I'm not big on "fuck buddies." I've tried them but often grew sick of them after the second or third time. They just don't do it for me. It's like watching the same movie over and over again. At least when I masturbate I can choose my own adventure. Sex is only fun if it's with someone brand new or someone whom I "love." I've never really felt this "love" thing but have hallucinated myself into believing it. Maybe I'm just a nympho. Maybe I'm just thinking about it too much. Or maybe I'm just being a pussy. But one thing is true: intoxication almost always overrides our picky tendencies and conservative dispositions.

I met Lanie when I was twenty-three and she was eighteen. We ended up in her dorm the first night, but she didn't have sex with me; she was a virgin. She also wasn't hot; she wasn't even cute. In fact, she wasn't even OK. She was somewhere between "eh" and "ugh." The only thing she had going for her was good skin and a firm body. It was enough. Barely.

For some reason, I actually kept her number in my phone after that first night. She would come over on every request, no matter the time or situation. I only called after two a.m., after a minimum of nine beers, and after I had already gone 0 for 25. Being the 26^th, she was literally, "Plan Z." It didn't make sense to me. Not only did she wake up, get ready, and come over, but when she arrived, she refused to have sex or even give me a blowjob. I just smacked her around--violent spankings--as she requested, and then jerked off on her face. We both were idiots; me for calling her; her for coming over solely for bruises and a facial. I stopped calling her.

More than two years went by without any contact with her. Then one night, I ran into her at a bar while I was still sober. We made eye contact, and she chased me around. I acted like I was trying to find someone and bolted for the bathroom. She waited for me to come out. I put on a fake smile and stopped for the inevitable confrontation. "Hey, I just wanted to tell you that I want to fuck," she declared.

"Cool," I said, acting like I was in a hurry. Wanting nothing to do with her, I took off.

She persisted, calling me every so often after midnight, just hoping I'd be drunk and horny. I never answered. There was NO WAY I could be turned on by her if I was sober. But one night she caught me. She came over, we fucked, and I rewarded her with her first butt fuck. She stayed the night, but I told her I had to wake up early and made her leave at eight in the morning.

A few months after, I drunk dialed her. She came over. We butt fucked, and I rewarded her by letting her give me a rimjob. I told her my parents were coming over in the morning and she had to be out of my house by 8:30 a.m. She acted accordingly.

I received a drunk dial from her in the middle of a jerk session some time later. I ignored her call and finished. Ending a jerk session mid-jerk is extremely hard to do, especially for someone as haggard as Lanie. It would be like passing up McDonald’s just to eat at Wendy’s an hour later.  

Plastered out of my mind a few weeks later, I drunk dialed her, and she came over. She got all made up trying to look good with blonde streaks with a hint of purple in her hair. Blue eye shadow covered her eyelids, and she wore lingerie beneath her plaid skirt. I couldn’t believe she was doing all this work just for me. Did she really take pleasure in these one-sided sessions I gave her?

As soon as she arrived, I was already sick of her. How I was able to get a hard-on all theoe times still baffles me. As we started to fuck, I just couldn't get off on it. Sure I was shitfaced, but this chick did nothing for me anymore. I fucked her in the ass. I got bored with it after a minute. She sucked my cock. Eh. She gave me a rimjob. Tedious. I was over everything sexual about her. I had to try something new. Just as I was realizing that jerking off to a Swimsuit magazine would be a better option than Lanie, I had to take a piss. I told her to follow me into the bathroom.

"Can I pee on you?" I asked. The face she gave me reminded me of a face one of my female students gave me every time I tried to explain geometric proofs. Then her face got serious and she asked, "Are you talking about a golden shower?" I held back a laugh and said, "Yeah, I've never done that before." She reluctantly gave me the okay, hopped in the tub, and got on her knees. I had seen it in some European pornos where guys would piss on hot chicks. It didn't turn me on, but it was enlightening to see that girls can be that filthy. Maybe I'd be cool if I did it too. Or maybe I felt a need to say, "I've done that." Was I about to make a big mistake? Or maybe there was something seriously psychologically wrong with me for actually asking a chick if I could piss on her.

I peed on her. What can I say? I am a descendent of a caveman. I didn't make her open her mouth or her eyes. She just cringed and took it like a foreign pornstar. I felt guilty the whole time. However, despite my guilt, it literally took everything inside me to hold back a laugh. I was urinating on something other than a stall, toilet, or bush. If urine had feelings, I had just ended its eternal wait at finding companionship. I couldn't help but find humor in it. But there is a difference between humor and joy. Although some Europeans might find this cool or even provocative, my medieval act was not enjoyable to either of us. It was outright disgusting. We both were idiots, again. I finished my futile attempt at excitement, and we quickly turned the shower on and washed off. My dick remained limp the rest of the night. Out of pure pity and guilt, I let her spend the night again--and sleep in this time. We never talked about it. 

The day after pissing on Lanie, I felt ashamed of myself. I vowed to NEVER do that again to anyone. It just felt wrong, both sexually and spiritually. The only reason I didn't feel like some sort of criminal was because she gave me her consent. I tried to dwell on that as much as I could to make myself feel better. Pissing on Lanie didn't make me feel tough. It didn't make me feel like a sex god. It didn't make me feel experienced. It didn't make me proud. It didn't even make me feel European. I just knew that I could pee on someone.

I hope my students never read this.