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    • CommentAuthorErisah
    • CommentTimeMay 3rd 2011
     (9780.41)
    Probably cheaper to fly at that distance.
  1.  (9780.42)
    When Dominatrix girl dumped me

    I’d had a crush on her through high school, one of my best friends dated her for a long time, and I move to Texas with her best friend, and had a kid. When I came to Chicago after me and my ex had split, and she was actually interested in me; it blew my fucking mind. She is still one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever known. She’s funny, brilliant, an extremely talented artist. She was with me when I met Neil Gaiman, she’s the one who first handed me an issue of Transmet, and restarted my love for comics and the graphic novel. We dated for like six months. Some of the best (and craziest) sex I’ve ever had. Plus, I was on the rebound from a four-year relationship. So yeah, I fell for her hard (just to clarity, we're still really good friends to this day).

    She let me crash on her couch when I had first moved to Chicago. I met a future roommate, E. the cute little lesbian, and K. the self-proclaimed Arrogant Gay Black Man. I lived there rent-free, and when I got a job, I pitched in for groceries while I saved up for an apartment. Six months later, I found a great apartment a block away (feel the need to cut the umbilical cord, anyone?) When I loved into my new place, maybe a week later? I got the “let’s be friends” speech. I was heartbroken. I also knew it was coming; it just was a matter of time. She was way out of my league; too beautiful, too smart, too talented, too skinny (read: I was too fat).

    When she dumped me, I said, “Oh yeah, let’s be friends. Look, I don’t see you calling me wanting to go hang out or anything, so don’t pretend.” She denied that. I shrugged. “Alright, we both know you’re going to find some new guy long before I move on and date another girl. So do me a favor. When you want to hang out, fine, just I better not see the guy. I won’t be ready. I won’t be fair. I don’t want to see the guy, or know anything about him.” She agreed to my terms.

    A few months later, I get a call. She had tickets to see Thrill Kill Kult at the Metro. I was like, “Is dude gonna be there?” She said no. We made plans to meet up.

    I show up, and the first thing she says is, “I didn’t know he was going to be here. He’s a DJ and he got VIP passes.” Whatever. Fine. Good to see you too. I was livid. (And I’m not claiming I was being fair, or even rational. This is just a record of how it went down.) So I go into the club, and I got right into the pit. Now, normally, my pit etiquette is very strict; you don’t elbow, you don’t punch. If you see someone fall, you pick them up. If you see someone small (male or female, but generally I look out for the ladies) being hurt or something, do what you can to help. Don’t be a dick. Well, this time, I threw everything out the window. I went in, balls to the wall. I went in with the desire to get my ass kicked. I got bloody, and went back to the bar for a drink. When I looked up, I saw the balcony, and there was my girl, kissing this asshole right on the fucking balcony. Like with a fucking spotlight on them. I don’t remember much, but I do know I immediately head-butted someone.

    By the time the show was over, my shirt was in shreds, my face had been clawed by someone’s fingernails, I had at least one black eye, my knuckles were red, swollen and cut open by someone’s teeth. I walked out of the Metro, and ran into the group. I saw the girl, and said goodbye. I saw the new boyfriend (went by DJ Kitty and was usually either in drag or wearing kitty ears. Tonight was a kitty ear night. Really?), so I walked up to him and offered my hand and said, “Hey man, nice to meet you,” looked back at the girl, shaking his hand and said “Good luck with that.” As I walked away, I swear to God, and to this day I don’t know if this was real, or in my head, I swear I heard Kitty say, in a mimicking, high pitched cartoony voice, “nice to meet you, good luck with that” like he was imitating me sarcastically. It took every ounce of willpower not to shove my elbow into his mouth and break his jaw. I hesitated for a really long second, and then I walked away. As I passed the roommate K, I handed them their apartment key, which they had told me to keep, since I was always welcome. I gave it to K, and said that I didn’t think I’d need it anymore. Then I stormed off with a dramatic exit.

    About a block away, I realized, I was still so new to Chicago, and having never been to the Metro before, I had no idea where I was. So I had to walk back and ask for directions back to the train. Felt like a total douchebag.

    As I board the train, all fucked up looking, some homeless guy gets on and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention? I’m not looking for your money or charity; I’m not lookin for nothin. I’m just lookin for God.”

    I sat there for a second. I was really pissed. And this kind of shit always pisses me off. So I look up, deadpan serious and I say, “You’re looking for God? You just missed him. He was on the other train, going that way,” as I point down the rail. He looks at me confused. “Big guy, long white beard, wearing a robe? Yeah, he went that away.” The bum walks away, no idea what he really wanted, but I’m guess he really wasn’t on a spiritual quest.
    •  
      CommentAuthorAmableSim
    • CommentTimeMay 5th 2011
     (9780.43)
    I was about to use a vibrator on a girl. I brought it out, turned it on, and saw that it wasn't working.

    Because it wasn't working, I thought it was a problem with the batteries. Well, there was a problem, but the batteries were not just dead. I opened it to get to the batteries and battery acid flew all over the bed and her.

    Basically, I used it in the shower once before and the batteries had leaked battery acid. That was pretty bad.

    There was also the time when my dog got sprayed by a skunk. I went to school, thinking that I would be OK, since I didn't even see my dog that day. Except my dog had rubbed up against my backpack. Immediately upon entering school, some kid comes up to me and says, "You smell like my dog's ass." This is within seconds upon entering the doors. I was taken home from school, but I had to change while there and they tossed my clothes out onto the sidewalk in garbage bags.
  2.  (9780.44)
    @AmableSim

    Wow. You just made my jaw drop, and hang open the entire time while I read your post. I tip my hat to you, Sir.
  3.  (9780.45)
    Thanksgiving was always a tradition amongst my friends in Chicago. Dominatrix girlfriend started this as a regular thing; for one she was an awesome and inventive cook. She could get this carnivore to enjoy vegetarian meals, and that’s something that still counts as impressive to me. Most of us were not anywhere close (physically or emotionally) with our families, for one reason or another, so we would all band together around holidays in general, Thanksgiving being one of the ones that turned out best. Now, Domme girl had a huge list of friends, but only certain people made it to Thanksgiving. One couple that was invited was a Master/Slave couple that she knew professionally and from the bondage scene. The Master in the relationship went by the name "The Marquis" (and yes, had an ego to match) had what we liked to call “the opera accent,” and the slave girl was just on speed a lot and was hysterical. Marquis, however, had this persona that he had crafted and it was really over the top, but for this Thanksgiving, he actually came off as a person. Well, we had a great dinner, and Marquis ended up asking me and Domme girl if we would help him throw a New Year’s Eve party at his mansion up on the Gold Coast. Basically, he explained, most of his friends were bondage people, and none of them could be relied upon to actually do any work. Domme girl being a painter, he figured she could, you know, paint. And me, being… Well, I guess he just considered me a work horse, and figured that I could just pick up heavy things and put them back down somewhere else, stuff like that. Well, we both agree, and we start coming over to his swank mansion to help.

    It was a badass place. They had converted some mansions up there into like several condos, and you had to take this little rickety elevator up to his door, and it was pretty big inside. Dude had his own library and everything. He also had to devil dog Dobermans or whatever they were they were mean. It took a while, but eventually the Hell Hounds got used to me. We did drywall, we painted, and I can’t remember everything we worked on that guy’s condo, I think I had to carry a St. Andrew’s Cross, which is basically like two 6ft long wooden beams that form a giant X that you can shackle someone to as they spread their arms and legs across the big X, and I had to move it into the “playroom.”

    Well, it was a lot of hard work, and when we were done he was like, and of course you both are invited, although William (my name isn’t William, but he refused to call me Billy, he found it…plebian or something), he explained to me, it is a black tie only party, and did I need to borrow a black tie? I told him I had a tie, and that I was looking forward to it.

    New Year’s Eve comes by, and I show up at the party. I’m wearing red plaid bondage pants, black combat boots, a white dress shirt (sleeves ripped off), a tie (with three or four metal spikes in the tie) and my leather jacket, my black hair done up like liberty spikes. I knock on the door, and this little hairless guy in leather shorts and a collar opens the door and looks confused, and I tell him to get the boss. Marquis shows up, and raises an eyebrow, and was like, at least you wore a tie… He walks me to the kitchen and points at a metal bathtub (I assume it was for washing the Hell Hounds) and it’s full of ice and Heinekens. He tells me that it’s all mine, as a thank you for helping with the party. Very cool of him.

    This party is crazy. If I never go to a party like this ever again, I’ll be alright. There was a naked girl playing a violin (Dude found out she was a virgin, so he had his slave eat her out in front of everyone to “break her in.” Later, I saw a stripper strapped up to the St. Andrew’s Cross, while he used a Violet Wand on her ass. A violet want is a Victorian electrical device that glows a soft neon-like purple and it’s used to zap people. When he used it on her, she sounded like she was having orgasms. Those are just some of what I saw. I had decided early, that there was a limit on how drunk I was going to get. This was not a party you wanted to pass out or lose control of yourself at, or risk having something horrible done to you when you’re not thinking clearly and drunkenly agree to something dangerous.

    I walk in one room, and there’s a girl passed out with a couple guys. Everyone’s dressed, but something’s amiss. I realize one of the Dobermans are in the room, and these guys are trying to coax the dog over to the unconscious girl, and that they’re gonna try to get it to fuck her. I get pissed really quickly. They try to shrug me off, and play it like everything’s cool man, don’t be a dick. I raise my voice, tell the dog to heel, and then I throw them both the fuck out, or I’ll have the dog rape them.

    The rest of the night goes smoothly, and when midnight hit, I realize I am without a date, and get a pity kiss from my ex-girlfriend. Wow. Later, as I’m walking around, I spot her boyfriend, eating out some random girl’s ass. Yeah, this fucking Hello Kitty DJ asshole from before. It creeps me out but I don’t say anything, because I know it’ll come off as the jealous ex-boyfriend type bullshit. Party’s over, and I go home.

    That week, I have lunch with Arrogant Gay Black Man, Domme Girl’s roommate. He asks me how the party was, and I start to say something, but cut myself off. I don’t know how many gay friends you have, or if they’re gossips, but if they are, they fucking hate that. So he pesters me and shit until finally I tell him about DJ Kitty eating some girl’s ass. I make him swear not to tell Domme Girl (thereby ensuring that he will, but guaranteeing that he won’t say it came from me). A week later, she dumped his ass. I felt much better after that. (She later confessed to me that she was glad she found out what a douche he was, and shortly after dumping him met a really great guy, and she ended up marrying that really great guy, who's a really good friend of mine, and everyone's all happy ever after. Hearts and motherfucking bunnyrabbits)
  4.  (9780.46)
    @government spy: the best part of that? "Hearts and motherfucking bunnyrabbits" I think that should be the name of a band.
    •  
      CommentAuthorAlan Tyson
    • CommentTimeMay 5th 2011
     (9780.47)
    That's got to be an interesting feeling, waking up the morning after and saying to yourself: "I saved a girl from being fucked by a Doberman." A feeling of accomplishment, surely, but man, that must have felt pretty fucking weird, nevertheless.
    •  
      CommentAuthorPurple Wyrm
    • CommentTimeMay 6th 2011 edited
     (9780.48)
    Back at high school I was (surprise, surprise) a massive nerd. I met (and to some extent still do) all the worst stereotypes, in particular having terrible trouble talking to girls. Even managing a brief, inconsequential conversation without tying my tongue in knots, tripping over something or completely freaking out and fleeing was a major challenge.

    Keep this in mind.

    Now at my school they made us keep all our class work in a lever arch file. For reasons I still am unable to adequately explain I had a strong aversion to actually clipping anything into my file - I'd just open it, shove my papers in, and close it, which meant there was always a big wad of loose documents floating around inside it. In fact one of the more sadistic teachers took great pleasure in grabbing my file and tipping it upside down in front of the entire class, sending papers blossoming out all over the floor in a big WHOOPH. Used to take me a good five minutes to pick them all up again.

    Keep this in mind also.

    The school also insisted on everyone having the same school bag - a green, zip-up, satchel like arrangement with two handles and the school crest on the side. I used to absent-mindedly abuse mine terribly until it got to the point where the zipper simply wouldn't work any more.

    Once again, keep this in mind.

    So one fine day I was heading home from school. Along with a bunch of other students I used to catch the bus to the nearby railway terminal. As I was the only member of my gang of geeks and misfits to get the train, I used to hang out with a different and somewhat cooler bunch of kids for the rail journey - none of us ever spoke to each other at school but were forced into an alliance by the commute. This particular day most of the gang weren't there, only one guy named Jules, and he was talking with a girl from our year named Sam.

    As circumstances would inevitably have it, I had a bit of a crush on Sam. She moved in some pretty rebellious circles, and was the first cousin of one of the year's biggest bullies, which somehow made her seem dangerous, exotic and cool. Thinking that I'd never get such a good opportunity to speak to her again, I took a deep breath, walked up and inserted myself into the conversation.

    It actually went pretty well. I avoided all the normal issues I had with talking to girls, and did my best to adopt a kind of cool, nonchalant persona (which was probably hilarious to watch, but anyway). Everything was under control and I was feeling pretty good about the situation and myself. Then the train came in and I grabbed my bag, swinging it up to my shoulder in a cool, nonchalant fashion.

    Unfortunately I only managed to grab one strap.

    The bag swung up in a perfect arc, landing on my shoulder with its un-zipped mouth gaping wide. Inside the mouth was my lever arch folder which, in accordance with Newton's laws of motion, promptly vomited its contents in a great stream of loose paper, shooting all across the platform, onto the tracks opposite and then (with wind assistance) onto the opposite platform as well (I imagine it looked like I'd fired some kind of paper rocket launcher). I froze in shock with a facial expression similar to that of a surprised marmoset as everyone around - Sam in particular - burst into gales of uncontrollable laughter.

    Sam went and found a seat on the train as Jules (after he stopped whooping with laughter long enough to catch his breath) and I dashed around madly recovering my entire year's work as onlookers laughed and jeered. We managed to get most of it back and boarded the train (naturally in a different carriage to Sam's).

    Sam left the school not long afterwards - with me never having spoken to her again. I didn't change my filing habits, I just made sure to be careful when picking up my bag from then on.
  5.  (9780.49)
    Got to keep this thread going... but believe it or not I'm running low on stories...

    I graduated high school in the summer of ’97. During that summer, I had volunteered for some trips with the church my parents were members of. One was a week-long trip to New Orleans. I had been a volunteer for Habitat for Humanity in the past couple years, and had gone on several trips with this group, and I knew some people (read: girls) that would also be at the event.

    So we check into our hotels, which were nice, but we’re sharing them with a bunch of dudes. We meet our little church group leaders, ours was a guy named Fritz, who was a really great guy. I’m not really into the Christian thing so much anymore, but Fritz was one of those people who taught what spirituality meant, regardless of dogma, and how to incorporate that into your daily life. I don’t have anything to do with any of these people anymore, but I still have respect for Fritz.

    One night, it was a weekend I believe; I go meet this girl out on the top of the Ritz hotel downtown. Don’t remember how we got access, I just remember it was midnight or so, and I’m making out with this girl on the roof of a hotel in downtown New Orleans. Then I realize I’m out past curfew, and I take off down the stairs of the hotel to make it back to my room before I get caught.

    I run through the hotel lobby, and bump into Fritz. I apologize, and he just looks at me like I’m crazy. Like a really weird, “you’re a pervert” kind of look. I dash off out the hotel, dodging traffic; almost get hit by a taxi, people honking at me, yelling at me, etc. Finally, I rest up in an alleyway to catch my breath. I feel kinda funny. Like you know something is wrong. I look down, and not only is my fly open, but my entire dick is hanging out my open fly. I had been running around New Orleans, and bumped into my mentor, with my dick exposed. Awesome.

    I put my junk back in my pants, and make it back in time to walk in with another girl from my group who was out past curfew, so when we walked in, nobody knew we were out alone in the city. Of course, when I got back home to Illinois, my folks found out I had blown all of my college money (not like $800 was going to get me into anything other than the local community college), and I pissed them off, and they kicked me out.

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