When West Virginia University plays football games away from good ol’
Morgantown, the students hit the bars. And, as the number one party school
should, when we hit the bars, we hit them hard. We crowd into the shitty,
cramped brick buildings and glue our eyes to large televisions, only looking
away to obtain, imbibe, and eventually vomit up alcohol. We push each other like
brothers and slap slurry high-fives and press hugs like a miracle just happened
every time we score. The entire town lights up and turns into the largest
fraternity in the country, all in the name of a football victory.
"I might be an asshole, but I’m still not going to let a
crying, menstruating girl sleep on my floor."
Well, after the game against
Maryland was over, I started playing pool with my buddies Dylan,
Crigler and Sam, who were as drunk, if not more drunk than I was.
During our time “playing” pool—I use the term loosely here, as
collectively, it takes us about an hour to end a game—a woman, 28
years old, approached me and started flirting. Eventually, as fate
would have it, we left the bar for my place to drink with my
roommates. I wasn’t totally into her, but I have this awful tendency
to want to have random sex with a girl before I commit to the one I
actually like. Strange, you might think, but guess what? I’m a
fucking guy.
We had a few drinks and then she asked to use my bathroom, so I took her
upstairs, unlocked the door and let her in. As she was doing whatever she was
doing in the bathroom, I sat down on my bed to let the room spin a little. She
came out naked and hopped on me. I thought, “Well, why not?” and let things
progress into fucking.
After two minutes or so, she looked down.
“Oh…Jesus…no…,” she said.
Oh no! I thought, and as I looked down, I saw that around the base of
my dick and coating the condom was a sticky, viscous syrup of blood.
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted, not even believing in Jim at the moment, and ran
off to the bathroom to clean my shit up. Even at that point, I thought, “What a
fucking bad decision. What a fucking
bad, bad, bad, bad decision.”
But that wasn’t even the half of it. Not yet, my friends.
After only five or six seconds with the washcloth on me, I heard my bedroom
door slam.
“Good,” I thought, “she just got embarrassed and left. At least I can sleep
and forget about this, call Kellen in the morning and work my way past this
shit.”
No, not yet.
If you didn’t know, it takes more than five or six seconds for a whore to get
dressed; once I realized this, I knew that this girl had left my apartment naked
as my dick was bloody.
I grabbed her purse and clothes and tossed them on my doorstep, thinking, “My
housemates can deal with this shit. I’m done.”
Well, instead of this bitch going to my cool housemates, who smoke more pot
than I thought was humanly possible, she went across the hall to some redheaded
Jersey fuck who made it his personal responsibility that I not de-scab her
axwound again.
“Hey, you bastad!” he shouted, pounding on my door, “You brought a drunk girl
home!”
“Fuck you!” I shouted from behind the wood paneling, “Why don’t you take her
and patch her up then?”
After a few seconds of silence, I heard maybe ten more voices and more
pounding on my door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said, and grabbed the nearest
phone to call my buddy Shaun, who
owes me a throw-down and owns a set of kitchen knives.
Shaun, who also has a career now, answered sleepily and said that he was too
far away to help. I hung up the phone, grabbed a putter and opened the door with
it poised over my shoulder.
When I opened the door, only the girl was standing there, crying and
blood-soaked from the waste down.
“What the fuck?!” I said.
“They left me because I called them a bunch of faggots.”
“Come in and get dressed and get the FUCK out.”
“My car is across town…it’s 4AM…could you at least let me sleep on the
floor?”
Now, I might be an asshole, but I’m still not going to let a crying,
menstruating girl sleep on my floor. I grabbed my pillows, ripped off the bloody
sheets and threw them away.
“Here, sleep on my bed.”
“Okay,” she said, lying down and sobbing. “Oh and Nick?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a tampon?”
I answered, but after, thinking of this question filled me with so much
fucking rage that I left my room to smoke on the balcony, leaving her to sleep
alone. After the cig, I came in and pulled a pillow close to my head, trying to
forget the whole thing ever happened.
Later in the night, I was woken up by her head bobbing on my dick. “Nice,” I
thought, “finally some sort of retribution for this bullshit.” I sat back, let
it happen and then, suddenly, she twitched and her teeth clenched down on the
shaft of my dick, making it bleed.
“Goddamnit!” I shouted, tears forming in my eyes.
“Opps!” she said, and began crying again.
I left the room again and stayed out on the balcony the rest of the night.
When I felt it was an appropriate time to text Kellen, I wrote her, “You and I
are hanging out tonight.” And truth be told, I’ve always known Kellen as
a smart, graceful woman, and as I rehashed the whole, terrible night in my head,
I knew that I had to get her and keep her.
A dumb whore in this town is a dime a thousand…and methinks that this is
probably true everywhere else.
Now, what I’ve learned from this whole experience might shock you, given the
themes and topics of the last 50 articles here at
The Lady’s Shave…but truthfully kids, I’ve got to say that after this
experience, I couldn’t appreciate my girlfriend more. More than that, I also
couldn’t vilify the idea of the one night stand more, either.
So, I’d like to end this story with a pledge.
After this whole debacle, I promise to you readers:
I, Nick Gaudio, will never have a one night stand again. I will not approach
women at bars, nor will I take them home at all, let alone with the intent to
fuck them. I will commit myself fully to one woman or none at all…unlike
I usually do (usually it’s only about a day into it that I’m thinking, “What the
fuck did I get myself into?”).
And after you’ve read this story and somehow think that I’m a pussy, or a
liar, or a cad or whatever the fuck you might think…well, fuck you son. Put your
dick into the jaws of life and then tell me then that you’re still afraid of
commitment. Tell me that one night stands are still great; that dating a girl
who doesn’t put out readily is stupid; that college is meant to be a
fuckfest…and I’ll tell you that you’re just scared. And if you reply like I
think you might…you know what I’ll tell you, reader? I’ll tell you what I told
the 28-year-old who changed my entire outlook on the dating world:
No, bitch; I do not have a tampon for your fucking bleeding pussy.
This is Nick Gaudio—diehard
romantic—signing out.
