You are about to read the most memorable and horrific sexual experience of my life. Enjoy. I had been talking to a guy “John” on and off for about a month before we decided to meet up. Originally it started as a chit-chat conversation on Tinder, but it turned into more of a long-term curiosity because, for whatever reason, we never could sync our schedules to meet up. Either he was in class (senior year of college) or I was at work. We finally figured out a time for us to hang out after about a month. He thought I should come over for a lazy Sunday movie at his house. “The roommates would be gone,” he said. AKA come over so we can hook up. Sometimes you just are in the mood, and he was hot. I was into it. Whatever. I should have realized something was amiss when I pulled up to a very nice tudor house in a very nice neighborhood. Maybe he was just loaded? Maybe his roommates were? I was pretty excited about finally hanging out, so maybe I was in denial. I don’t know. But what I do know, is that hanging in the foyer, right when I walked in the front door, was a huge family portrait with John’s face right in the center. “Is this your parent’s house?” I whispered loudly before he could even say anything. “Uhh, yeah. I just moved out of my apartment, and I am crashing here for a while until I find a new place. Don’t worry, my parents are at the beach for the week.” After feeling very awkward for a bit, I realized we were in fact, alone, and started to relax. After watching about 20 minutes of some horny teen comedy he suggested we move up to his room. In my head I was thinking, “This guy is really friggin hot. Whatever, I don’t have anything to lose.” By the time I had crossed the threshold of his room he was ass-naked with a hard-on on his bed. Needless to say, there was very little foreplay, and we got right to it. He was already making a lot of noise, and by the time I touched his dick for the first time he moaned and I knew it was coming. I tried really quickly to stop, but it was too late. Fountains. Literally fountains everywhere. It was so much I just didn’t know what to do. It was on my shirt, on the sheets, on him, but mostly, all over me. I just looked at him not knowing what to do, and he started to apologize when down the hall I heard a computerized alarm voice say, “Fault. Garage Door.” A moment of panic ensued, and I just watched his eyes get really big. Someone had just come in the house, and a few moments later I heard the shrill, loud, horrifying voice of John’s mom calling up the stairway. “John, what are you doing in your room? You’re supposed to be writing your paper!” she yelled as she stormed up the stairs. Apparently, his mom was in the know of his work and was not going to tolerate him dicking around when he should have been writing (pun intended). Wasting no time, he shoved me off the bed and told me to get in the closet while he threw sweatpants and a t-shirt on over his cum-covered body. I ran to the closet while grabbing my clothes and quickly closed the door moments before the mother walked into his room. “What were you doing up here? I thought I heard a commotion.” “I was trying to find my laptop charger, and I dropped some stuff on the floor.” “Get back down to the office. You’re not doing anything else until the paper is done.” (His mom seemed like a major bitch, if you ask me.) “Okay. Okay, calm down. I’m going.” And just like that, John, left me standing, covered in jizz, in his closet as he went back down stairs. The sheer amount of confusion, shock, terror, and anger didn’t subside for a good ten minutes–about the same time that I realized he wasn’t going to come back up for me while his mom was still there. Peeking out of the closet, I saw his phone was on the nightstand, so I had little recourse but to wait until something happened so I could escape. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, I heard John start to nag his mom for Chic-fil-a. After a good five minutes, she conceded and started to walk around the house, presumably to gather her things. At the same time, I was creeping out of the closet and putting my clothes back on, hoping that she wasn’t going to come into his room for something. By the time I had used a very nice towel to wipe up and finished putting my clothes back on, I heard the alarm speak her famous words again. The garage door opened, the car started, and I watched the scary-bitch-mom drive away. By the time she had pulled out of the drive way, I was halfway down the stairs. John was laughing as he approached the stairs, but I had little patience. I said a solid, “fuck you,” and shoved him out of my way and made for the front door. I was out of the house before he even could respond. I was so mad; how could someone lie to another like that? Obviously his parents weren’t at the beach. I was livid and wanted revenge. I had been humiliated. Luckily, I only had to wait about three more steps to get back at him. About the time I got to the end
of the front walk, his mom had apparently turned around to come back. I just stopped a few feet from the curb, watching her. She started to turn into the driveway and stopped, returning a glare. I stood there just long enough for her to realize that I had come out of her house, then walked briskly to my car, and drove away without ever looking back. I drove back to my house knowing what I had done, and I felt so satisfied. To date, I never got an apology, or any explanation other than a text message that read, “she remembered Chic-fil-a’s are closed on Sundays.” No shit, John. No shit.