vibrate at a higher resonance than usual and this attracted the shadow people. …
Soon, a mass about the size of a human torso began forming underneath the table. It was a large, translucent blob with no discernable form. C. and I started screaming for M. and A. to come back and they ran into the room. The blob started speaking to me telepathically, telling me that it was going to spiritually possess me and use my body to murder my friends.
As it was speaking it began climbing up my body. It inserted three tentacles into my navel and began to enter my body. Where the tentacles touched me, I felt a sensation similar to ice-cold needles being pushed through my skin. I wanted to get up and run away but the creature had me completely paralyzed. A. started screaming at me to run and for M. and C. to do something, but they just stood there, dumbfounded. A. took matters into her own hands and took a flying leap at the creature and tackled it, ripping it out of my body. M. grabbed me under my arms and C. grabbed my legs and carried me to the other bed. During this my body was still completely frozen. They dumped me on the bed and tried to get me to respond but for a few minutes I was unable to move or speak. I have very vague memories of what happened next. All I recall is A. telling me that the creature was gone. …
The shadow people stayed with me for a few months. I saw them constantly, even when I wasn’t high. I personally believe that what we saw that night was real. …
Meth basically ruined my life through a long series of events. In the end, I ended up with methamphetamine-induced schizophrenia.
[My buddy] Matt soon introduced me to my poison, crystal meth. I had never tried it before, being from New York the drug is almost unheard of there. We only knew 1 dealer with it. The first time I did it was snorting it. It was the most amazing experience. The tingling in my body, the energy, the motivation. It was great and I was hooked from the start. I soon began shooting it. This led to all my money being drained. So Matt and I had a novel idea. We began cooking it ourselves. …
Eventually, old friends of mine began telling me that my mind was slipping and I was going crazier and crazier. Matt too. But still, neither of us cared. Until one binge that finally ended it all. Matt and I had been up for almost 14 days. Our minds were far-gone 5 days before this point. The apartment was trashed. I was covered in dirt and blood. I couldn’t even tell where I was bleeding from. I was home, and I didn’t even know where I was. And to top it all off, the last batch was fresh out.
Matt began yelling at a pile of clothes on the floor, thinking that a demon was hiding under it. This scared the hell out of me. Not because he was losing it, but because it awakened my fears as well. Finally after a brief screaming match at the laundry, he reached into a drawer and grabbed a gun that I had no clue he ever owned. He began firing at the clothes, and finally turned the gun around and fired it into his mouth. I was in shock. I didn’t know what the hell was going on around me, much less what to do. The gunshots soon attracted the police who arrested me and took Matt’s body away.
I had delusions. Especially when I was hot. I would take the hottest showers I could stand, for hours, trying to clean the cysts I now had under my scalp full of the gritty black shit, and it was difficult because I couldn’t use soap anymore, it got under my skin and burned and bubbled in my eyes nose and throat for hours afterward. I couldn’t drink soda either, same reason. I had delusions that my dealer was poisoning our dope because he wanted it all for himself, which in comparison to my other delusions makes sense. I had delusions that the black shit in my skin was some new form of dope only producible by the human body and my dealer was selling us tainted dope so my body would make it because he was going to come harvest this shit from me and turn me into a slave he would keep locked up and just feed meth to in order to obtain this new drug. I figured my dealer was doing this to lots of people, and that he’d keep me enslaved until I died from the meth. I knew it was killing me, I didn’t care…
And we didn’t want to quit.
We were banned from the sauna at our apartment complex because no one else could use it. Our sweat smelled so strongly of ammonia it burned the eyes, it was caustic, and it burned our skin too. We had to cope with just taking really hot showers, which didn’t work as well.
I fell asleep in the hot shower one night and woke with blood pounding in my ears and too weak to stand up. The fatty shortening crap that built up under my skin seemed to melt enough to be excreted through my pores with a little heat, but with a lot of heat it seemed to melt enough for it to all be released because I was sitting in a pool of it. I gathered the strength to turn on cool water and then realized I’d made a terrible mistake when all of this crap that was still in my body and had collected because of gravity in my pelvic region and belly suddenly congealed. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt… and I really had to pee, but I couldn’t because a clot of it had congealed in my urethra. I eventually pushed it out and saw it in the toilet.
Did I promise you grotesque? We aren’t through yet. For days afterward this shit came out of my eyes, ears, nose, and throat. It came out of my vagina. It was in my urine and feces. I swallowed it down continually and it made me gag. I spit constantly because it was in my mouth. I wiped it from my eyes and it ran from my nose. I still have no idea what It was, exactly, only a guess that it had something to do with the almost fifty pounds total I’d lost. I know it wasn’t a hallucination because I cleaned it out of the tub three weeks ago, and six weeks after quitting, it’s still coming out of my skin, less, much less, but still there.
I swear this plastic smile you all see is getting so fucking old. I don’t fucking understand myself. I don’t understand life. I don’t understand the world. I’m hurt, I’m angry, upset, and most definitely, confused. I don’t know how to cry anymore… I don’t know how to talk. .. I feel so alone in this over-populated, crazy world we live in. …
I look in the mirror and see someone I never expected I’d see again. She’s hurt.. She’s in pain.. but why is she the only one capable of comprehending that??? Every other temptation in this world, I can experiment with a few times, and literally walk away from it like it never happened… but this one – it’s the FUCKING DEVIL! It’s swallowed my soul – but worse – I’m still alive. I’m here watching my own body deteriorate to nothing… My insecurities are eating me alive!… There’s a thin line between sane and crazy … a thin white line of microscopic crystals. …
I wish I had never given in again. It had been two years…. TWO FUCKING YEARS! And then, one day, the DEVIL came knocking at my door, and of course I had to let him in. It’s not self-experimentation anymore – it’s self-mutilation. My face is covered in (what looks like) a bad breakout. My teeth hurt, my nose is scabbed inside, and my bones ache like those of an 80 year old. – The only good news is that I fit into a size 0 again…
It’s only been a day off of the shit, and I’m having the worst withdrawals EVER! I’m angry, saddened, unhealthy, pissed… and SO DAMN CONFUSED!… I’m fucking rambling. – I’ll continue this another day…
I knew I had a problem when a guy knocked the pipe to the floor, and I had already started crying before it shattered. I began to get used to speedboats, (tinfoil folded in half – shiny side down! – and lit from the underside), and could feel my brain baking twice as much. I then began eating the stuff. I would hit almost a gram in one capsule and be up for days without any refills. My insides burned all the time and I thought I was getting a hole in my Liver. This was always my favorite way to get spun though. I was able to concentrate on one thing and work on it for hours on end. I’m naturally hyper, so Ice relaxes me. I was never big on cleaning the whole apartment in 10 minutes.
I began to hallucinate all the time, and at one point I lost sight of reality. I would wake up to the images of the nightmare I just had dancing on my ceiling. For a week, (and this is no joke) I would have sworn that Bin Laden was hiding in my closet – I kept seeing a white turban which was really a white sweater. I began making myself do something – anything – while high, (which was either when I was alone or with other people). So I found my beloved journal under my dorm bed. I figured it would at least keep me from giving myself a mental disorder.
It was amazing to think of the girl I used to be in those beginning pages. I almost felt nervous, like I was sneaking a look at somebody else’s secrets and dreams. The ink turned from my usual loopy cursive to skinny lines, (vertical and horizontal) of smashed words flying all over the page. I had lost my gift. I had forgotten about all the passion I had for the world. Everything that forced my hand to write page after page about freedom, beauty, truth and life. I could only write about drugs. Once I spent 13 hours sitting in my car at the park doing nothing but writing. Ice made me focused, efficient, horny, mean, anxious, euphoric, anorexic, guilty, and so very shameful.
Shortly after, I found myself in a rehab outside Lubbock, TX. I never knew how sickening sober could feel. A month later I thought I could start my new life, since Ice had ruined the old one. The thought of snorting a bump, smoking a bowl, or sucking aluminum through a straw disgusted me – or so I thought….
I lost my apartment, my boyfriend, my car, and my respect in less than a month. I had no money for Ice so I started dancing at a local strip bar where I knew my drug house would be the dressing room – I was right.
Looking again like a Holocaust victim, I stared at myself in the mirror for 15 minutes trying with everything I had to see something I liked. When that didn’t work I did what any decent young girl would do. I went on another binge. I was a shell, an empty shell filled with smoke. I tried to kill myself.
I woke up in a mental hospital. That very moment I opened my eyes I found a peace that was given to me from above, serenity from within, and some words I had forgotten months ago. There was a homeless man that always went to the same Alcoholics Anonymous meeting I did, and one day I told him that I hoped the worst was over. He said to me that you hit rock bottom when you stop digging. I threw down my shovel immediately.
Swinging my feet out of the bed, (and noticing the stitches on my wrist), I took what felt like the first step. Somehow, the tiny bit of dignity I had left had fought every dark corner of my soul and body while I slept – I guess it won.
I breathed a new breath, and I said a new prayer. It said: God, may my burdens always be too great to carry so I may be driven back to you for strength. That’s all it took for me – a second chance to wake up.
I wouldn’t go so far to say that I completely regret ever trying Crystal meth, but I do regret knowing all that I now know about it. I wish I didn’t know how unconditionally happy I can be. I wish I didn’t know how fun all people can be. I wish I didn’t know where to get it from. I wish I didn’t know how smart I can be on it. I wish I hadn’t spent all my money on it. I wish I didn’t know that if I wanted it, I could have it for free now. I wish I didn’t see things in the dark now. I wish I could fall asleep without thinking my heart is beating way too fast. I wish I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night chewing on my lips and cheeks. I wish I didn’t see people who know I used to use all the time. I wish they wouldn’t try to talk to me. I wish my friends didn’t think less of me. I wish my family never saw me crying in the corner. I wish my mom could still look at me the same. I wish I could just talk about it, like I am now, without clenching my teeth and picturing white smoke coming from my mouth. I wish I didn’t crave that white smoke. I wish I could drive at night, without things jumping out of the dark at me. I wish I didn’t have to turn every single light in my house on at all times. No, it’s not trying it that I regret, it’s the fact that I couldn’t stop at just trying. I had to keep doing it. And the fact that I couldn’t strike a balance between doing crystal, and living my life. It was one or the other. And now I realize that I chose the wrong one.
I used to think that babies were made when two naked people kissed.
I also used that think that a period was like a one-time thing—not only did it only happen just once in a woman’s life, it happened in a split second like taking a poop. So I’d used to wonder why they’d wear tampons instead of just using the toilet.
2. Michael, 34
The only thing either of my parents ever told me about sex was when I was about 5 and my mom told me that babies come out of a place on a woman’s body that only opens up once in her life. Thanks, mom. I imagined some kind of kangaroo pouch or even a trapdoor.
Otherwise, I learned about reproduction from reading the World Book Encyclopedia at around age 8. I specifically remember the line, “The penis is placed inside the vagina,” but I thought “vagina” rhymed with “Regina.”
When I told my best friend next door, he said, “No. That book is wrong. My parents would never do that.”
3. Matthew, 26
When I was in second or third grade or so, I thought sex was just two people peeing on each other naked. I thought that women could get pregnant at any time, but that getting married made it a lot more likely that you’d get pregnant. I hadn’t totally figured out the details there, but figured there was some sort of place where you’d sign up.
I don’t remember the moment I learned what sex actually was, but I do remember the various health classes we had between 4th – 6th grade cleared things up immensely.
4. Danielle, 10
One of the first times I remember learning about sex was the Now and Then movie where Chrissy’s mom has the sex talk with her and it’s about watering flowers with a garden hose. Her friends correct her later in the movie but it wasn’t helpful. For a long time I thought you got pregnant if you touched a guy’s pee and that is why there were boy bathrooms and girl bathrooms. I remember being very scared of using toilets for this reason.
5. Jonathan, 27
Our sex-ed teacher was this incredibly gorgeous woman. All we did was stare at her body. One time, she slid a condom over a banana and we were all slack-jawed. As a horny teen, I watched a lot of porn tapes, so being the idiot that I am, I thought giving a girl a front-wedgie would turn her on. It doesn’t.
6. Amber, 24
I saw the movie Cleopatra when I was like seven or eight, and I think there’s a sex scene. From then on until age 11ish, any time someone talked about sex, I figured they were referring to ancient history. Like, people only did that then, and now people do something else. Took me a while to realize sex has been the same for maaaaad long.
7. Melissa, 26
I remember a friend’s mom gave her a book about sex when we were 10 and it called vaginas “gardens” and penises “snakes” and told a story about the snake going in the garden to make a flower bloom. I remember being so confused about that.
When I entered 7th grade they made students and teachers at orientation take pamphlets on wet dreams, boners, and periods and my mom took mine and wouldn’t let me read it.
8. Eric, 29
I used to watch a lot of movies, and there would always be a scene where a man would have a woman cornered against a wall. He’d be looking down at her menacingly and she’d be looking up at him. So I used to think, “OK, that’s how babies are made.”
9. Jason, 30
I literally thought that the purpose of sex was to get pregnant. I had no concept that it was pleasurable, only that it was a means to an end. this is what happens when you are raised on nature shows and collect safari cards.
10. Angie, 32
I heard that a woman becomes pregnant when you piss in her asshole.
Someone else once asked, “Did you ever see a dick after sex? It looks like a semi ran over it.”
I couldn’t figure out what rubbers were, either. I had an older cousin who once wore condoms on his feet for Spirit Week. I asked someone what they were, and they said that rubbers were glow-in-the-dark pussies that you wear on your feet.
11. Adam, 28
My mom was a sex-ed teacher, so I didn’t have any misconceptions. What she didn’t teach me, I looked up. Plus, we weren’t Catholic, so that helped.
I pull down his pants, don’t look, just go straight at it with my mouth. BOOM. MY LIPS HIT. HIS. FUCKING. BALLS. BEFORE I FELT HIS DICK. I’m talking like 2.5 inches and the dude was rock hard. The best description I can give is maybe a 5:1 scale candy corn. The definition of a chode….I went down on him for a few more seconds to be cool and then he TALKED DIRTY TO ME. LIKE DONT GET COCKY. MY TONGUE IS LONGER THAN YOUR DICK.
A micropenis so small I had to part the pubic hair to see the head of his cock. He wanted a blowjob, I tried valiantly but there was nothing to put in my mouth. It was like a clitoris in a bush with testes underneath. He was really proud, and said things like “Yeah you want this cock, don’t you?” which was confusing.
I’m not going to lie–I’ve had a lot of casual sex…I have seen some shit….
Foreskin dick cheese deposits abundant enough to serve alongside a bag of Tostitos. A dick so tiny that the average clit is more robust, but atop VERY sizable balls. Smells so putrid emanating from deep within private orifices that I physically teared up or gagged. A tattoo of a grandmother’s face on a dude’s inner thigh, her mouth slightly ajar aside his member. Pimples–not ingrown hairs, not genital warts, but what appeared to be not unlike cystic acne–dispersed around the labia majora trailing to the inside of her. On a similar note, a guy with a monstrous liquid-filled bubble toward the tip of his penis, not unlike the blisters my porcelain Irish skin gets if I get a particularly bad sunburn on my shoulders. As you can imagine, said conquests did not result in coitus.
Clothes come off, and there… Is the skinniest, most twisted penis I’ve ever seen. It was like a knotted-up rubber pencil or something. It sounds so stupid, but it freaked me out a bit. I said buttfukkit, went for it anyway. Guy was terrible in bed, no care at all for pleasing me, just jackhammering and fishflopping til he was done.
Went through that situation another 3 times before I called it quits. Mostly for the lack of connection, but pencil Penis and awful sex definitely had their part in that.
I’ll never forget this …. Even til this day, if I close my eyes, I can still smell that stench like it was 6 inches in front of me.
I really can’t describe the smell in words. Teriyaki hairpiece? It smelled like if someone fed a human being nothing but feces and vomit for three straight years, and collected all of that person’s bowel movements over that time, killed them, ground up their body and bowel movements into a sludge, placed that sludge into a diaper and left it on a Brazilian hotel roof over the summer, retrieved the diaper, placed it into in a sauna, somehow bottled the smell inside the room in liquid form, and then sprayed it in my face like a lady in the fragrance section of a department store.
I shuffle down and my head goes between her thighs, tease my way up, slide across her underwear and come face to face with something resembling a large tangle of deli meats.
I did try my best but after 10min of wearing this cold flesh suit on my face I had lost what little motivation I had and getting it up for this girl had become impossible.
TL:DR – Had to prop up a girl’s labia with my forehead.
I went out with this guy who was 30 years old and still a virgin and uncircumcised. After a while , when we started exploring sexually, I was playing with his noodle and started to pull back his foreskin. He stopped me, saying it doesn’t work like that, his foreskin doesn’t go back. Me being the experienced girl I was , told him, ummm yeah it does, how do you think you wash it….. you do….wash it don’t you? He never did, I was too scared to even look. Apparently he was never taught to pull his foreskin back to clean it.
Had a nasty surprise in high school: had hooked up with a freshmen at a party who seemed cool, she was funny, smart, and seemed into me, made our way to the basement as all the bedrooms were occupied, started making out, pulled off her pants and went to town, and immediately froze. I could feel something small moving on my face.
No lights down there and I didn’t want to freak her out if I was just imagining things, so I casually ran my fingers through her muff…came away with lice, fucking lice all over my hand. Screamed like a bitch shook my hand like mad and bolted with pants still undone back upstairs to the nearest bathroom to make sure none of the fuckers were still on me. Needless to say did not get lucky that night.
Oh God, I started to massage a guy’s penis over his pants. I pulled them down to see he was uncircumcised. I pulled the foreskin back and it was loaded with smegma. It was yellow and had the most foul stench. It’s a stench you never forget.
I was blunt and told him he smelled cheesy. It ruined the mood.
In college I tried so hard to convince myself this girl who liked me was cute. She comes home with me but I shared a bedroom and lived with three other guys so we didn’t have anywhere private to go. I decided we’d go down to the dank, unfinished, stonewalled basement where there happened to be a futon. We start making out, I can kind of smell her body odor over the mildew smell of the basement, but whatever. I trucked on. Put my hand down her pants and it was like I was running my hand through Bob Ross’s hair, fullest bush ever. I just kind of slowed down and pretended to fall asleep. It was a pathetic exit strategy. I’m not proud.
About 4 years ago, I went home with a chick once who had an insane amount of pubic hair. I was not about to stick my face in it, but was too kind (and drunk) to say so. So I say something like, “Damn, dude, I thought Bush was out of office.” She was pissed. She put her pants back on and told me to leave. I’m an asshole.
As I kissed my way to the top of her full bush, a creeping, tingling dread formed in the back of my mind. It wasn’t a waft of an unpleasant odor. It was a thick, set stench arising from her genitalia. A mix of genital BO (a stronger, worse smell than that of the armpits); sweaty, post-workout scum, the unrelenting reek of an unwashed cunt; and lastly, the taste of menstrual blood. This charnel house of male arousal had seeped into and permeated all of her prodigious bush.
It happened one and a half year ago, the day I lost my virginity. After a day of enjoying my girlfriends company, going to the movies eating a pizza it was time to go home. Her parents were not home at that time, as they were in Berlin. After making out for quite some time, she decided we would finally do the deed. I removed her panties to at least try to eat her out (my first time). She had these warts, and I had no idea what they were. I thought they were somewhat natural, so I went on with it. Later I found out she had herpes and now, so do I. For those of you wondering, no we did not have Sex Ed where I lived.
Pulled pants off, and it was as dense and thick as a Jackson Five-era ‘fro. As I tried to withdraw tendrils of hairs lashed out and dragged me down against my will.
Yes I was seeing this guy. He was an intelligent, good looking professional and we had heaps of fun together. One day we are about to have a quickie in the car at a park on the way to the airport and I get his pants down and am about to put his cock in my mouth when I notice he has skid marks on his jocks! Lost my urge pretty quick. What grown up can’t wipe their own arse?
First girl I ever got a shirt off of had patches of hair on her tits. We were about 11 or 12 at the time. I just figured that real girls and girls in porn looked different. Surprised me though. I even bit one hair and pulled it out with my teeth. She just yelled then laughed. We were good friends for a while before this.
The girl after that had a forest of pimple around her inner thighs. I screamed when I first went down there. It freaked her out and she covered herself and started crying.
Met a girl at a pub, long story short I ended up at her house. We’re making out in the bed. I put her panties down, then run my hand down her belly over her pussy expecting to slide one finger in. All FOUR fingers slide in EASILY. I fucked her for a while but it was pretty pointless, so I fisted her and had a blast!
The smell. My god, the smell. It didn’t creep into the room. It didn’t slowly escalate. Those jeans came off and I got full on smacked in the face by a dead skunk. It was like that Fear Gas the Scarecrow used on Batman to bring out all of his worst memories. I was instantly back in Chinatown, skating past a seafood market, men cutting the heads off dead fish and displaying them on spear hooks in the summer sun. Then I was getting hit by a cab, thrown across the road, my head bloody against a dirty sewer. I began to tremble. “Holy fuck Sandy,” I said, tears welling in my eyes, the meatball parm I’d eaten for lunch rising in my stomach, threatening to make a reappearance. “It smells like you swam to school today!”
She was so hairy that it was difficult to find an opening. It was like her vagina was Velcro’d shut. I picked her up, carried her to the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. I got my beard trimmer and gave her a quick buzz.
Banged this emo/punk chick once, who dyed all of her hair different colors… including her pubes… it was bright purple, and apparently she had had to bleach it first since she was a brunette, anyway it all fell out while we were having sex. There was a clump of it that fell out of my sheet when I was doing laundry, scared the shit out of me.
Another time I was making out with this other woman and when I took her bra off, her nipples were bleeding. It was like boob stigmata or some shit.
There was shit literally all over this girl’s ass. but not like she shit herself, but like she has no clue how to wipe her ass, and hasn’t for weeks. Like just a huge clump of fecal matter directly on her asshole, that got sandwiched between her ass and smeared throughout her pants. At that point I was too far in, and way too nice to be like “whoa, look, you’re pretty and all, but you have shit all over you and I’m going to have to stop this right here.”
So I kept going, and it got worse. She ends up leading me to a chair, and thinks she’s giving me a real treat by doing me reverse cowgirl on it, with her shitty ass rocking back and fourth closer and closer to me. eventually, it literally hits me and I end up with a HUGE shit stain on my sweatshirt, which I was still wearing for some strange reason, again I was kinda drunk. I end up faking an orgasm, throwing the condom out before she has time to realize what I did, and just going to sleep.
Seriously changed the way I look at beautiful women. Some may call it PTSD.
TL:DR Nailed hot girl, she was covered in poop and pooped on my sweatshirt. never called her again.
I was with a girl once who had fairly hairy nipples. I was rather disconcerted at first, but got over it pretty fast. She was willing to have sex with me after all.
Former call girl here. Some notable things I have seen:
1) Botched circumcision that left “penile skin bridges” (Google it and then hate me) completely around the entire shaft where it meets the head. I had never seen so many on one dick. Some guys have one or two but this was like a dozen. So gross. No sex was had. I just couldn’t.
2) I’ve seen three micropenises. I’m not saying that to be mean. These penises were small enough to fit the medical definition of micropenis. So small I couldn’t physically have traditional intercourse with them. Not a big deal though and not their fault.
3) Only seen one or two uncircumcised penises and I recall one had the most thick, sour cream smegma on it that I just about lost my lunch. Think about that. I had been an escort for almost a decade and this was so bad I almost threw up at the sight of it (never got close enough to smell it).
4) A really nice old man with hip issues was a regular and in an attempt to hide his funk he would spray what was clearly his wife’s cheap perfume into his gray pubes…needless to say we liked to take long showers ASAP.
Took off her pants. I don’t think she’s ever shaved. Ever. Like, in her life.
She took my head and practically made me go down on her forest-laden vagina.
Ultimately, I thought I was eating out Chewbacca because there was so much hair.
By the end of it, I was pulling out strands of pubes from my mouth and gagging. I ultimately coughed up what can only be known as fur balls like I was a fucking cat.
I take off his pants and I’m already on my knees so this thing is like, all up in my face and let me tell you, it was a god-dammed nightmare of a penis. He wasn’t circumcised, his balls were all loose and saggy, his dick was small and barely sticking out of its flesh sock, I’ve never seen more pubic hair per square inch in my life, and the smell…. oh the fucking smell…. it was like rotting meat and junior-high locker room had a love child. I’d never been more terrified of a penis. I literally said “I think I’m gonna vomit”. He assumed it was from all the alcohol, I didn’t correct him. And now it’s referred to as “that night we almost had sex but you can’t hold your liquor” and I’m totally ok with that.
One of my last rando hook-ups was kinda bad, but only because she had incredibly flat tits. In a bra, they looked perky and awesome, but the second they left the shirt they were flatter than the tire on a car that demolished some tire spikes.
Second girlfriend I ever had was a bit on the heavier side, hence there was more friction and sweating down there. I had not really noticed (aside from wondering why my bed sheets occasionally smelled a little funky) until she requested that I go down on her. And since she was, as most big girls are, excellent at blowjobs, I agreed. What I descended into smelled like what I imagine the Holocaust to smell like. Just suffering everywhere you turn.
Good god, yes! Started dating this girl once because we were in the back seat of a car and she kept bumping her knee into mine and grinning like a maniac at me until I put my hand on her knee. Then she grabbed my hand and slid it to her crotch.
Jesus, those were some insane months of unbelievable sex.
Have dated two girls who approached me first, including the girl I’m with now. Nothing wrong with it at all. I do, however, dislike it when I get approached when I’m with my GF (or when she’s around), though—then I have to tread a line between being rude and too friendly.
Just because a girl shows interest doesn’t mean she wants only you. It doesn’t eliminate the chase at all. I still had to woo both girls.
My SO was very bold with me. It was shocking at first but that was three years ago and now we’re getting married! Makes me smile every time I think about it. She knew what she wanted and went for our :-)
It’s cool if I find her attractive, too. If I don’t then I’m flattered but also a bit uncomfortable. I guess it’s pretty much the same story for chicks.
Definitely!! But errr, with one small caveat. I like it when women I’m attracted to are bold and forward. The 40-year-old, obnoxious, overweight coworker who kept grabbing my ass and making it a point that I saw her gigantic cleavage is not someone I liked whether she was bold, brazen, or whatever other synonym.
Boldness often translates into clarity. Typically with bold females there are far fewer convoluted dialogues spent trying to figure out what is wrong before actually dealing with things. WHICH IS IDEAL.
I like it. I hate guessing at shit and figuring out what is/isn’t subtly or that “I said this but mean this” bullshit. Just tell me if you want my balls or not. It ain’t that difficult.
I’ve had a woman look at me and tell me point-blank that she loved my hair and thought I was truly handsome. That was damn flattering.
I had one married woman grab me by the hair, yank my head, and say, “If I had that head between my legs, I’d just never stop pulling that hair” with her husband about 20 feet away.
Yes. Before my GF came along, I had such little confidence with females that I needed something or I gave up really quickly.
Having said that, I do enjoy a little bit of the guessing and flirting at first. If you come out too strongly too quickly and take away all the intrigue, then that’s no fun.
I feel like sometimes it can be too much. Girls who tend to say exactly what they want/what they’re feeling can often get real loud and annoying. I know a lot of guys who get turned on when a girl is just really slutty and openly blurts about all the sexual stuff she’s into. It’s kind of off-putting to me. Aside from that, I find it nice when there’s some mystery behind her and it makes you feel way more attached and closer to her once you’ve gotten behind her mask, and when you gain a better understanding of her feelings.
Recently had a girl that was very, very forward with me, and it was just awkward, because I wasn’t into it. Ultimately I appreciated the fact that she was just straight up and honest, but I still noped the fuck out.
Some can pull it off while others shouldn’t. It’s dependent on other personality traits. It’s more likely to be attractive if they are an intelligent and positive person as opposed to a bitter and stupid person.
That’s sort of like asking women if they think a man who approaches them on the street and makes a move is bold or creepy, isn’t it?
It can depend on the mood you are in, the situation, how attractive the person is, and the approach.
If you are, say, actively looking for a partner so are in a willing frame of mind, she meets your standards of attractiveness, you are in an informal situation—like a dance club—where openness is okay, and she has a smooth approach it may be great.
If you are at your mother’s funeral, she’s got one eyebrow and two eyes staring in different directions, you’re trying to give the eulogy and she drunkenly staggers up and grabs your butt while screaming into the mike “Oh, I’d like to ride this all the way home!” then, yeah, it’s probably a bit intimidating and uncomfortable.
I don’t think there is really a hard and fast rule you can point to and say “this is how assertive each person needs to be at all time.” You have to vary it by situation and we all have different tolerances for what we are willing to put up with in various settings. Even who is watching might be a factor. If your friends are more likely to praise you for having a woman walk up to you then it is probably more welcome than the friends who catcall and tease. If you expectation is humiliation as a result, regardless of the person who is doing the approach, it’s probably not that welcome.
It’s not necessarily attractive, but it definitely makes things so much easier and more comfortable. Don’t be rude or nasty, because that will make you seem like you just want to boink and you don’t really care who you do it with. But be honest, open, and clear. If you are into me, go ahead and make it known.
You’re going to get a ton of “I hate games” comments in this thread, but there’s a fine line between being forward / bold and being abrasive / demanding.
I like the former. I do not like the latter. You can be forward and still be polite about it.
Absolutely! I love it! Honestly, when I was younger I thought I wanted a princess in need of rescue, a broken girl I could fix or that needed me. Now I realize strong and secure women are far sexier and far more interesting. I want someone that will fight by my side when the times are rough, not stand in the shade of my protection.
I prefer anyone to be upfront and speak their mind, within reason.
Do: Walk by my cubicle and ask me if I would like to have lunch with you, most likely; yes.
Don’t: Pound on my desk and tell me that I am having lunch with you and that I’m paying for it because you like me and reasons.
Do: Tell me that you have had a crush on me and that you would like to go out on a date sometime, regardless if you think I feel the same way or not. We’re all adults here and no shame in taking a shot and missing, lord knows I’ve done that more than a few times.
Don’t: Tell me that I’m taking you out to that very expensive place and that we’re now dating because you said so and because you always get what you want.
Do: Tell me if my haircut is off or if they missed a spot (in private).
Don’t: Tell me that my hair looks stupid in front of everyone; that’s just being an asshole.
Get the point? It’s really all about context. Too many times I hear women saying that “people can’t handle my honesty” or something to that nature…that’s just a bullshit excuse. There is a huge difference in being honest and being a fucking asshole.
I find it hit or miss. Relationships become boring when I already know what to expect, half the fun is the chase. But if you’re just looking for some action, then bold, on-top-of-the-desk action is great.
Doing mission work with Casas Por Cristo in Juarez about a decade ago. Driving the organization’s truck from the supply depot to the construction site. On the highway, van pulls up the on-ramp, speeds up ahead of me, opens the back doors. Out came tumbling a half-dozen bodies, all with no hands, some without heads, others with extremely disfigured/destroyed faces. I ran over two. I got back to the worksite in a state of shock & our site coordinator, Justin, was asking how blood got on the front bumper. It took me a minute to formulate an answer. We cleaned it up before any of the extremely sheltered Midwestern teen volunteers or parents could see. Justin gave me a bottle of water, sat me down in the shade, and went to the corner market. Came back with a 6-pack of Tecate and just drank with me until I got my bearings back. Good guy.
I watched a man kill himself outside of my apartment. He was a middle-aged military veteran who lived on the floor below me. My friend and I were up late studying, taking a break on the balcony, and we watched him go out to the parking lot, put a gun to his head, and pull the trigger. Only person I’ve ever seen die. He had anger issues and was always yelling at his wife/GF. Didn’t realize it was that bad. It really fucked with my head and led to me questioning my own stability.
One time when I was a kid (7-8) I got invited over to a friend’s house. First I enjoyed it but after some time it got pretty weird.
When we went down to the cellar his mother showed up high (I didn’t realize that then) and half naked and got us some cookies. Completely stunned, I denied her offer and continued following my friend to the cellar.
Down there we played with beyblades until his brother, who was like 6 years old, showed up and wanted to play with us. So my friend had this had this idea to handcuff him and treat him like a sex slave. He put his penis in his mouth and started pissing in his mouth and all over his face.
After some minutes of watching and being terrified I told him I had to leave because my mother said I should show up early at home. It was such an uncomfortable situation for me that I had to think of it the whole day. Never told anyone.
I was a few cars back when I saw a man try to pull onto the nonexistent shoulder of a major highway during rush hour to change his back passenger side tire. He was hit on his head by a car in the fast lane. I had to drive around his headless body like an animal in the road…traumatized me.
I used to work at a McDonald’s restaurant above a main train station. I was pretending to work one shift, but actually staring out the window down onto the train platform, when I saw someone take a running leap in front of a train.
They carried them off the track in pieces wrapped inside white sheets. I was paralyzed and couldn’t move to stop looking, though I wished I could.
I saw someone get stabbed once; if I recall correctly they survived. I was quite young but had a mother who was pretty nonchalant about me watching violent films, so I grew up on lots of Arnie/Stallone/Van Damme films and thought I knew what someone being stabbed would look like. Nope. The knife didn’t just slide in, it had a moment of give, and then, in my memory at least, there was a kinda pop sound. I read somewhere how your brain will insert a noise where there is none— can’t recall the scientific term—but I assume it was that. But it was the amount of blood, no slow trickle, just whoosh, blood was everywhere in seconds. They didn’t sorta stagger back, there was no Shakespearean soliloquy, they just looked down and as they did their legs buckled out and they just hit the ground. I remember screaming from both parties and then I got dragged inside.
When I was 17 years old, I was placed on some medication for a severe head injury. This medication made me extremely suicidal, so my doctor decided to place me in the psych ward. They did not have any room in the pediatric ward, so they put me into the adult ward.
I walked into my room, which I was to share with another person, and there she was. A 60-year-old woman, naked, matted pubic hair, legs in the air, furiously masturbating, and singing “Daniel” by Elton John. I later found out that she was a schizophrenic prostitute that the cops picked up trying to fuck a statue. They moved my room later that day because I was freaked the hell out.
Also on that visit, a dude tackled me while I was coming out of the shower/bathroom in my bathrobe and slippers and tried to lick my feet.
While on road trip w/friends, stopped at a random highway exit rest stop plaza in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania. We get a table at the Wendy’s. At an adjacent table, there’s an elderly couple, both of them are over age 80 sitting on one side of the table facing two female mannequin/sex dolls posed like they were joining them in the meal. We were high as fuck and after we left came up with all sorts of wild theories of what was going on: They lost their daughters; it was for security to make it look like they were accompanied by younger individuals; they were at a mannequin/sex-doll convention….
About a year ago I walked into a public restroom to wash my hands and there was a woman facing the mirror, brushing her hair, telling herself that she was pretty. I was too scared to tell her it was the men’s restroom and fled as fast as I possibly could.
Out and about one day on the main drag of the city I live in. A homeless man asked if my boyfriend or I had any change, so I gave him a dollar. Much to our discomfort he declared he would dance for us and started to do a weird little jig.
Halfway through he started sobbing and told us his homeless friend got hit by a car on that corner dancing for change. It was very uncomfortable and I’ll never forget it.
I watched a group of 5 or 6 guys beat the shit out of one guy in the middle of a lower Manhattan intersection once. It was about 3:30AM and I was on a…break from work. The one guy was of course completely outnumbered, and when he fell on the ground the rest of the guys surrounded him and kicked him over and over until a cop car rolled by shortly thereafter.
It was extremely unsettling to see a man get kicked in the face repeatedly.
I had to take a shit while on a road trip with my wife. We start arguing when she asks if I can hold it. We pull over at a shady-looking rest stop and I rush for the bathroom. I pull open the door and there stand three men. Two black and one white. One black guy is jerking off in the corner; the other black guy is fucking the white guy in his ass.
We all are now staring at each other for what felt like forever. One black guy goes, “It’s all right man. Come on in.”
I ran back to my car and told my wife to drive! I ended up shitting on the side of the road a mile or two away.
I was with my friend doing a bit of sea kayaking. We got to the end of our trip at a beach on the River Teifi estuary in Wales. It was a nice calm sunny day; we’d had a good trip. There were families enjoying the August holiday.
As we were packing up our things I heard a man crying. Big sobbing gulps. I looked around and a man, probably in his forties was carrying a wet lifeless dog up the beach. The man’s trousers were wet so I assume he must have gone into the sea to get the dog out. The dog was about the size of a small Labrador.
Someone came and took the dog from him and held it up by the back legs, trying to shake any water out. The man was sitting on the sand crying uncontrollably. More people came; someone started chest compressions on the dog. An elderly woman was comforting the man. More and more people came. I could see people taking turns at trying to revive the dog. Mothers were dragging curious children away. A woman was trying to ring the local veterinary surgery. We walked a bit further away. I could still see a guy trying to revive the dog.
Eventually he realized it was futile and stood up. Someone else wrapped the dog in a towel and started carrying it away. Two women helped the dog’s owner to his feet and started walking him slowly off the beach. He was still crying.
The crowd dispersed slowly, children went back to their sand castles, and the parents went back to their deck chairs. The sun shone, the waves rippled onto the golden sand.
Was on my friend’s farm and we were walking down to see the sheep with her and her dad. As we were looking at the sheep one of them anally prolapsed for one reason or another; I’m not a vet so I didn’t understand the reasoning. Anyhow, the stomach and whatever else came out the ass of that sheep had exploded, meaning there was shit and guts all over the floor and the sheep was still alive. The dad goes over to the sheep, picks it up, and with the hammer he had in his belt started smashing the skull to try and kill it. Eventually it did die but it took a good 4 or 5 hits. The sound and smell is something I will never forget.
Saw a horrific accident in Big Sur. Bits of a motorcyclist smeared and chunked all down the road mixed in with motorcycle bits for about 100 meters. Head in the helmet with some spine visible out of his mangled torso. Apparently his front wheel clipped an oncoming fender and he basically flipped straight over into the asphalt at about 45mph. Essentially he was slammed into the pavement and exploded. Someone was puking on the shoulder. My friends and I had blankets in the car. Covered some of him up and waited for the cops to show. Crazy.
When I was in high school I was on a 75-mile bike ride and I saw a guy in a silver Dodge Ram hit a dog. He ran over the rear of it, completely crushing its hipbones. Its yelping was the most gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever heard. It still had front legs and it still tried getting up. I kept on riding, I didn’t stop. There was nothing I could do.
About two years ago, me, a buddy and our GFs decided to make a spur-of-the-moment trip down to the coast of Texas. We arrived at about 2AM at this rundown motel that was right on the beach. … As we are climbing the stairs we hear this motorcycle flying down the highway toward the overpass just in front of the motel. Just as my buddy was saying, “Man, that guy is hauling ass,” we hear a loud crash; both of us know he had wrecked. We immediately drop the cooler and tear off to the overpass in search of this guy….
This is where it gets really disturbing to me. Buddy decides to run toward the other side of the overpass to stop the cars. As he is doing so these two super cholo Mexican dudes run up to where I am and ask what happened and I tell them. As I’m telling one, the other reaches into this dude’s pocket that is splattered and wrapped around the fucking light pole and takes his fucking wallet, looks at me and says, “Fuck it ese, he don’t need it anymore.” I stood in disbelief until the other dude announced that the cops were on their way, and they hauled ass.
A guy tried to commit suicide by shredding his arms with a razor blade. I was one of three people to find him in a bathroom stall, sitting half-collapsed on the toilet, with a puddle of blood around him…
Gross anatomy lab (cadaver lab). The day we had to cut our cadavers in 4ths….The image of two legs and a pelvis upside-down on a table with someone using a hacksaw right through the middle of their genitals was too much for me….I know they are dead, but Jesus Christ….
I used to work at a restaurant in the same building as a super shady dive bar located right across from the city’s main park. …
It’s one of those first nice days of spring so naturally there were a lot of people in the park. We are dead slow and taking turns going to the bar to hang out on the porch. So me and one of the bar folks are chatting and I notice this picnic table, partially blocked by the park wall, with a couple park dudes hanging around it. One of the guys is sitting at the table making these hideous grimaces. When he traded places with another guy I figured out what was going on. There’s a woman under the table giving them head. I go next door to tell my coworkers and for about the next half hour we watch this spectacle from the bar porch, that’s pretty much surrounded by kids playing, people hanging out on blankets, throwing Frisbees and NOT ONE PERSON NOTICED WHAT WAS GOING ON. Finally, one of the cooler park bums, we’ll call him Dirty Feet Cheese Bill (because that’s what we called him) strolls up to bum a cigarette from one of the picnic table guys, sees this tableau, does the about face nope, walks over to us. “Man they a guy unna the table eaten her out, that shit’s nasty”. He bums a smoke and leans on the wall watching for a minute, stench blinding us, smoking his cigarette. “Ain’t nobody said nothing? That’s something else.”
Well somebody must’ve eventually noticed because finally the cops descended on them and broke up the party.
Testicles. They’re just weird. How do you not sit on them accidentally all the time? Why are you constantly “adjusting” them? Why does a mere tap to them incapacitate you?
The incessant ball-touching. I understand the need to adjust as sweaty skin stuck to other skin doesn’t feel good but I never realized until I got married how much a man can touch his balls. Seriously, they aren’t going anywhere. I also include the hand in the shorts/pants as ball touching. It’s ridiculous. If I touched my boobs as much as my husband touched his balls, I’d have tennis elbow (from bending the elbow repeatedly).
The whole getting hard thing is weird. Can you feel the blood rushing to your penis? Like it seems weird to have an appendage that you feel the blood rushing to and throbbing. Say my arm, for example, that would be a weird ass feeling to experience. For women its more internal and deep. Our clit tingles and such. But for men its just so external and different it seems.
I’ve only seen one man’s dick (that I can remember, I might’ve mentally blocked out walking in on my dad in the bathroom or something) and that is my boyfriend’s. So, the strangest thing about guys, for me, is the way the dick…bounces. When it’s aroused, it will go erect, but then I’ll suddenly touch his thigh or take off my shirt and it will bounce up and down like an excited dog and for some reason that’s so fascinating to me. I found it pretty funny the first time I saw it.
They have extra skin just floppin’ around inside their pants, right between their legs. Just seems so inconvenient. It’s like a tail in front of your body instead if behind you, making guys seem like they should be imbalanced and walking funny. It’s downright strange if you ask me.
When they put their hands in their pants… Why? I asked my SO this last night and he just said it was a habit, but I’ve seen other guys do this before. So weird to me.
Recently my girlfriend discovered that if I need to pee when I’m pooping I will do it sitting down. This amazed her. She asked her brother if he did, too. She still isn’t over the fact that guys pee sitting down when pooping.
Why don’t guys wipe when they pee? I mean the tip is probably a little wet from pee. Do you just ignore any urine that gets on your underwear? Shaking it can’t totally get all the pee off. There’s no way I could just shake the pee off of my parts.
How brutally honest guys are to each other. A guy will go to the gym and lose weight all because his friends called him a fat piece of shit. The world would stop turning if girl friends were that honest with each other.
The absolute fucking buffoonery they engage in. I have an idea. Let’s all punch each other on the arm and see who can tolerate the hardest punch. WHAT? Hey guys, let’s jump into a cactus. DA FUQ? yo dude, watch me run my jeep into a brick wall. SERIOUSLY. HOW DO YOU ALL LIVE PAST SIX?
The fact that any time you put a few of them together, action happens in some form or the other. Girls don’t do this, but I wish we did. Leave like 5 girls together and we’ll talk—leave 5 guys, and weird shit happens. It’s very entertaining though!
I had this boyfriend that HATED being away from me. Would call me, want to talk, said he missed me, was incredibly clingy. Then we’d get together and he would completely ignore me for his friends or for his video games. This happened a great deal of the time. It was like he needed me sitting in the same room as him or standing next to him and that’s it. He didn’t miss spending time with me he just missed my presence. I’m still really confused about that one.
Most guys won’t cuddle post sex, this is annoying/upsetting to me because I really like it. I don’t want them to do it just because I want to I want them to want to do it, too.
When they don’t shave, and expect the girl to be shaved. I mean, some hair is okay, but when I’m deep throating you, I don’t need your hair in my mouth as well.
Just their thought process when “choosing” women. For example, me and my SO both use Tinder as a bit of fun and the difference between our criteria for swiping right is so weird. Obviously not all guys will thing this way but most my guy friends agree that if they have even the vaguest attraction to a girl they’d go for it (say if 1/5 of their criteria are met, they’ll swipe right). Whereas I’m much more picky about guys (would say I need about 3-4/5 of my criteria to be met to consider swiping someone right).
Why farting and pooping is so damn funny. Every guy I’ve ever known has made some joke about “taking a huge dump,” or about Taco Bell burning their butthole.
That guys refuse to order “girly” drinks even if they admit they taste good. Is it really that important to look manly that you’ll deprive yourself of delicious food?
Communication, or lack thereof. Girls are talking and looking into nonverbal stuff all the time. Inability to get the subtle hints, things girls would understand in a heartbeat (ex. closed body language and mono syllable answers = not interested). Will forever perplex me.
I feel like sometimes when it comes to body language or nonverbal communication some men don’t seem to identify when someone is upset or angry….Or they do but just might not know what to do about it…
I find it weird that guys want to end relationships with people when they find out they won’t have sex with them.
Like, I never feel like having sex with people unless I actually like them for other, non-sexy reasons. And if someone I want to have sex with doesn’t want to have sex with me, I get over it and stick to being friends because I like them and think they add something to my life, even if that thing isn’t sex.
I tend to look at lips and eyes while many of my friends check out the body first. If a guy has full lips I can’t even tell you what his body looks like because I get mesmerized watching him speak. Also, I love dark eyes with dark lashes. Dimples kill me, too.
For me sneaking a peek at that li’l bit of happy trail when their shirt lifts up a little is like sneaking a peek of girls’ boobs. Both exhilarating and totally flustering.
There are women who like chest, there are women who like arms, there are women who like ass, there are women who like backs. Keep in mind that this is not exclusively referring to body types that are muscular. Most women (that I’ve met) are a lot about eyes and smile (and I’m one of them). What every person finds attractive is different.
Personally, I think that a willowy build is very appealing. I’ve never found myself attracted to a muscular frame, and bodybuilder types kind of squick me out.
Voices. There are some guys who have voices that sound like melted chocolate as it caresses a strawberry. Those guys are the ones that give me ladyboners.
I go gaga over stunning eyes. I adore dimples! And a guy who laughs frequently and shows them off. Arms. I don’t know why, but strong arms and shoulders. Sometimes I just stare at my SO because he has all of these traits. I hope he thinks it’s cute. But I know it’s cuz I can’t get my eyes off of him.
Arms tend to be more of a blue-collar thing—a good set of arms (at least to me and my lady friends) indicates a hard-working man, a practical, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy.
Abs tend to be more prominent in guys who are considerate of their appearance, more concerned with the way women (or other dudes) see them.
Abs are made in the gym, arms are made outside of it.
Neither is better or worse—just two different types!
Strong jaw, with a 5-o’clock, the arms….ugh! I love the arms! And a specific kind of set of lips with a tiny dip down in the middle top. Very specific. lol.
Being serious amongst the alliteration, I personally consider myself to be an Abs’n’Ass Lass, Baritone Babe, Chiseled Cheekbones Chick and Dimples Dame.
FRECKLES!!! I love the red-haired guys, strawberry blond are super hot too either full bearded or totally hairless, or just some 5 o’clock shade?…I like hairs but they are not mandatory.
Pale skin, I LOVE pale skin. The only thing i like more than pale skin is pale skin with tattoos! OMG! tattoos everywhere!!
My kids like to roller skate and I don’t mind taking them so we go to the local place frequently. One night I look up and there is a herd of boys maybe in the 15-16 year old range zoned in on something on the rink. As I watch, I realize that they are checking out my 13-year-old daughter’s ass as she rolls by. Then I realized, oh crap she has an ass! That’s what I chased her mother for! I knew she was no longer an innocent kid because she had a smirk as she rolled by. She knew she was being checked out and she knew what it meant.
My son somehow noticed/figured out that his attractive art teacher had a tongue piercing and asked me to drive him to Spencer’s so he could buy a new vibrating tongue ring to give her as a Christmas gift. He will be giving her a baggy turtleneck that he purchased with his own money instead.
The first time I caught him masturbating was the moment I realized he wasn’t a “baby” anymore.
When you see a kid every day its easier to recognize them as pre-teens. When you only see them every other Saturday night it’s like you don’t have time to mature them in your mind. You don’t see the metamorphosis, so it shocks you.
I went in my room and cried. He wasn’t the two-year-old I had once met; he had grown into a real little person who touches his dick. Weird.
My son is four. I walked in on him in the shower the other day trying to get his willy in his mouth. We have also had a conversation about why it is not appropriate to let the dog lick his genitals.
When she was ten, my oldest daughter informed me that she was attracted to both boys and girls. We had a long, frank talk about bisexuality. And then I knew she was growing up.
Mine was this past summer. On the side of my lawnmower shed there was a pretty big spider, the kind that are really long and skinny and make the really intricate webs. Anyway, I call my 9-year-old daughter over to look at it. First thing out of her mouth, “What the Fuck?” Yeah…
The other day I was listening to NPR in the car with my 5-year-old daughter in the back seat. They were talking about Kim Kardashian and said something about her “sex tape.” I blurted out “UH OH.” My daughter said “Yeah, dad. Big uh-oh. They just said sex.” That was when my 5-y.o. seemed not so innocent.
She knew the radio had material she shouldn’t hear. Kids are smart cookies.
My best friend’s son is 5 1/2 right now and one day she walked into their living room to find him completely naked, standing at attention and sticking his little man parts into the couch cushion, then thrusting out, and then thrusting them back in.
She asked him what he was doing and he said, “This is how I relax sometimes.”
I gave my daughter a very in-depth explanation about sex. She’s 11 and a very inquisitive kid and I was more than happy to clarify some questions she had. One of my topics was masturbation. I noticed she was spending a really long time in the shower, and I told her to knock it off or start paying for the water bill out of her allowance.
“I still can’t find my clitoris! Maybe I don’t have one. So I just stick my fingers in my vagina instead. Feels good.”
I told her that she needs to wash her hands more often and assured her that yes, she does have a clitoris; I had already explained where it was and showed her diagrams. I balked at going into the bathroom and physically showing her because that falls under the category of abuse. And it’s icky besides. I told her to find it her damn self and stop wasting the fucking water.
When I found about a dozen tabs of topless women open on my iPad. I was pretty sure it was not me but eventually realized (after a few events like this) it was my son and his friends. He was only 8.
I had a talk with him that curiosity like this was normal and I am not upset that he looked at naked ladies. However, I was upset that he did it with friends over. Who knows how their parents might react?
Fortunately, the point where I realized it was him we had the son of some close friends over and I gave “John” a talking to and told him I would need to tell his parents. The look on his face was priceless. I had some mercy and told him I would only tell his father, as he was more likely to understand.
I waited till my son was 10 to give him the full-on sex talk complete with in-depth photos and videos.
My younger brother, age 8, searched “sex,” “naked women,” “how children can have sex with girls” … it was so disturbing for me and I seriously did not want to deal with it, but my mother is a Catholic Mexican woman who will have none of that stuff unless she is forced to so I had to have a talk with him.
My 3.5-year-old and I were sitting in traffic behind a bus that was letting passengers on and off. And she politely told me to “Get around that fucking bus.” My wife and I now watch our language a little bit more now.
I installed a keylogger on my home PC to monitor my oldest (girl) b/c I was worried about self-harm. Instead I found an entry from a time my son was home alone: YouPorn.
He was 13 at the time, and claimed he accidentally clicked a sidebar ad…but the kid went 4 clicks deep and watched two lesbian vids, so accident my ass. I tried explaining to him I could SEE what he literally typed, but the kid was freaking out so I let it slide.
I just told him I don’t want my computer dirtied up with spyware and viruses, and bought him a subscription to Maxim, which his older sister enjoyed more than he did!
Serious victim complex. “I’m just sooo nice but everyone else is mean to me for no reason. I’m such a good person and they treat me like shit, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Everyone runs away from me and no one gets me. Except for you.”
Anyone that talks about how nice they are is never actually nice. My ex would always talk about what a nice guy he was. He turned out to be pretty much the exact opposite of nice.
Apparently my stepdad could tell from the first time he met the guy but didn’t tell me until after the relationship ended.
Seriously, it’s not rare that a crazy/abusive person will actually tell you that they are. Yet we never believe them… “Haha you’re not.” Yes. They. Are.
It’s very simple: When people tell you who they are, believe them.
If they act like a coward, they are one. If they lie, they are a liar. If they treat you or anyone else like abject shit, they are an asshole.
If they come out and say, “I am an asshole/liar/jerk.” then for God’s sake believe them. We know ourselves best and in my 41 years I have yet to meet a person who described themselves in a negative way who wasn’t absolutely fucking right.
The first thing out of their mouth when you meet. If they come off saying something like “I’m a vegan,” “I’m an atheist,” “I’m a feminist,” etc., it’s likely that will dominate the conversation. I had that happen to me with all three. The Vegan I canceled our date on an hour in when she wouldn’t shut up. The Atheist had nothing else to talk about and I got sick of it and walked out on her in the restaurant, left her with the bill. By the time I met the Feminist I’d learned my lesson and walked away leaving her at the bar after we just shook hands.
If they have no sense of humor. Seriously cannot stress how awkward it is when you smile and laugh and it gets ignored. And I’m not just being weird and telling really bad jokes and stories. Flat out serious people are so unfriendly, it’s off-putting.
Anyone who hates cats, or animals, with a passion. Cats can be assholes, true, but the kind of person who blusters on about the “only good cat being a dead cat” is likely to score highly on the Dickhead’O’Meter.
The thing I hear a lot recently that sends warning bells to me is “You can’t say ANYTHING nowadays without offending someone! You can’t even say hello!” Uh, maybe the problem is you then.
I tend to judge people on how they treat people who have no real meaning to them. That is: waiters, sales associates, etc. If they are assholes to total strangers it means they’re assholes to everyone.
Not being able to take “no” for an answer. If someone tries to push you into little, stupid things constantly, they’re not going to respect you on the big things, either.
Trying to use being gay/not straight as a cool card. My ex, whenever me and my friends discuss sexuality, always stated out of the blue “I’m bi-curious, as if it was the coolest thing in the world. Listen hun, no one gives a shit.
How they treat waiters, bartenders, and just people of service in general. If I’m shopping with you and you’re a cunt to the salesperson I’m going to say something to you. Unless of course the salesperson is a cunt first.
I like friendly people as much as anyone, but when someone is overly friendly it is a red flag to me. All to often I have encountered people who are overly friendly at first, but soon become hostile, and their hostility is as over the top as their friendliness. My theory is that they are narcissists and that they lure people in with fake sweetness.
I can’t take you seriously if you call other people ‘sheep’ or brag by saying things like “Most people do X, but I do Y.” People who feel the need to convince others they’re smart are bad enough. People who feel the need to convince others they’re smart by talking about how most others are not smart are usually the biggest idiots you’ll ever meet.
Pretty common, but the one-uppers. If I bring up that I have a head cold, they have to talk about some rare illness that laid them out for two weeks one time. If I’m tired, they have to bring up how they only got 4 hours of sleep last night. If I beat a game, they have to talk about how easy the game was and how they beat in four hours. Everything doesn’t have to be a contest, dude. Chill out.
When they start describing themselves based on their astrological sign then ask you what your sign is and every time you do something they’re just like “Oh my god, you’re SUCH a (insert sign here)!
If you meet someone for the first time, and they immediately start 1. Complaining about their life – if someone starts doing this with someone they don’t know at all – immediate red flag – what do they say to people they are close with? 2. Talking about other behind their back – if someone starts shit-talking people to someone they just met, they will DEFINITELY talk shit you when you’re not around, and they’re just stupid.
Feet. 100000% times over, feet. I don’t get why people would want to lick and suck on something that sometimes can smell so bad?! I am guessing it tastes JUST as bad sometimes too. They have fungus on them if people don’t wash them properly and gah!
Fapping to prepubescent Asian girls who are stomping little puppies until their internal organs come out of their mouths, and assorted other delightful things involving animal and child cruelty.
I know someone that has a thing for young (like 20s) women driving older (pre-2000) Jeeps that are stuck in the mud, while they’re wearing red stiletto heels and a tight dress. When it’s raining.
Feeders. I don’t understand how being a feeder or feedee (not sure how to spell it) could possibly sexually excite you. I’ll also never understand why someone would purposely try to gain weight (of course unless they need to for medical reasons). I am fat, and it’s not fun. Nice clothing’s harder to find, it’s more expensive, and it’s not healthy! It’s also very hard to lose the weight again. I honestly will never understand it and actually find it disgusting.
Genital pumping. Like when guys put their dicks in tubes and pump it up or some shit to make it grow super huge. Saw a thing where some dude put his dong in some sort of mini pressure chamber and it grew to the size of his forearm. Doesn’t it hurt?
Crushing and crush fetishes. Specifically the act of crushing small animals like kittens and rodents, and insects. It’s repulsive and everything I hate about the world all summed up into someone’s gross pleasure. I’ve seen softer versions of it like smashing up fruit or things like grapes but what the fuck is that? How can you get off to something like an innocent creature getting smashed away? And no you don’t need to explain, you’re gross.
I’m very open sexually and am willing to try anything, my only hold up is scat play, it’s shit, it completely filthy. I can’t understand why someone squatting over you and letting out a steaming pile on your chest is sexy.
The fetish of being eaten and digested. Some people dig cannibalism, but I first learned about it in the context of people being turned on by the idea of being eaten by a large predatory animal.
Being eaten by an anaconda, or a crocodile, a pack of zombies. Right now, as you read this, someone, somewhere, is getting off to this stuff.
I heard about some chap that could only get it up for his wife if he hired a bloke to dress as a Roman centurion, stand in a corner of the room, and repeatedly crack eggs on his helmet during the romance session.
Coprophagia or urophagia. I just don’t understand how things like that can be consumed and people can manage to stay aroused and not get violently ill.
The Danish Fetish Society’s spokesman was asked about the weirdest fetish he knew.
Told about a guy who got off the sound of old car antennas being retracted. The guy had a whole room filled with nothing but antennas and would walk around the parking lot to find certain brands that he loved the most.
There’s some kind of link missing where I don’t understand how someone can go “Oh I let my wife fuck me in the ass with a dildo.” And then not consider themselves at least a little homosexual, or in some cases be very homophobic.
