Monday, February 21, 2011

Buck, the One Night Stand, and Almost Dying (Not in a Sexy Way)

After my high school girlfriend and I split, I went a few years without dating or anything of that nature. Sure, I knew several chicks that I was interested in, but I've always a problem with motivation, so I would just admire them from afar, and it would end at that. However, after a few years, I got all mopey and lonely and other manly emotions. "How did you cure your loneliness?" you ask? Well, by going to the illustrious Yahoo Chat rooms, of course!

Largely uneventful were my ventures in the chat rooms. I met one lady, though. She told me her name was Nicole. Cool. She sent me a picture of herself. She was a little big. Not fatty-fat-fat, but certainly not skinny. Cool. She was also black. Since I'm not a southern plantation owner, I'm cool with that. We chat for a few weeks, and everything is good.

I come home from a bullshit-filled night of work one night, quite tired. That statement is important. My friends are hanging out in my room, watching TV. I jump on the ol' computer, and eventually Nicole and I start chatting. She mentions that her college roommate is out of town. She then says that if I'm not doing anything, I should give her a visit. When I'm tired, I'm horrible at making good decisions. Anyway, I realize that I, in fact, don't have any plans for the night, so of course I take her up on her offer. She only lived about an hour and half away, and I had enough gas to make the trip. I tell her I'm on my way, and she tells me to meet her at the McDonalds. My friends ask where I'm going, and I just smile and say I'll be back tomorrow. If they weren't so busy laughing, I'm sure we would've been high-fiving.

I arrive at the McDonalds, give her a call, and after a few minutes she arrives. As soon as she stepped out of her car, a few things occurred to me:

  1. I know why she wanted to meet at McDonalds. This chick was LARGE. And also very short. If I had to guess, I'd say she was around 5'1 and roughly 250 pounds. Realizing that I was only about 130 pounds at the time, and understanding why I was there to visit her, I couldn't figure out any math equation where the inevitable wouldn't be painful for me.
  2. In relation to number one, I also realized that the picture she sent me was not even remotely her. Face was different, weight, everything. She had rolled me. But, remember, I'm tired, so I don't really care.
  3. She has a very interesting sense of fashion. She stepped out wearing an all pink sweat-suit outfit, and on the back on her pants it said something like "Sexy" or "Princess" or something. It could have had an entire paragraph and still fit while still being easy to read from a distance.
I follow her back to her dorm, where I had to sign a visitor form. The chick that was in charge of the paper process handed me the sheet, looked at Nicole, looked back at me, and gave me the "You poor bastard" smile/head shake. I'm not good at picking up not-so-subtle hints at this point. The girl with the paper says "Have a good night, Shaniqua."

At this point, I may have to remind anyone reading this that I swear to God I'm not racist. So when I heard this, I immediately thought, "There is no way that is your name. You're a -Nay-Nay away from being a cast member on "Martin." There is no way I can call her that with a straight face."

We get back to her room. I assume it's a standard-sized dorm room. A bed on either side of the room, TV on another side, with a computer desk across from the TV. What I thought was weird was the height of the beds. They seriously came up to roughly my mid-chest. This immediately became hilarious as I watched Shaniqua climb onto a chair, and literally roll onto the bed. I should also say that when I'm tired, everything is hilarious. So when I saw her heft herself onto the bed, I had to muster every single ounce of self-control in my body to not erupt in a volcano of laughter. I manage to survive my laugh-attack, and I jump up on the bed. She's impressed that I didn't have to use the chair. I smile.

She turns on the TV, and flips through the channels. She flips past "Married...with Children." I get excited, and tell her to turn it back. Since she is actually a very nice person, she does so without a word of objection. I become entranced in watching it, since I hadn't watched TV in a while, and "Married..." is one of my favorite shows of all time. So, at this point I'm completely ignoring her in favor of watching Al and Peg Bundy. Shaniqua starts getting impatient. She tells me about how she got a scar on her thigh, and pulls down her pants a little to show me. "That's cool" I say, and go back to watching TV. She then tells me that her underwear match her pants, and pulls her pants down a little to show me. "That's cool" I say, and go back to watching TV. This was the last self-aware thought I had, because a few seconds after I said that, a shadow engulfed my entire being. She was tired of my bullshit, and decided to take matters into her own hands.

This chick literally pounced on me. Much of what happened afterwards is a blur, so I'll just tell you what I remember:
  1. While trying to "find her spot" I had no idea if I had actually entered, or if I was just humping two fat rolls. I'm not joking. I assumed the best.
  2. I still had my watch on, which had a Velcro band. At one point, my watch got got stuck to her hair. "You pullin' my weave, quit!" She had a god-damned weave. I did laugh a little when she said that.
  3. She thought it would be a good idea to move down to her chair/step stool. That poor chair. I actually heard it cry a few times. It never did anything to deserve that treatment.
  4. While taking a brief intermission, we were laying there. She was talking, but I was trying to force my body to heal the damage she had caused, so I wasn't really listening. However, when she said "I would make a good mother" all of my senses focused together to enhance my hearing. I almost had a heart attack. I basically said "In no way am I interested in having a child currently." She laughed, and claimed that she would be a good LOVER. Bullshit, I know what I heard. 
  5. Towards the end of my torture session, we were laying there again, with her at the edge closest to the majority of the room, and me behind her, facing the wall, trying to die. Suddenly her door opens. Her roommate is back. Shaniqua tosses blankets over us, but the smell of shameful sex was almost visible, so her roommate would have to be a medical vegetable to not know what was going on. They start talking, and I try to fall asleep so I could die painlessly. I hear my name, and pop my head up. Try to visualize this: A large girl laying on her side, and my head popping up out of nowhere. I was so well hidden behind girth that her roommate had no clue I was there.
  6. After the roommate left, I was asked if I thought the roommate was attractive. Since I am far beyond the realm of tired, in pain, and dehydrated, I opt for the honest answer. I tell her yes, her roommate is hot. She gets a little pissed, and faces away from me. I smile, and can finally die happy.
I was there for about nine hours, eight of those hours filled with "passion." Around 11am, I tell her I have to leave because I have to work at two (Lies. I didn't work until four). I get up and get dressed. She asked me if I needed gas money. It's ok, she said, because her family is rich and she has all kinds of money. I politely decline. Later I realize that I could have taken the money, thus meaning I would have gotten paid for sex. If only I were more alert at the time.

As I drive home, I become increasingly aware of exactly how tired I am. Having not slept very well before the prior days work, working about nine hours, then being punished for roughly nine hours, only managing to catch about 20 minutes of rest total, my body had decided that sleep was of the utmost importance. It didn't give a good god damn about the fact that I was driving down the highway. Naturally, I fall asleep behind the wheel, with the only thing preventing me from going into the ditch on the opposite side of the road being the rumble strip waking me up. I fell asleep a few times, each time waking up on the oncoming-traffic side of the road. Either God loves me, and didn't send vehicles sailing into me, or I was just very lucky and didn't encounter any other vehicles. I pull off to the side of the road, and take a nap for about an hour. I eventually get home, and my friends are in my room, waiting for me. Apparently I looked like I had gotten my ass kicked. Close enough. After I tell them, they laugh for about an hour, which pissed me off because I was trying to sleep. I kick them the hell out of my room, and get a couple of hours of sleep.

If anyone ever tells you that having sex for eight hours is awesome, you slap them in their lying mouth. So many parts of my body were dead. I have no idea how I functioned at work. It's been about six years since that night, and I haven't heard anything from her. In the back of my head there is always a sneaking suspicion that there might be a little Buck Nasty out there, just waiting for mommy to slam daddy with child support. So, in conclusion, stay the hell away from Yahoo chat rooms.


  1. 8 hours? I remember a time of "Oh shit! We better hurry!" and you finished before I could finish my damn sentence.

  2. Yes, and you are still very welcome for that.