B (4:43)
Okay, okay, okay. You haven't even heard the story yet. Jesus. May I preface this for a second? It's absolutely an honor to be up here knowing that I have more active Facebook friends than you do. That's all of us. Thank you very much. I'm not entirely sure how many times I've been afraid for my life. There was a time I crashed my motorcycle on Highway 24 going 95 miles an hour. There was that time I tried salvia. For those of you who don't know that's a hallucinogenic herb that you smoke, I do not advise it. And there was a time I was on a first date with a woman I had met on OkCupid. It's late 2011. You could call it the pinnacle of my online dating experience. Not too long before I decided I'd just do much better meeting people in person. It seems that when you're the type of guy who writes things on your profile like, my mommy thinks I'm cute and my sister says I'm a good kisser. Yeah, People aren't entirely sure how to take You. Nonetheless, if I get a message from someone with a screen name along the lines of whiskey dick need not apply, oh, let's just say I'm a curious little kitten. So I open up the message and I'm pleased to find out that it's well written and she'd read my profile. So I jump on over to hers and I find this woman with medium length, dirty blond hair, light eyes, a fit, athletic build. She looks a little bit like the love child of Mira Sorvino and Ross from Friends. She rides motorcycles and I'm interested, so I shoot her a message. I found out her name is Jessica and we don't waste too much time bantering back and forth. Before we set a date, we decided to meet up at the Hart and Dagger Saloon in Oakland. Oakland, people, thank you. It's right by Lake Merritt. It's got a real big back patio, which is a great place to bask in the sunshine and breathe in the fresh, crisp secondhand smoke. So there we are, sitting on the patio in the clouds, you might say, and we're enjoying ourselves. We've got a lot in common. We've got the motorcycle thing. We're both parents. She's intelligent, she's witty, she's kind of quirky, she's kind of sarcastic. And I like her. She seems to like me back. And after a couple hours she invites me back to her place. And I try not to seem too eager as I oblige. And we are off. As we're entering into her large two story condo, I'm thinking, wow, she must do pretty well for herself. I ask her what she does for a living as she's opening up a fresh bottle of Johnnie Walker. She tells me she's a therapist and I go, oh, that's interesting. And by oh, that's interesting, I mean fuck me. Turns out Jessica is the third therapist in a row that I've gone out with. Apparently, I have a type. We jump on over to the couch and we're connecting. And soon enough, I'm not lying on the couch, people, yet. Soon enough we're caressing each other and then we're making out. And then all of a sudden we've groped each other down to our underwear. She's wearing this sexy little red thong, which leaves very little of the imagination. And I gotta say, I appreciate that. She invites us to move the party upstairs and we banter on up as I take in every inch of that firm runner's ass. On the way up, she lowers herself down on the bed and pulls Me down on top of her, and we make out a little bit longer. And I decide now is the time. I'm gonna bust out the secret weapon. Yeah, I'm gonna let you in on it. I know how to locate a clitoris, thank you very much. Thank you very much. I hear this can be a problem. I assume that's nobody in this room, but just in case, for the love of God, do some research when you get home tonight. So I pull her panties down and I kiss my way up her legs. And now I'm at her inner thigh, looking at this beautiful shaven pussy. Now, if you are sharing your pussy with me, I would much, much rather offer gratitude than any sort of preference. But honestly, I really enjoy seeing what I'm about to eat. So I'm happy as a clam as I go in. And I go in nice and gentle, starting with just a feather touch of my lips on hers. And then I start circling her clit with my tongue. And her body starts to let me know that we are in the right spot. She starts moving around. Her breathing is getting heavier and she is moaning. And a little while into it, her thighs close down over my ears and I can no longer hear. We go on like this for a bit, and soon enough, it starts to change. It sounds like she's saying something. She's kind of whispering. I can't tell if she's trying to tell me something or not. So I wiggle my head free just in time to hear her whisper, I love you. Oh, God. Okay. Okay. It's an intimate moment. Sometimes things just come out. She probably doesn't mean it. I'll just let it roll off my back and I keep going. Her whispering intensifies and it gets less and less intelligible. And it climaxes when I hear her say, I'm sorry, Adam. Okay, look, I'm really bad with names. I am certainly not going to judge somebody or shame somebody for also being bad with names. But I'm not entirely sure what she's apologizing for, so I figured this is probably a good time to check in. I. I'm sorry. What? Nothing. Hey, Jessica. No response. Jess, is everything okay? Yes, keep going. But this time there's a gravel in her voice I hadn't heard before, so I just dive back in. She keeps on whispering. She's saying things that I can't really understand. Most of it is quite unintelligible. She does say I love you a couple more times. That's awkward. And as it. As her speaking goes on and on, it starts to sound kind of familiar. And this is something I've seen before, but certainly not from the bedroom. So backing way up, way up. I was raised in the Pentecostal Church. Some of you know, for those of you who don't know them, are the creepy Christians. On the extreme end of the scale, they handle snakes to prove their faith. On the less extreme end of the scale, they believe in things like speaking in tongues, which are supposed to be a secret language between you and God that the devil can't understand. And I remember watching videos about backmasking, which is where you play a record backwards, listening for secret messages from the devil. And I remember being at a youth conference, watching this girl apparently getting a devil cast out of her, flopping around on the ground as she's foaming at the mouth and screaming, excuse me, expletives in a voice that sounds more like a monster than a 16 year old girl. And I'm just a little afraid because at this point in my life, I'm only about a year out of that lifestyle completely. It's pretty fresh in my mind. And as I'm sitting there having my flashback, I'm snapped out of it by her grabbing by the hips and pulling me toward her and saying, fuck me. Well, I happened to have an erection at the time, so I slip on a condom and I slide in nice and easy because she's ready to go. And as soon as I get in there, everything hits 100. It just goes right through the roof. And now she is writhing around and she's contorting her body in weird ways that seem quite uncomfortable. And her eyes are rolling in the back of her head and her head is thrashing around and she's biting her pillow. And after a little while, I start to get nervous again. And I'm sitting there slowing down, watching her, waiting for her head to start spinning around like it did in the Exorcist. And she reaches up and she digs her nails into my back and leaves eight lines of blood all the way down to my hips. And I'm not gonna lie, it was a little. And I realized something in that moment. Maybe this is kind of like an acid trip. Once that train leaves the station, it's not stopping. You can be upset, you can want to get off, but you're on the ride and the best thing for you to do is strap in and hold on and try to enjoy it. So I decided to let my own inner demons out a little bit. And at that very same moment, she yells out, fuck me. Harder. I reach down and I grab her and I pick her up and I flip her over and I throw her head down into that pillow. And I get in there from behind and we start having danger sex. You know what I'm talking about, right? That one where you know that the tiniest little move, false move, will lead to some very painful accidental anal or a bruised taint, or, God forbid, a broken dick. But I don't give a fuck. I am grabbing fistfuls of flesh as I'm pulling her down on my clock as hard as I possibly can. And now I'm making up my own words to the soundtrack and I'm growling and I'm foaming at the mouth and my. My eyes are rolling in the back of my head. And I hold on as long as I possibly can until we both come to our own screaming orgasm. Fuck, yes. And I fall down on the bed next to her in this steaming, sweaty pile of scared. And we're silent for a very long time. And after a little while, our words seem to come back to us. And after a little while, that Jessica that I met at the bar earlier seems to reappear. And when I feel it's safe, I mumble some bullshit about I got something to do tomorrow, I don't know, I just got to get the out of here. And I bolt. And I drive home like a zombie, stiff as a board and eyes without blinking. And I get home and I lock my door, and I lock it again. And when I fall asleep, finally, I sleep like the dead dead. I get up the next morning in a haze. And a little later on, she calls me. We exchanged some very awkward pleasantries. And she goes, so, about last night. And I go, yeah? She goes, I know it got a little weird, and I'm sorry about that. I go, okay. She goes, well, you see, I'm on this new seizure medication, and I just realized I'm not supposed to have alcohol with it. Oh, thank God. Okay, so we debrief a little longer, and she assures me that, yes, everything was consensual, she knew what she wanted in the bar, and yes, she loves some rough sex. And we get off the phone knowing that we're probably never going to talk again. Because there are those traumatic moments that bring you closer together, and then there are the other ones. But I learned something that day. There's a freedom in letting go. And to this day, I sure do love letting the demons out.
