It’s Friday Night

Ahhhhh the games we play.  Well, the games I play may be more accurate.

It’s Friday night at exactly 11:11 for those superstitious types like myself.  I got home from work 2 hours ago and I’m laying in bed after finishing a book.

I was exhausted and hungry when I got home. All I wanted to do was shower, eat and have some alone time.  Normally Friday nights I have a visitor stop by for our weekly rendezvous.  I’ve been horny as fuck all week and was really hyping it up with dirty talk to her yesterday.  But when I left work I wasn’t feeling being around anyone or having sex tonight.

She asked about coming over and I gave my usual noncommittal response, “Text me later and we will see.”  She hates when I do that and I know it, so of course I love doing it.

I don’t want to put the effort in tonight, but I’m getting a little horny and bored now that I’m finished reading.   I’m feeling a little needy as well, seeing as how she hasn’t text me back yet asking if she can come over in about an hour.   Plus I took a preemptive Viagra and I don’t want it to go to waste.  Yes, I use performance enhancing meds, I’m not ashamed.

I snapped her a pic of me in bed and she responded “sex time?”   I replied by telling her I just finished reading a book and never answered her question.  I want her to work a little for this.  I get off on the control.

I’m trying to see how long I can keep this going until I fold.  I text her again asking if her her ass was clean.  She let me know she was fully prepared for tonight, anticipating she would see me.  I have to giver her credit for that.

I know I’m going to give in a few minutes because I want sex before it’s too late.  With my no sleepover policy it’s important to make sure I don’t let anyone come over later than midnight or they may get the wrong impression.  Once the deed is done, it’s my bedtime and they have to go.

Right now writing is my procrastination from having sex.  Which is odd because I normally procrastinate from writing by having sex with my hand.

It’s been 20 minutes now, it’s time to pull the trigger and tell her to come by.  I have to lay down extra sheets because she squirts like a fountain and it always turns into an awful mess ruining my bed.  I either have to change all my sheets or sleep on the couch after she stops by.

I’m not sure if this is how normal nights are supposed to go for someone my age. I guess now is not the time for judgement, reflection and deep soul searching.

You Gonna Lick That?


I have an affinity for eating booty.  It’s kind of like licking a dirty penny.  But I’m into it.

Does that make me a gross person?  Most of my friends feel the same way I do about butt stuff.  Maybe it’s the reason we all hang out?

Most girls I run into seem to like a little butt play – Whether it’s a finger rubbing their butthole, a tongue licking it or an occasional finger, toy or a dick up there.  90% of the women I’ve hooked up with enjoy one or some combination of these three activities.

Some girls don’t want to admit they like butt play because it makes them feel dirty, embarrassed or ashamed.  These are usually the same women who roll over, spread their cheeks and press their asses into my face from the first moment they feel my tongue enter their crack.  Deep down they know it feels good, but repress those feelings.  I think women should embrace what they enjoy without shaming themselves.  What can I say, I’m a male feminist at heart.

I hear Catholic Schoolgirls apparently only do anal because they want to remain virgins.  I don’t necessarily buy their logic, but I would never argue with them.  Where were they when I was growing up?  I’ve had to beg, plead and manipulate my way into most of my butt sex experiences.  Apparently my mom should have sent me to Catholic School.

Then there are the rare “nothing has ever been up there and no one has ever touched it” girls.  These girls drive me insane.  “I don’t like it, it feels weird.” They are so against experimenting they shut it down before they give it a chance.  Every time they clench their cheeks or tense up as I get even remotely close to their ass I can’t help but think of what George Carlin said – “Don’t be so suburban, it’s the new millennium.”  There are thousands of nerve endings in your anus, relax and enjoy it. (more…)

Episode 21: Regret Comes In Many Forms


What do Butta, Porta Potties and hiding in a shower have in common for KRS?  In this episode we unpack how and when male regret sets in – As well as it effects on performance.

In our second segment we look at: sex education, liquid soap making showering in jail safer, some rubbers erase mistakes while others prevent them and the impetus of finding farts funny.

We close the show with a quote from Charles Dickens, “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of another.”  The importance of helping those around you and giving back to the world we live in.

Twitter: @WhyTheHellBlog


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Sex, Self Respect and Hiding In A Bathroom

Bathtub Boy

I’ve slept with hundreds of women.  I don’t have any clue what the exact number is, but hundreds.  I’m not saying this now to brag or pretend I’m some “ladies man.”  However, I used to.  It was how I assessed my value as a man.  I wore that shit on my sleeve like a badge of honor.  I would tell anyone who would listen about my conquests to try in order to pump myself up.  I’ve talked about this before to an extent in my writing.

All of my friends loved my stories and I loved entertaining them.  I used to make jokes about all my “victims” as I called them.  I remember in college leaving the bar with a girl and my friends yelling, “just another victim.”  I thought it was hilarious.  I got laid and I got to demean the girl at the same time proving how Alpha I was, or so I thought.  Nothing could have been further from the truth

It was all bullshit.  I was an insecure shell of a man.  Racking up numbers sleeping with women is how I derived my self worth.  The same way some people equate their net worth to their self worth.   I was never comfortable enough with myself so I sought the approval of women.  Of course, the ultimate approval was determined by them sleeping with me.

I didn’t care who I used or who I hurt at the time as long as I got what I wanted.  Most of the time I didn’t even enjoy having sex with these girls.  Normally, about two minutes into the act I would question what I was doing and the anxiety would set in.  The only thought in my mind was how I could end this nightmare and get away from the girl.  If I ever wore a condom, which was rare, I would fake an orgasm so I could stop and get out of the situation. (more…)

My First Night With Rocket Tits


I was crashing on a friend’s couch nursing a broken ankle when Rocket Tits first entered my life.  I was essentially homeless at this point, having recently broken up with my girlfriend who kicked me out of her house.  Rocket was leaving my friend’s house after staying the night with him.  We quickly said hello to one another as she raced out the door.

A few days later we ran into each other at a local bar.  She had just gotten off work at the strip club down the street.  We flirted and she made it obvious she was interested in me.  Apparently something about a guy living on a couch who hadn’t showered, brushed his teeth or combed his hair was appealing to her.

We made plans to get together that weekend.  But first I wanted to ask my friend, who was sleeping with her at the time, if he would be upset if I took her out.  When I brought it up to him he said, “Go for it, I don’t have any papers on her.”  To this day I’m still unsure what he meant by the last part of that statement.  I could tell he wasn’t happy about her wanting to go out with me.

Looking back, it was a dick move on my part.  I mean, I literally met her moments after she had sex with him, while I was staying at his house.  But, he should have been honest and said he didn’t want me to take her out.  Had he told me the truth it would have saved me years of aggravation as well.

The weekend came and Rocket and I went out on our date.  I remember pulling up to her house in my 7 series, blaring loud music, wearing a tank top and generally looking like a giant douchebag.  She was into it though.  Later, she admitted to me that she texted her friend when she saw me pulling up and told her she was definitely going to sleep with me.

We went out to a bar, had some drinks and lots of laughs.  The two of us clicked right away.  We were all over each other most of the night.  Forcing people to watch our trashy public displays affections.

On our way back to her house I stopped at a friends house to pick up a bag of coke for myself.  I seem to have this compulsion for putting substances in my body to ensure my dick won’t work properly.

I did a few lines and we started hooking up.  Of course I was having a monumental issue trying to get a hard on.  Finally I willed my dick to get just hard enough to use.  The whole time during sex I was praying she didn’t notice my boner was slowly fading.

We went through the motions, trying a few different positions.  For some reason she kept saying things to me like “You’re gay” and “I hate you” as we had sex, which wasn’t helping me keep my erection.  I couldn’t listen to her speak anymore so I rolled her over, bent her over the bed, stood up and took her from behind. (more…)

Pass The Tissues For A Little DVDA


I hadn’t finished cuming yet, but all I could think about was clicking the X on the browser.  Remorse set in.  The feeling of disgust overwhelmed my body.  I wanted it to stop.  Why did I watch that?  And more importantly how did that turn me on?

I’m not certain what makes me watch the things I do when I masturbate.  Maybe I’m a sick pervert.  That’s entirely possible.  Most women I have dated would probably agree.

Like most of the world I have become desensitized to much of what I see.  Porn is no different.  I’ve watched too much for too long I suppose.  The basic vanilla scene just won’t cut it.  Hell, double-stuffed anal won’t cut it these days.

I’m always pushing the limits of what I consider to be appealing.  I can’t get hard if I’m not looking at something I find completely revolting as soon as I finish.  It’s a strange phenomenon.

Trying to watch the rest of the scene once I’ve finished is torture.  I sit there trying to figure out exactly what turned me on about an 87 year old lady going down on an a midget and a rough-around-the-edges 21 year old girl.  Or why I googled “gross porn” to begin with.

Watching all of these horrible, disturbing scenes has nearly ruined my sex life.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to partake in type of stuff I watch, at least not all of it.  But normal sex with an attractive girl isn’t quite as exciting once you have witnessed what my eyes have seen.  I have to close my eyes and picture some deviant sex acts so I can finish.  I don’t want the girl to feel like something is wrong with her because I can’t cum.

I’m not blaming porn for my problems.  It’s absolutely me.  I’ve always been the type that has to push things further and further to see what happens.  Sometimes my inclination to push things to the limit has benefited my life greatly.  Not in this case though.

Occasionally I stop masturbating all together.  Mainly because I’m bored with what I’ve seen and I don’t want to explore new realms of porn.  I can’t handle it.  Finding something new that turns me on is exhausting work.  I can spend 30-45 minutes perusing different categories until I find something that works.  That’s before I even start on myself.  No one wants to put that much effort into masturbation.  I don’t put that much effort into preparing my food for the day and I love eating.

I’m debating starting a support group for this behavior.  There’s probably already something in place, but I want my group to be more fun.  I’ve talked to some friends who seem to share my predilection for masturbating to sex acts that make them question their life.  At least I’m not alone, that’s comforting.  There might be a recovery for us all and we can go back to being excited with basic guy-on-girl action.



Can We Share a Port-o-Potty?


I’ve been known to ruin New Years Eve for my best friend.  Two years in a row I completely trainwrecked his night as a matter of fact.  One year I was so drunk he had to drag me from the party and through the streets of Philadelphia to our hotel room.  As people passed us on the streets I wished herpes on them as I mumbled other derogatory phrases.

He carried me to our hotel room, put me in bed and went back to the party.  When the rest of my friends returned to the hotel later that night the stench emanating from the room hit them like a truck.  I had thrown up all over the ground and inside of one of my friends brand new pair of shoes.  The picture he posted of his shoes on Myspace became something of legend among my friends.  I wish I still had it.

The room was ruined.  No one could bear the stench.  Except for the guy who’s shoes I threw up in, he braved the night in the disgusting room.  Luckily for the rest of us, one of my friends was sober and drove us home.

The next morning I woke up on my friend’s floor.  I was miserably hung over and smelled terrible.  I wasn’t sure what the smell was until I went to the bathroom.  I had shit myself.  Not a lot, but more than a shart.

But that’s not the night I want to discuss.  That was a drop in the bucket compared to the previous year.  This also took place in Philadelphia.  A group of us went to a to bar with an all-you-can-drink special.  Needless to say I got horrendously drunk and made poor choices.

The bar had port-o-potty’s set up outside for men.  All of the bathrooms inside were only available for women that night.  The overflow of women waiting for a bathroom spilled outside to the port-o-potty’s.

Towards the end of the night I was in line waiting to take a piss.  A rather plump girl was ahead of me.  We made small talk for a couple of minutes.  When it was her turn to enter the port-o-potty she turned and kissed me.   (more…)

Do Numbers Matter?


I used to keep a list of all the girls I slept with.  I cherished my list.  It was kept tucked away in a safe spot for my eyes only.  It was comprised of mostly first names, nicknames or the location we had sex.  Very few full names appeared on the list.  I rarely knew the person long enough to find out her last name.  Or I didn’t care enough to ask, one of the two.

When I was 27 I moved in with my girlfriend and destroyed the list.  It was the first time I had ever lived with someone I dated and getting rid of it seemed appropriate.  I won’t get into how many names were on the list, but it was enough to make most people judge me.

Keeping a list was incredibly immature.  It’s how I kept tally of how “manly” I was.  I would joke and brag about it to my friends.  It was essentially my way of having a dick measuring contest, without the embarrassment of having to measure my dick.

To this day, I find myself counting the number of girls I slept with in a given time frame.  I keep a mental list and use it to validate myself that I still have “it.”  Whatever “it” is.

After my break up all I wanted to do what get laid to prove that I still could.  I needed to show the world I was back and I was desirable.  Women wanted to sleep with me God damn it!  It felt like a right of passage as a man.

In February I broke out of my brooding slump and found myself attracting women pretty easily.  I got on a roll and was knocking them down one after the other.  I was on a heater!  It was as if my penis was struck by lightning and women could feel the electricity.  That’s probably a bad analogy, but my dating and sex life were on a meteoric rise. (more…)

I Put the Ass In Class

I used to be a partner in a nightclub in Philadelphia.  It was possibly the worst investment I have ever made as far as money is concerned.  I dealt with some of the worst people the city had to offer.  Several of my partner were unscrupulous to say the least.  But, I met a lot of really good friends over that time and the experience I gained was worth the loss on paper.

I sold my stake in the business four years ago.  Some of my partners stayed in the business with the new investors and they turned it a EDM club.  When I was involved it was a hip hop club in the Philly Urban scene.  Complete opposite sides of the nightlife spectrum.

Their first year in business they booked some of the biggest DJ’s from around the world to play there.  Many of my friends and former colleagues still worked there so I decided to treat the place like my personal playground.  I brought whoever I wanted there through the side-door, never paid for a drink and got in fights constantly.

back2The grand opening event was sold out.  There were more than 1200 people there that night. My friends and I partied our asses off.  At one point I walked up to the main bar, broke out a line of coke and sniffed off the bar in front of hundreds of people.  No one seemed to notice or care.

I left my friends at our table and made my rounds through the club.   I ran into a stripper I occasionally hooked up with.  When she saw me she started yelling and dancing around with excitement.  She immediately left the person she was talking to and jumped on me.  She wrapped her arms and leg around me and kissed me.

I carried her away with me through the crowd and into the clubs office.  Several of the employees were in the office working so we went into the private bathroom.  We kissed and did a couple bumps of coke.   Then, I bent her over and licked her ass.  Once I got hard I put my dick in her for a couple of pumps before someone started banging on the bathroom door.  I knew I wasn’t going to finish so we stopped and walked out.

I told her I would see her later and I went back to my table.  A close friend of mine asked where I had been and why my face smelled like an asshole.  I told him the story and the rest of the night he called me “stinky-butthole-face.”

Not too long after that I wound up being the douchebag wearing a wife beater in the club.  I was so drunk I kept trying to drink out of a cracked cup and spilled all over myself and everyone around me.

My friends and I went back to my house and kept the party going.  Around 6 AM only two of us were left standing.  I received a phone call from the stripper and she was crying hysterically.  She told me that her and her boyfriend had gotten into an argument and he punched her.  Unbeknownst to me, the guy she was talking to in the club when she started kissing me was her boyfriend.

I felt like a dick about the whole situation.  But not enough to do anything about it to help her.  I was drunk and coked up in the wee hours of the morning.  I wasn’t equipped to help her with her problem.  I told her I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me.  That ended the call abruptly.  Then I took a Xanax and went to bed.

I’m A Scooter

Seen on the Avenida Do Mar, Madeira Island

In college my friend once told me, “Dude you’re a scooter.”

“What the fuck does that mean,” I asked.  His reply was life changing.

“You’re a scooter!  Ya know.  Scooters are fun to ride, but you don’t wanna  see your friends while you’re ridin’ one.  Chicks will sleep with you, then vehemently deny it when they’re around their friends.”

His analogy was genius.  I really was a scooter.   Girls would talk about how disgusting and scummy I was when they were around their friends.  Some of them would even say it right in front of me.  Then when the the night was winding down and the bars were closing they would be sneaking me into their house so their friends wouldn’t see us.

In my last year of college I made a career out of being a scooter.   I had just gotten out of a rocky, three year, off again on again relationship.  It had rocked my confidence and shaken my self esteem.  But there I was, free to run wild.  I attempted to sleep with almost any girl who crossed my path.  I wasn’t very selective.  I just needed to feel wanted and attractive.

After awhile I started gaining my confidence back.  I was pulling a new girl every couple of nights.  I was thrilled to be single.  Life had meaning again.  That meaning wasn’t incredibly altruistic or noble, but it worked for me at the time.  I understood my role as a scooter and I played it very well to my benefit.

Fast Forward 12 years and I find myself in a similar position.  I am once again single after a break up from a tumultuous relationship.   It took me a couple of months to figure out how to deal with being single again.  Not only have I regained confidence in myself, but I love being single right now.  I haven’t enjoyed my life this much, well, possibly ever.

This time around, I have transitioned out of being a scooter and have become an “In-betweener.”  I fill space in the lives of women who may have recently gotten out of long term relationships or are just looking for something casual.  I occupy their time until they are back on their feet and ready to meet someone more suitable to have a real relationship with.

That’s the reality of my dating life .  It’s perfect for me right now.  I couldn’t ask for much more.  I love being an In-betweener; just like I loved being a scooter.

I enjoy all the benefits of being single.  I can focus on growing my professional life and I have the ability to do whatever I please with my free time.  But, once and awhile I am able to spend my free time with the company of someone of the opposite sex.  We go to eat, grab some drinks, get our dogs together, have sex or sometimes even cuddle.  I’m able to experience all the great parts of a relationship without having to actually be involved with any one person.

When I meet a women I am very upfront with them that I am In-betweener.  I explain to them that these are relationships of convenience.  I have nothing to offer them except a good time.  We both need to go about our lives, see whoever else we want to see and do whatever it is that makes our hearts content.  Then, once a week or so, we can hang out together and enjoy each others company.

Sometimes this talk  doesn’t go over well.  But, like with business, I think it’s important to set appropriate expectations with any relationship in order to mitigate any confusion, disappointment or animosity.  I would rather have a women tell me she is not interested in the situation from the gate rather than deal with drama and craziness on the back end.

The only down side to being an In-betweener is that occasionally, even though expectations are set correctly and all parties agreed to the terms,  someone decides they are going to try and change you.  These are the “Hopefools.”

The Hopefools meet you and hear what you have to say but in their head they think, “Not Me, I’m different.”  Sometimes they can be extremely tricky to spot in the beginning.  They play the game so well.  Everyone starts out feeling really good about themselves and the situation.  Then after a couple weeks of it everything changes.

Hopefools will start off with the first thing in the morning texts of  “Good morning, I hope you have a great day.”  This is usually the beginning of the end.  It will quickly progress to a daily ritual.  Then they will start asking questions about the other people you are spending time with.  This is where you must make a decision about where you need this relationship to go.

The Hopefool has their mind set that you are going to be in a committed relationship with them.  You have become a challenge and they have thrown down the gauntlet.  If you continue along the path of this relationship ignoring the signs and think just because you explained you are an In-betweener that you are free from issues, I assure you my friend you are dead wrong.  The upfront expectations you set have been completely disregarded.  The Hopefool could give a shit less about what you said, because they feel deep down they are different and they are one to change you.

If you want to stay a drama free In-betweener you need to cut ties immediately.  It’s not always that easy to do.  The Hopefool tends to be extremely fun, endearing and is usually the one who’s down for anything in the bedroom.  It was all part of their plan!  They put on their A Game in order to leave you woozy and susceptible to their trap.  It’s sort of the way the Black Widow lures in her mate only to kill and eat him afterwards.

This is the dichtomy of being an In-betweener.  You have everything you want in the world, but you realize at some point it has to end or you wind up in a relationship again.  Which is is the death of the wonderful world you have created.  You will no longer be able to spend your free time as you choose.  It could even start effecting your work life.

Being a successful In-betweener can be extremely rewarding.  However, success in this game means making difficult choices.  You have to be able to balance treating people you date in a respectful and caring manner, but not so much that they want to date you.  You have to know how to appropriately distance yourself from situations while remaining honest to yourself and those involved with you.  I think Kenny Rogers summed it up best when he sang, “You gotta know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.