This is an actual letter I received from a dear friend yesterday. I am truly flattered that friends know that they can confide in me with such serious important issues. Without further adieu....
I feel like I can discuss this with you:
A few months ago, I was reading some sex horror stories (true stories!) and one of them was about a girl and her boyfriend and how he stuck a champagne bottle up her ass, and her mother-in-law walked in and she pooped all over the fancy Mother in law's couch. Okay. Fast-forward to the next day, when I'm listening to The Moth podcasts, and one is about a recent divorcee who started screwing a younger guy. The sex was amazing, so much so, that she....pooped the bed. It wasn't even anal.
So ever since these consecutive poopsex stories, I've been terrified of pooping during sex. I can't focus on anything else but pooping! I had never even thought about it before. Has this ever happened to you? Is this a question better suited for Savage Love or something? I've totally got hang-ups now.
Love,
********
PS- General life updates from you are welcome.
Dearest ********,
I have definitely had the fear of such a situation. Especially after a huge fancy pants romantic dinner. There is no room, you know? I'm scared of farting even. But then again, sex is filled with crazy bodily fluids and weird random things can happen. My sister shit her pants when she gave birth to her first kid but not her second. Yeah that wasn't during sex but it really is just luck of the draw. There is always the "not tonight, my tummy hurts" excuse. But sex is gross and gross things are bound to happen. Once, I had sex on the first day of my period. everything was fine and dandy, no mess was made during. It was a fucking miracle. Then, right when it was over and I said that I was going to go get situated "BAM!" I bleed all over myself and the floor. Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. We basically just laughed it off and never talked about it again. Embarrassed? No way. I say shit the bed. If you shit the bed and he flees it was never meant to be. If you shit the bed and he stays, that's love.
forever your girl,
chrissy.wynn.
p.s. I love that you assumed this situation had happened to me.
If any of you readers have advice for ******** please leave it in the comments. thanks!
Friday, July 9, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
what's your emergency?
I would love to tell a story that did not involve drinking or puking but that is apparently all I do. This next story encapsulates both.
Rachel was having the first bbq of the of the warm season in Chicago, which isn't even until June. I even had enough courage to invite a few attractive gentlemen who came to the cafe (baller, yeah right). The party started at seven but I had to close up shop and was going to be late. As we were getting ready to leave, around 6:30, the kitchen sink's grease trap starts to overflow. It literally smelled like year old shit and had the ability to penetrate the skin and stay with you for life. Rarely do things gross me out but this little number had got me; the bog of eternal stench. After staying a half hour after work, Katherine and I, and our new musk, grab a drink to take with us and head to our cars. Should I change? Nah, I'm a fucking dirtball for real. Right when I sat in my car, splash, Sanpellegrino all over my lap. Okay, now I HAVE to change.
I floored it and got home and to the party in record time. No dinner, no time. It's like I was asking to get as drunk as possible as fast as possible. Just inject it start into my blood stream. No really, I want to look like an ass, that's how I roll. I started drinking and was having the best time. You can always tell when I cross the line between buzzed and drunk when I decide it's a good time for me to start smoking weed. Hey, I had to look cool in front of the dudes I invited, you know how that goes. Mixing incredibly trashed and getting high...... That was the beginning of the end.
When you pass out in your friend's attic on a "pillow palace", you know it is time to go. I sat up really fast, looked at Rachel with half eyes and jetted. I ditched my car and opted for a cab. The words Belmont and Western barely even escaped my mouth. I fell asleep(ish) half way through my ride. Please don't hit any bumps. Please don't swerve. My cheek is stuck to the half opened window and right when we are stopped at the Milwaukee and Western el stop, the inevitable happened. I start barfing all over the outside of the cab. Everyone can see me but I honestly didn't give a fuck. I thought, like most people in that situation, that I was dying. The cab driver starts throwing newspapers at me and yelling things at me and rolled my window down all the way.
I cleaned myself off with the newspapers and started to feel much better. We pulled up to my house and he asks me what I plan to do about the puke on his car door. Uh, here's five bucks, go through a car wash and I am really sorry? My fare was eleven dollars and I planned to give him twenty five for the trouble. Not good enough according to him. He tried to tell me that I owed him fifty dollars (!!!!!) for his troubles. I tried to be super polite. "There is no way that is correct" I said. "Give me fifty dollars!", he yelled as he locked the doors. Oh hell no. He had unleashed the fury. "FIFTY DOLLARS MY ASS! Why don't you call a supervisor and if they say that it cost fifty dollars I'll consider it. And even then, come on." So he called his boss, talks for a few seconds, and said "excuse me, it's forty dollars for your mess." Mess? I've seen babies spit up more than what I did on the OUTSIDE of the cab. "How do I even know that you called your boss? You could have called a friend and said what ever you wanted. I don't believe a single word you say. And where does it state that if you puke on the outside of a cab you owe them money because I'm reading my cab passenger rights posted on the back of your seat and it doesn't say I owe you shit. I won't believe you unless I hear your boss say it." The cab driver flips out and kept saying "You want me to call someone?! You want me to call someone?! Fine!" He held up his phone right by my face and dialed 9-1-1. Shit just got real real. "What's the emergency?" Cabbie proceeds to say that he has a passenger who is refusing to pay her cab fare. Bullshit, I'm refusing to let him steal my money. The lady says, "Uh, okay, I guess I'll send someone over."
I lived less than half a block from the police station and the cops were there in seconds. "What's the emergency?" Cabbie kept saying that I wouldn't pay my fare and taht the vomit was going to take three hours to clean and I kept saying he was trying to steal my money and that he locked me in the cab as a hostage. The cops have both of us step out of the cab and come onto the sidewalk. In the end they declare me the victor based on how little vomit was actually on the car and all I had to pay was my eleven dollars. Victory was indeed mine. I pay him the eleven dollars and for some reason I ran home even though it was half a block away. I felt bad for a second but realized that this couldn't have been the first time it has happened to him and it really comes with the territory.
Rachel was having the first bbq of the of the warm season in Chicago, which isn't even until June. I even had enough courage to invite a few attractive gentlemen who came to the cafe (baller, yeah right). The party started at seven but I had to close up shop and was going to be late. As we were getting ready to leave, around 6:30, the kitchen sink's grease trap starts to overflow. It literally smelled like year old shit and had the ability to penetrate the skin and stay with you for life. Rarely do things gross me out but this little number had got me; the bog of eternal stench. After staying a half hour after work, Katherine and I, and our new musk, grab a drink to take with us and head to our cars. Should I change? Nah, I'm a fucking dirtball for real. Right when I sat in my car, splash, Sanpellegrino all over my lap. Okay, now I HAVE to change.
I floored it and got home and to the party in record time. No dinner, no time. It's like I was asking to get as drunk as possible as fast as possible. Just inject it start into my blood stream. No really, I want to look like an ass, that's how I roll. I started drinking and was having the best time. You can always tell when I cross the line between buzzed and drunk when I decide it's a good time for me to start smoking weed. Hey, I had to look cool in front of the dudes I invited, you know how that goes. Mixing incredibly trashed and getting high...... That was the beginning of the end.
When you pass out in your friend's attic on a "pillow palace", you know it is time to go. I sat up really fast, looked at Rachel with half eyes and jetted. I ditched my car and opted for a cab. The words Belmont and Western barely even escaped my mouth. I fell asleep(ish) half way through my ride. Please don't hit any bumps. Please don't swerve. My cheek is stuck to the half opened window and right when we are stopped at the Milwaukee and Western el stop, the inevitable happened. I start barfing all over the outside of the cab. Everyone can see me but I honestly didn't give a fuck. I thought, like most people in that situation, that I was dying. The cab driver starts throwing newspapers at me and yelling things at me and rolled my window down all the way.
I cleaned myself off with the newspapers and started to feel much better. We pulled up to my house and he asks me what I plan to do about the puke on his car door. Uh, here's five bucks, go through a car wash and I am really sorry? My fare was eleven dollars and I planned to give him twenty five for the trouble. Not good enough according to him. He tried to tell me that I owed him fifty dollars (!!!!!) for his troubles. I tried to be super polite. "There is no way that is correct" I said. "Give me fifty dollars!", he yelled as he locked the doors. Oh hell no. He had unleashed the fury. "FIFTY DOLLARS MY ASS! Why don't you call a supervisor and if they say that it cost fifty dollars I'll consider it. And even then, come on." So he called his boss, talks for a few seconds, and said "excuse me, it's forty dollars for your mess." Mess? I've seen babies spit up more than what I did on the OUTSIDE of the cab. "How do I even know that you called your boss? You could have called a friend and said what ever you wanted. I don't believe a single word you say. And where does it state that if you puke on the outside of a cab you owe them money because I'm reading my cab passenger rights posted on the back of your seat and it doesn't say I owe you shit. I won't believe you unless I hear your boss say it." The cab driver flips out and kept saying "You want me to call someone?! You want me to call someone?! Fine!" He held up his phone right by my face and dialed 9-1-1. Shit just got real real. "What's the emergency?" Cabbie proceeds to say that he has a passenger who is refusing to pay her cab fare. Bullshit, I'm refusing to let him steal my money. The lady says, "Uh, okay, I guess I'll send someone over."
I lived less than half a block from the police station and the cops were there in seconds. "What's the emergency?" Cabbie kept saying that I wouldn't pay my fare and taht the vomit was going to take three hours to clean and I kept saying he was trying to steal my money and that he locked me in the cab as a hostage. The cops have both of us step out of the cab and come onto the sidewalk. In the end they declare me the victor based on how little vomit was actually on the car and all I had to pay was my eleven dollars. Victory was indeed mine. I pay him the eleven dollars and for some reason I ran home even though it was half a block away. I felt bad for a second but realized that this couldn't have been the first time it has happened to him and it really comes with the territory.
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