SCREWING AROUND / HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN AGAIN?

WARNING: This contains some graphic, not so sexy, images. If you are squeemish you might want to skip this post. You've been warned.

So I promised you some sexytime stories and it may have taken me longer than I like to get down to it but, don't worry, I got in the field and I did some dirty work for y'all.

But unfortunately this isn't all sunshine and unicorn giggles.

Well... that wouldn't be my idea of a good time anyways. But thats besides the point. The point is that while I rejoice a sexual encounter I expect it to be a pleasant and pain-free experience. And sometimes my expectations are not met. But usually even when my experiences are total failures (see EMT guy, Ken, Jay.. and 85% of the other boys) I usually don't feel broken after. Except for that one time with Billy.

But I swore after Billy I'd never ever let a man break me like that again. I mean.. we are talking ice pack to the vag broken.

Not pretty.

Anyways, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm out in town with some friends and I'm drinking and dancing and doing the usual social mingle. And I have decided that I'm going to have sex. Because honestly, this shit is getting ridiculous. I have been home for almost a month, seen basically everyone of my past sex buddies and not a single person has propositioned me yet. That's insanity! I always get laid when I'm home. This is upsetting. So I'm going to have sex.

Well the whole freaking night goes by and nothing.

Except that I ran into a kid I used to babysit at the bar. Nothing makes you feel older than some tiny skinny girl in a crop top and tiny shorts bouncing around as you reminisce over babysitting adventures.

Ugh.

So my crew decides they want to leave and I run into Grant, my neighbor.

Now Grant and I have a bit of a past. See when I was regularly sleeping with Main Squeeze we had our share of... problems.

Secrecy, infidelity, lying, confusion. Etc. Anyways once I realize that our secrecy was because of the infidelity and his lying about having other girlfriends I may have gotten a liiiitle mad and gone on a sex spree.

This was all before I had this blog so you can't be mad that I didn't tell you about it. Anyways in one week I slept with a geek, a d-bag and I blew my next door neighbor... Grant.

But see, in the middle of blowing Grant two things happened. I realized that, having been finished off first, I wasn't that invested in Grant having an orgasm and Main Squeeze texted me asking me to come over.

MS was my first crush after Charlie crushed my heart. He was my first bad boy. So sexy and despite the aforementioned issues as soon as he texted I mumbled some excuse to Grant, left him there with a hard on and drove my drunken ass to MS's to have some crazy hate/love sex.

The next time I saw him we split a cab home with another girl and somehow all three of us ended up drinking wine by his pool and with the two of them dating.

Third time he tried to feel me up in a cab and I drunkenly gave him a talking to because I am clearly not that kind of woman and how dare he disrespect me.

Except clearly I'm totally that kind of woman


So this time I was shocked when everything was going fairly normally. We  got to our neighborhood. We'd already been poured on so it wasn't so hard to jump in the pool. Naked of course.
We started to play and I definitely thought he was going to drown when he started to give me oral underwater. Literally.. it was such a weird sensation and I definitely was enjoying myself but I was also worried that at any minute he was going to run out of air and die. And do you realize how awkward that would be?

I mean. Clearly I'd have to call 911. And wake up his family. And explain how he'd managed to drown in the shallow end of their pool. And why he was naked. And why I was there. And why I was wet. OMG and then I'd be that girl who'd killed a girl with her vagina. I'd be in a pool, naked, with a corpse.

Oh wow. Where's that klonopin?

We're on the fast track to anxiety-ville.

Anyways he didn't die.

Huzzah!

We finish up in the pool and it's fucking freezing by this point so I'm looking forward to the warmth of a comfy bed and lots of body heat and sexiness.

Wrong again!

He tells me that his room is right between his darling sister and his parents so thats probably a bad idea. So we head to the sauna... the scene of our first encounter. More touching and playing and joking and I grab some condoms and then he's like... "Kitty... we're just having fun, right?"

WAY TO KILL THE MOOD DUDE.

Like come on. Look at me. I'm fucking naked in your sauna for the second time, drenched from a goddamn naked midnight swim in your porn-y friggin' pool. Do I look like I'm trying to marry you? NO. Shut up and get in me.

So we go at it for a bit. And then the wonders of drunkery get to him and we have some equipment malfunctions. He tries to make up for it and by this point I'm tired, uncomfortable (have you ever tried to fuck in a sauna? It's all wood and no cushions.) and I just want to be done already. But noooooo! He's a man and he has to prove himself.

So he's going for it and I'm enjoying it and whatever and then suddenly it's kind of painful and I brush it off because I often have this problem. Frictions a bitch, yo. So he's still going and right as I'm like stop, I'm done he stops and he's like "oh my god, I'm so sorry." So I look down and his arm is covered in blood.

Like... Looks like he was on the fucking set of Grey's Anatomy. And I realize he's apologizing because that blood is coming out of me.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Clearly we have to stop. Because I've managed to get blood all over him, me, the floor and the wooden seat of the sauna. Fuck. My. Life.

So he suggests we jump back in the pool. A brief swim and a mortifying experience of washing my blood off the floor later and we're heading to my house. Which is a few doors down from his so it wasn't a difficult commute. Just uncomfortable considering the wet clothes, the cold air and the blood on my legs.

I can't say I've ever been quite so mortified in my life.

Before I leave he makes a joke about how clearly this means we shouldn't try again since the world has it against us. So there goes that potential sex buddy.

Which I'm okay with since, you know, he broke my vagina and all. But still. It's sort of depressing to know that you might only get one one-night-stand during the whole 2 month vacation home.

Well I haven't had to put an ice pack on this time but this was definitely more upsetting than Billy. Hey Billy was gay, married and had a tiny penis. I didn't really care about not seeing him again but Grant is my neighbor! Who I've managed to be naked with quite a few times. Oh my god. I wonder if he's as scarred by that image as I am. Because seriously... it was like a horror movie.

I'm dying of embarrassment. And now that I have shared that embarrassment with all of the interwebs I think I shall retire to my bed and bury my head far far far under a pillow and a pile of blankets.

Please feel free to send me any comforting words or perhaps a mortifying story of your own to ease my wounded soul.

xxKK

GIMPY McGIMPSTER

So I went out the other night.

Shocking news, I know. 

But I went out. 

Candi's baby sister was in town so we clearly had to get her wasted. So we went out. And we got wasted and we needed to sing out our little drunken hearts so we went downstairs to sing some karaoke. And while I was up there crooning out a mediocre version of "Use Somebody" some dumbass guy decided to mop the floor. 

Mop the floor so that when I triumphantly pranced off stage in my 6 inch heels I slipped and fell all the way down. 

Oh yes. All the way. As in I was flat on my back.

And I felt a little twinge of pain that progressively got worse but the 9 drinks I'd had helped me numb that pain. Cut to an hour later, two more drinks and a shot of jager and I was teetering my way out the door. Went to Duane Reade, got snacks and trashy magazines, went back outside and made out with a random Irish man (much better looking than Samwise) then walked Candi to 10th ave to get a cab. Then went home.

Cut to the next morning when I wake up and try to get out of bed to get some much needed water and Boom. Blinding pain. 

I find that I am completely unable to bear weight, or any slight amount of pressure, on my right foot without blinding pain. So I, being my crafty little self, manage to use the many piles of crap around my bed to get onto the floor on my knees and I half crawl, half drag myself out of the bedroom. 

Mugwugs in the living room watching TV and I lay on the floor (because it hurts so bad that I literally can't go any further) and start crying and telling him I think I broke my ankle. 

He doesn't even get off the couch.

He looks at me. Lying on the floor in agony and actually laughs. Because he thinks it's so funny. After what felt to be an hour of me lying there I finally realized there was no chance in hell that he was going to get up and help me so I asked him to at least roll me my office chair. Managed to pull myself up into it with a substantial amount of pain and roll myself closer to him. 

He shrugs off my pain and starts watching a marathon of Locked Up Abroad. 

Which isn't even that good of a show. 

And he lets me sit there for 6 hours in agony until Siobhan can get off work and come get me to take me to the hospital. And it's not like he was ignorant of the pain. I can handle a lot of pain.. I have a lot of practice with all the injuries I've had and my fairly chronic joint pain. But I was in pain. I was so in pain that I was willing to go to the doctors. Now I am not someone who likes doctors. In fact I hate them. I would rather stay in bed with a 105 degree temperature than go to a doctor. I'd rather wait three days before going to a hospital to get my fractured wrist looked at. I'd rather take an advil than go see someone about the everyday pain I have. I don't like doctors. I don't like hospitals. I don't like them. 

So when I say that I need to go to the hospital it means it's serious. It means it's bad. It means I feel so horrible that I will put aside my extreme hatred of all things doctorly to get whatever's wrong fixed. 

It means I think I've broken my ankle. 

So I tell him I need to go and I need someone to take me (hint hint) and he doesn't move. Doesn't offer to help. Says he'd put me in a cab and let me go alone. 

Dear MugWug, if I can't get into a cab alone how the hell am I supposed to get out of it and into an ER alone?? Are you really this much of an uncaring fucktard of a human being? 

So I sit there. For six hours. In pain. 

He left to get lunch and gave so much lip when I asked him to pick me up something. I shouldn't be surprised. The boy wouldn't help me and my potentially broken ankle off the floor, why wouldn't he facilitate more pain through starvation? Clearly this is not someone who gives a shit about me. 

So the very wonderful, incredible, awesome, super powered Siobhan got off of work at 4:30 and came over. She helped me out the door, down the stairs, into a cab, out of a cab, into a wheelchair, into the ER and, even though she was cutting into her very sparse free time between her jobs, she sat with me for an hour and a half while the doctors took my stats and felt my leg and she kept my mind on things other than how much my ankle hurt. And even though she had to leave before I got discharged she waited until she knew I was okay, I was going to get crutches and until the last possible second. 

So I got x-rayed and poked and prodded and the doctors asked me all sorts of wonderfully awkward questions and then I got the results. 

No break but a very serious sprain with some torn ligaments. I was told that it was good that I came in since putting any pressure on it for the next 7 days would be detrimental and would stop it from healing properly. So I have to stay off the leg for 7 days. Then gentle and gradual increments of weight can be applied. And they gave me crutches, but anyone who's had crutches will tell you... they are not fun. So when I'm at home I use my office chair to get around. It's got wheels and goes quite speedily along so it's easier. Plus I can carry things in my arms while I roll around.

Pretty much I'm a genius. 

I'm saving the crutches for when I leave the apartment... which I haven't done yet because the stairs are really tricky and my foot is still too swollen to fit into any of my shoes. (except for my bright blue wilderness slippers which Siobahn and NP and vehemently told me they'd disown me if they ever caught me wearing them in public.) 

So I've been home. For 51 hours. And I still had people over for Sunday Family Dinner yesterday (even though it had to be delivery pizza instead of home cooked goodness) which was nice but now it's just me. Me and hours and hours of Grey's Anatomy. 

Oh.. and the asshole who couldn't help me off the floor. 

So it's really fun times. 

Really. Really. Fun times. 

xxKK

TIME TO DISH ABOUT TRYSTS WITH BILLY - aka THE BOY WHO BROKE MY VAGINA

As goes the way of my life and the way of my forgetful, lazy brain I had something to tell you several weeks ago and then I totally forgot/ ceased to be a decent blogger.

I forgot to tell you about Billy the Bartender. 

Now please note that this happened a few weeks before Samwise Gamgee (who, by the way, after refusing to leave my bed, making me give him my number and ringing my doorbell unannounced and insistently like a gentle stalker, has not called me) 

So Billy works with my good friend NP. She doesn't get nearly enough coverage on this blog because frankly she is way more responsible and level headed than the rest of us. She still gets hers but she does it with way less drama. Anywho. Went to visit NP at work and spot this bartender. 

Lets get one thing straight: I love bartenders. 

You can take a decent looking guy and I'll let him by me a drink but stick him behind the bar and I will do all sorts of shameless things to get his attention. I have had my breasts pushed up to my clavicle, spilt drinks in opportune areas, left my number on a napkin... all shameless shameless devices. Because I love bartenders. (Case Study: Main Squeeze. Total douche but I was all about him for quite some time) 

I also love tattoos. 

And men who have muscles. 

And who are cute.

Bonus points if they make me laugh. 

Well Billy has tattoos.

Billy has muscles.

And Billy is cute. Short but cute. 

(and who am I to judge short... I'm barely 5'2" and I need a full sized ladder to hang curtains) 

So clearly I saw him and I set my mark. 

Now usually I try to restrain myself with my friends coworker (sometimes it doesnt work so great but I do try) But with Billy I just went for it. It was the 4th of July so I pushed my boobies up in their american flag tank top and I batted my sparkle covered eyelashes at him and I ooh-ed and ahh-ed over his tattoos. To make a long... looooong wooing story short I ended up getting in a cab with him. 

We live in the same direction so we were going to "split the cab" 

And I was disappointed but hey, I had a vibrator waiting at home. No biggie.

But then he starts kissing me and kissing me good. And his beard is scratchy but not in that annoying Samwise Gamgee sort of way but in a sexy tattooed bartender sort of way. 

So he stops and asks me if I'm going home. 

I take that in and tell him NO. I am not. I am going to his house. 

Take that world! Kitty still has a few lady balls left. Sometimes I feel like all the bits of me that were badass and fun and ballsy fell out of me somewhere between the first class I failed and graduation. But there I was telling this smoking guy that No I was not going home I was going home with him. 

So we get in his house, we fool around. Theres a lot of touching and he's very... attentive. But then I'm like okay... ready for the main event! And he's like

"No." 

so I'm like... 

"No?..." 

"Yeah... my dick doesn't get hard when I'm drunk." 

Just like that. So cavalier. No shame. Just... my dick doesn't get hard. Like it's a totally okay fact. Most men would meet that fact with embarrassment or a sense of failure but this kid just dives back into his other means of satisfaction. Which was nice for a while. 

But then his beard started to really scratch my... more sensitive areas... so I make the executive decision that I'm drunk and have had enough so I'm leaving. 

But no... he wants to cuddle in bed and talk about our lives and where we are and what we want to do and his cats (did I mention the cats? They live under his bed and they smell like poo.) Honestly what is up with these men lately? I'm not prepared for men who have long conversations in bed and want to cuddle and sleep over. 

In the talks he very casually slips in that he's green card married, he wants to move to Aruba with his cats and he sometimes has sex with men. 

Now I'm not judging any of that information but it's a little heavy for a one night stand... And it's a little heavy for naked cuddling chit chat. And it's a little more information then I really wanted to know since... you know... it's.. well... awkward. 

Anyways, he did not feel the same way. He thought it was great that we were sharing our deep dark secrets and it gave him a second wind. 

A second very forceful wind. 

He was still unable to.. you know... but he went at it with other means and I was like okay.. but I'm sort of tired. But he still keeps going and then it gets like... a lot rougher. And I don't know if he's also partially deaf or if he thought my "OW"s were "Ohhhhh"s but I ended up having to fake a very loud orgasm (Sorry Billy's Roommates) to get him to stop. Then, pleased with himself, he asked me to sleep over. 

Okay... 

Or at least it was okay until I woke up the next morning: he seemed to have very little recollection of who I was and was covered in my glitter, I seemed to need to throw up and it was about 10 mins post wake up that I was redressed and excusing myself so I could throw up with grace and dignity in my own apartment. 

Get home, Vom, so much advil and more vomming. But then I realize that while the advil has made my hangover headache go away it has done nothing for the throbbing coming from my lady parts. Then I make the mistake of trying to pee.

So much pain. I didn't know that someone could manually break a vagina until Billy broke my vagina. I literally laid on my couch with an icepack strapped to my crotch for 2 days. I could barely walk and it was very uncomfortable. But hey... in hindsight it was funny. When I picture myself, begging MugWug to go buy me Jamba Juice with an icepack strapped to my vj with ace bandages I have to laugh. It was a pathetic and ridiculous sight. And it was a pathetic and ridiculous night. 

So thank you Billy, for giving me a great story and trying your very best to make me happy but I think what would make me happier is to find a tattooed bartender who wasn't green card married, wasn't moving away in a month, preferably didn't occasionally have sex with men (because I don't like the competition, not because I have an issue with bisexuality.. or any sexuality) and who wanted to wake up to me every morning.. not just the hungover ones. Who wanted to go on dates and get to know me and won't break my vagina. 

And who doesn't have cats. 

One Kat is all a relationship can handle. 

xxKK