Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Girls who like to get fake raped

I have a friend who has a rape buddy. She texts him with a few hours notice, and at some point that night he comes over, fakes breaking into her house, and fake rapes her. Knowing her she probably screams her fool head off and is completely committed to yelling "no" and "stop" and fighting back, etc., and basically-- like, I bet she did not arrange with him to back off when she says "banana." Once she hits send, the rape train is coming to town.

Obviously, this is weird, but this is the kind of girl who had a real rough life and you sort of expect these things. Similarly my college ex girlfriend lost her virginity by being gang raped at fifteen and she used to beg me to fake rape her. I couldn't do it without cracking up. It seemed to me like the dude who studies karate and when you're drunk he says "punch me." Like, no, it doesn't work that way. How about some time in the next few weeks I'm going to come up behind you and punch you when you least expect it. Some time in the next month a van will pull up and a masked man will throw you in back and he will not stop when you say "banana." And it might not even be me. I might farm this one out. You think it's going to be me, but in fact it's my roommate McClure and I'm getting him back for that case of Yuengling he bought.

Anyway, this came up again last night because I went on a first date with a girl who likes to get fake raped. Needs to get fake raped. It came up early, as these things often don't-- I forget what we were even talking about beforehand but she came out with how she had to dump a guy because he was too much of a pussy to choke her. She was saying that it's a symptom of the decline of manliness basically-- men are too pussified to hold a girl down and smack her around, and that's what women really want. Her, anyway. To get choked once in a while and held down and fucked even if they say no. It felt like a let's-get-this-out-of-the-way-early thing. And it kind of felt like a don't-stop-fucking-me-when-I-say-no later kind of thing.

I ended up taking her home pretty quick because my ex girlfriend, who also likes to get fake raped, showed up to the bar. And unsurprisingly it got physical, and we got naked, and I got on top of her after eating her out to sneak the tip in unprotected, as is my wont. And she started saying "no" and "stop." And-- like, she hadn't explicitly said to me "I need you in particular to rape me later." She hadn't said "if I say no at your house 45 minutes from now don't stop because I liked getting raped." She said I like it, in general, when guys get rough with me, when they hold my wrists down and fuck me when I say no. And you know-- at some point her "no's" and "stop's" started feeling like an actual objection. Before my dick really went in. It felt like, no, she wasn't just being theatrical, she really didn't want to fuck. So I stopped.

But then-- is that realism part of it? Like, she sees that I'm going along with what she wants and feels freer to get into the act and really start seeming like she doesn't want to be fucked, when she wants to be fucked? What the fuck am I supposed to do? At that point I didn't even care about getting laid. It was more like, god damn, am I letting this poor chick down? You finally find a reasonably attractive guy who will fake rape you after a first date off the internet, and the dude turns out to be too much of a boneheaded pussy to fuck you when you say no, when in fact that is exactly what you told him you're into.

I don't know. We hadn't talked about it that much. It had been kind of an aside amidst other, more normal discussion about her family, work and studies. Like, yeah, I'm taking these three really cool classes this semester and also I might like it if you dig your elbow into my throat and put your weight on it so I can't grab your hand that's holding my hips down while you jam your dick in me, because I'm going to be squirming a lot, and also my dad just got a boat and maybe if this works out we can go fishing sometime. So either thing could have been true. She could be a total freak who habitually gets fake raped at the end of every first date, or she could be a normal chick who really does not give it up on the first date but happens to occasionally be into something weird with someone she trusts, e.g. not me. And in the latter case I came really close to actually raping her.

Like, if I had really raped her-- forgive me, but is there a chance she might have been a good sport about it? Given that it was a pretty predictable misunderstanding, like-- would she maybe not have been that pissed off?

I think it's more likely that it's the former. That I denied myself and her a hot sexual experience because of my lawyerlike, nebbishy thinking. I mean, for someone who had been held down squirming while crying "no" to a dude sneaking the first inch in, she seemed pretty normal over coffee in the morning.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Diary 1/1/11: I Am a Massive Fucking Chickenshit

I should have kissed Anne at midnight. What threw me was her talking about needing to find a guy to make out with. This means: not you. But still. I could have done it. I ended up sleeping at her place. I don’t remember going to bed, but I woke up next to her, surprised. And I thought she might think I was her ex-boyfriend, and wake up and realize it was me, and be shocked and appalled. But no.

She was an excellent sleeping partner. She was wearing tights and would like, wrap her top leg around mine as we were spooning. And put my hand in a comfortable place near her boobs. I keep thinking- maybe I should have fucked her, but how? I would have been too drunk to get a boner at night and in the morning my mouth tasted like rotten tequila. Cut yourself some slack, dude. You don’t have to fuck everybody.

Diary 12/31/10: Never Tell Me the Odds

Fuck- anyway. Going to Anne’s. I will not be fucking Anne. Right? Or I mean, what if I will be fucking Anne? That would be awesome. But I will not be fucking Anne.

I mean, she just broke up with a dude—what does this mean? Why do I care? She is not going to be my girlfriend. I don’t want her to be my girlfriend. But I would like to see her naked.

I’m excited just to spend time around other human beings. Especially chicks, who—like, a lot of my friends are hot chicks. But there is literally no chance of me fucking them. An earthquake could happen, and they could be splayed out naked, and I could also be naked with a boner and a beam from some building could fall on top of us at a serendipitous angle and force my dick into them, but still somehow I would not be fucking them. Whereas, Anne, and that friend of hers, there is merely a 99.99999 % chance that I will not be fucking them. Somehow this is exciting to me. Like, if pussy were money, I would be the guy who spends the last dollar from his welfare check on scratch tickets.

Yeah, she is never going to fuck me. But mayyyyybbbbeee… maybe if she gets really drunk, which she is wont to do, and if in the several venues we are planning to go to there is not another, better-looking and less self-loathing guy who comes up to her, and talks to her, you know, she is easy to talk to, easy to hit on, maybe if none of the hundreds of drunk, horny guys who will be out tonight spot the extremely pretty but also approachable-looking chick and hit on her good-lookingly and confidently and walk her back to her house, maybe if I manage to play it exactly right, not fuck up, not get too drunk, not get not drunk enough, spend the entire night perfectly “on” without even a nanosecond of sadness or self-doubt, which has never once happened in the three and a half decades of my existence, maybe she will fuck me. If she doesn’t get too drunk, or not drunk enough. If I don’t encourage her too much to drink and she ends up being sloppy and passing out. If none of the other hundreds of dudes encourage, or rather if all of the hundreds of dudes, cumulatively, do not encourage her to drink too much so that she gets sloppy and passes out, maybe she will fuck me. Or maybe her friend will show up and fuck me if all of the above conditions are true for her. So I actually only have a 99.99998 % chance of not getting laid.


A lot of times lately I'll be, like, I'll have a hot chick naked in my bed and I'll be too coked out or drunk to get a boner. It reminds me of that Jack London story where the guy is freezing to death in the Canadian wilderness, and he gets together all the requisite twigs, etc., to build the fire that would save his life. He painstakingly gathers all this wood, taking care that it isn't too wet or green, and arranges it into a neat pyramid, all while slowly freezing to death in a blizzard, and is justifiably proud of this accomplishment, but then when he takes out the matches to set this life-saving pyramid on fire his fingers are too numb to operate them. That's what not being able to get a boner is like.