How Not to Hook Up with Me

You know those moments when you’re sitting at the bar with some guy, and, despite your best efforts, it appears that he is 8-12 drinks ahead of you this evening, so while you’re struggling to douse your blood stream with as much tequila as it can take at this precise moment, he is, unfortunately, already at the “I want to drag you into the bathroom and waterboard you while I fuck you in the ass” level. And in a very vocal way. 

That happened to me the other night, and while I was trying to get that first (yes, first!) drink down my throat, and sitting there shooing his hands away from the underside of my skirt like flies, except instead of flies they were just miniature penises flying around. I get it. Being outgoing and obviously sexual and interested in certain outre sexual behaviors might make some people think that they can stumble up to me at the bar and try to stick a finger in my pussy, and that it’ll all be cool, but, really , is it? Especially, unfortunately, because I was in mixed company at a very busy bar and trying not to say something to caustic because definitely I just said “no” about 13,000 times. Which is tiring. 

Sure, I’ve definitely been on the other side of that equation, slobbering on some dude while trying to grab his dick in some dimly lit bar, but I never denied the fact that I’m a trashy, classless person, and, also, we all know that, as a woman, I can totally get away with that kind of behavior. Dudes? Not so much. It just felt like…damn, dude, can’t you wait for it to be perhaps after midnight first? Carefully planned timing would have greatly increased the chances of me saying, “Fuck it, let’s do it,” but it also would have greatly increased the chances of me having an epileptic feminism attack and trying to stab him and screaming really offensive things in the middle of the bar, soooo….

Some people just have doo doo game when they’re drunk.