Disclaimer: This post is explicit, but not dirty, really. 

NORA

The guy: Ben

Nora is fine at having sex, but not great. It’s kind of similar to how she fared athletically in high school. She started on the varsity soccer team her sophomore year, but she would never be able to play in college. She’s fine at having sex because she’s pretty and has decent rhythm, but not great because she can’t touch her toes, feels uncomfortable not saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and frequently and out-of-the-blue becomes too tired and then rolls on her side, and then snores. 

Nora was talking to her guy-friend one day, and he told her something “awesome” that happened to him after sex-with-a-girl one time. The girl, who he said was “great” at sex, took a hot towel after they were finished and placed it gently on his ding-dong.

Later…

Nora meets a boy at a bar, Ben. He’s cute but too poor, so she writes him off early as just a one-night stand and brings him back to her apartment. 

The “too-poor” thing was a joke, so if you didn’t bat an eyelash, you’re a terrible person. 

They have the sex, and then, no more than few seconds afterwards, Nora remembers her guy-friend’s story about the hot towel on his ding dong, and how it felt quite pleasurable. Her guy-friend, though, did not explicitly tell her that the sex goddess had used a real, cloth towel, one with a high thread count, which is apparently essential to the pleasurable experience. Since Nora thinks that she has nothing to lose, having already deemed this male-suitor a one-time sexual partner, she immediately orders Ben to get up and walk into her living room. “I have a surprise for you, Benjamin,” she says, not even sure if that’s what his name is short for.

That last part quickly transitioned from Tennessee Williams (a swell male-suitor) to Nazi-pirate (walk the sex-plank, Matey) to stage-five clinger (“‘Cuz, I’ll find you.”).

Ben, or Benjamin, is groggy and confused. Unless the surprise is that she is joking, and he is dreaming, he is not interested. But he follows the inflexible girl’s orders anyways. Once in the living room, Nora pushes naked Ben onto her couch by aggressively pressing down on his shoulder and then scurries into the kitchen. He hears the faucet running and is probably thinking to himself, “Is she drinking water? Because, can you bring me some?? Also, can I go to sleep now? Please? “

No, Nora is not drinking water. Nora is dousing 8 feet of a Kirkland paper towel roll with lukewarm water, because it’s taking too long for the hot water to come out. She carries the heavy, overly-saturated mass of paper towel into the living room with two arms, as if cradling a soaking wet baby, and then, once her arms are positioned right above Ben’s ding-dong, she suddenly releases it.

Splat!

Ben, or Benjamin, is no longer groggy, but he is still confused. Very confused, in fact, probably wondering why this random girl is trying to waterboard his crotch. “What did it ever do it you?”

Nora waits for Ben to give her some form of confirmation. However, met with no more than blank stare and cocked eyebrow, Nora concedes her sexual-experiment a failure, and the rest is pretty much as awkward as you would imagine it to be.

Nora gathers the heavy, now-cold but less-saturated mass of paper towel, as most of the water has leaked onto Ben’s lower-half and absorbed into the couch cushion, and carries it back into the kitchen with two warms, as if cradling a baby damp with penis water.

The next morning, Ben shockingly asks Nora for her number. On their date, Ben less-shockingly asks her to split the bill. Her total came to $12.

Through the course of my blog’s online presence, I’ve had some fans reach out to me, to let me know that they like what I’m doing. All but one reached out through a Facebook message. They think it’s less personal that way, but little do they know that my Facebook messenger app is always on, so I’ll respond to you, pretty much, immediately.

Meredith: OH YEA, YOU LIKE IT?
Meredith: YOU THINK I’M FUNNY?
Meredith: THAT IS AWESOME.
Meredith: WHY? TELL ME MORE.
Meredith: hello?
Meredith: u there?

Plz don’t stop writing me Facebook messages.

The lone fan to reach out to me in-person did so accidentally while I was out with him. He unintentionally referenced something from one of my blog posts, really almost quoted me word-for-word. Then had to confess to having read all of my blog posts. Then to being terrified of being featured in a future blog post. Which, I realize, I’m doing now. Hey, sorry. Text me?

So, anyways. My biggest ‘brush with fame’ came last weekend. My parent’s have a summer home, at which my whole family congregates during weekends in the summer. My siblings and I threw a 4th of July party last weekend, each inviting a handful of friends from our various walks of life.

Insulated suburban high school, top-rated public university, gentrified city neighborhood, corporate job, expensive hobby, etc.

‘Cuz I’m Slim Shady…

A few of my brother’s friends, who are more than a few years older than I am, confess at breakfast that they read my blog. Later in the afternoon after a few beers, one of them asks how my friend Sara is doing. “Who is Sara?” I ask him. He answers, “The one you write about on your blog.” I know who he is talking about but before I have a chance to say anything, he continues, “You know? The one with the boyfriend who is old-as-fuck.”

This is awkward because Sara is not her real name, but a code name I used, and the real-life Sara is standing right next to me.

It’s even more awkward because real-life Sara’s ‘old-as-fuck boyfriend’ is standing right next to her.

I laugh too loud.

Err, who wants to play a drinking game?

Later, during the ‘official’ party, more than a handful of people come up to me and tell me how much they love my blog. OK fine, I threw the party. And so what they were wasted? I didn’t even know most (one or two) of these fans, they were friends of friends. I felt just humbled by it. lol, nah. I walked around around the party interrupting group conversations to tell them that that I’m famous. If I didn’t host the party, they probably would have made me leave.

One drunk actually-invited guest solicits her third-party guest to tell me a story.

“Wait, MER,” she slurs, “She hazz. THEBESTSTORIEZ.”

I whip out my iPhone and open up the notes app and type while listening to the story like I’m Zooey Barnes working for Slugline. Really it’s just a bunch of autocorrected words strung together. This is what I remember, no thanks to my notes.

This girl’s name is Debra. She is a lesbian and told me about at date during which she and her date got food poisoning. Debra is leaving for Las Vegas the next morning, and because she can’t leave the bathroom for more than few minutes that night, she calls her dad to come over to help her pack. Her dad is supportive of her lifestyle but doesn’t necessarily understand it… nor Las Vegas, nor being a woman in general apparently. Debra gets to Las Vegas and unpacks a carry-on sized piece of luggage only half filled with sports bras, Umbro soccer shorts, flip flops, and a work blazer.

I still can’t tell if that’s funny or not. The haze of fame must be clouding my judgement.

I’m going to be transparent with this blog post- unlike the girl who uploads a flattering picture on Instagram of herself in a bikini and writes a caption about the nice weather- “Guyz, I’m famous.”