How to Handle a One Night Stand

The allure of the one-night stand may be greater than that of any other sexual escapade in our culture. It requires a chase, delivers a prize and opens a forum of satisfaction, both as a game of hide-and-seek and in the sultry moments with your unknown partner. One-night stands are a firecracker of sexuality: short, explosive, easily found in Mexico, and leaving a lasting memory that often trumps the actual experience. Beware! The No. 1 luxury of one-night stands centers around attachment. With committed sex, you are furthering love (or whatever you think love is). With one-night stands, however, interactions are merely physical. Take our tips for one-night stands and run.

Go to her place

Women tend to keep their quarters a little nicer than men, which is especially convenient when plans are made on the fly. You might not have expected to take anyone home, so your dirty gym socks and unwashed sheets can make your place seem like a war zone to her. Don’t ruin the mood with these unnecessary outside forces. Besides, there is nothing like a woman’s bed. Also, heading to her place gives you room to flee if things start to head south chemistry-wise. A teary confession or an accidental slip of her ex-boyfriend’s name ruins the mood quickly. Hell, she could even turn out to be a psycho. No matter what dampens the flame, an exit plan should always be in the back of your mind in case you have to abandon ship. Leaving is always easier than getting her to leave.

Be safe

Mystery fuels the fire of a one-night stand. She doesn’t know you. Everything is physical — no prior knowledge required and no strings attached. Well, except for one, potentially.   Do you really need a reason to be safe? With some areas experiencing increases in diseases like HIV and syphilis, today’s one-night stands have added risks, and you don’t want to be bringing home any unwanted souvenirs. We all know a guy who has made the occasional mistake with a woman and drilled without any hardware. No matter what she says, unprotected sex can yield fatal results for you, or for her, in the event one of you is carrying a disease that you don’t know about. Don’t ruin a perfectly good night. Be safe and get tested regularly, especially if you’re in the habit of having sex with strangers.   Besides, pickup artist extraordinaire and author of The Game Neil Strauss recommends keeping a condom in your back pocket each night out — if not for protection, he advises, than for a physical reminder that you might actual get some.

Be adventurous

Our girlfriends want sex to be a manifestation of love. This has inspired a wealth of sexual idealization, the kind that single-handedly fuels Hugh Grant’s movie career and Kenny G’s world tours. One-night stands don’t require the same sort of sensitivity, so leave that all behind. Let this be your opportunity to try out a few new things.

You have never been with this girl, so communication will guarantee a better experience. She won’t know what you’re into or what works in your short-term chemistry, so let her know exactly what is going on. Be vocal.

On the other hand, don’t be too cautious either. This is your time to shine. If she doesn’t like something, then back off, but don’t hesitate to live out your fantasy. Inversely, she might be frisky too. Maintain an open mind while she explores. Together you’ll end up going to previously uncharted territories.

Don’t be an ass

Guys tend to let the confidence of a one-night stand inflate their egos, sometimes in a demeaning way. You might not see her again, but don’t break ties on a bad note — if not for your own pride, then because all girls talk. Furthermore, this one-night stand may prompt a desire to extend your stay with this mystery woman.

Don’t ruin any opportunity to see her again with a cocky demeanor to deter her from future communication.

once is all it takes

When men leave a serious relationship, the aftermath usually materializes into a series of one-night stands. There’s a reason for this: couples seek intimacy while strangers seek pleasure. The difference is vast, so be aware when you engage in these short escapades.

That being said, be careful. The spontaneity of one-night stands can breed carelessness. Don’t ruin your experience by making preventable mistakes.

Night of the Hornheadz “Act Yo Age”

from ::: DJ CASSIDY BLOG ::: by djcass

This amazing video by Night Of The Hornheadz brilliantly edits pieces together of “Breakin’” and “Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo” to create a perfectly on-beat montage of dancing and deejaying to their new single. If you have never seen these classic Hip Hop movies, please do. You will appreciate this video and your life will be greatly enhanced.

Recession Proof Dating- Repost

Recession Proof Dating
Monday Jul 20, 2009 – By Ain HD

82721622The crumbling economy has definitely put a major cramp in the social lives of many (read: the author of this article). We suffer from the pains of fluctuating gas prices, the hassle of finding the perfect outfit on a budget and the consequential inflation of cover charges and other expenses. In turn, many people have started sacrificing the much-needed night on the town for sitting at home, twiddling their thumbs and mumbling about the aches of boredom. However, some manage to see the beauty of the recession in that it breeds creativity. A new approach to minimalism in terms of navigating through the social scene with limited finances is also touching daters.

Now, as women, the last thing we want to hear from a guy is, I don’t have much money, but I’d like to go out. We’d much rather stay unaware of the fact that the guy we’re seeing is financially strapped. We’d prefer to think that our potential or current partner is impervious to the hardships tackling us all. In fact, it’s much easier to walk around in ignorant bliss, purchasing fancy five-course meals, attending shows and taking semi-lavish trips (while diving in debt). But it’s time to face the facts. Folks are suffering and being socially active certainly isn’t as important as handling basic essentials. Cutting down on entertainment expenditures doesn’t have to mean skimping on the fun.

Enter recession-proof dating, a financially savvy way to enjoy the company of your significant other.

First off, too much emphasis is placed on the date itself. The outfit you wear on the date. The quality of the place you go on said date. The total dollar amount spent on the date. In the midst of all the hype of the outing, details about the conversation and chemistry seem secondary in many cases. Recession-proof dating forces us to focus on people-to-people connections and pay attention to our personal desires.

When we concentrate on what we truly enjoy vs. what the masses are doing or say we should do, we may just find that dating comes easier and becomes more affordable. This means including our love interests in the things we take pleasure in rather than splurging on what the majority says a date should be. Ditch the fancy dinners for cooking your favorite meal. Skip the new release in the theatres with overpriced movie treats and share your favorite flick with your mate. Forget about paying too much for drinks at the bar where you’ll have to compete for conversation space and share a bottle of wine at the park.

Two avid readers can go on a city-wide tour of independently-owned bookstores in a hunt for literary gems. Music lovers can dig through the crates of record stores and share fond memories involving rare tracks and long-forgotten releases. Volunteers can express their mutual concern for their community by participating in various causes in their area. Wine connoisseurs can introduce their date to their world by attending free wine tastings. These outings can result in learning more about one another and possibly making tangible purchases worth your dime. Besides, there’s nothing worse than wrapping up a date and realizing you spent unnecessary money on items you can hardly account for.

The concept of recession-proof dating is closely related to the classic Nappy Roots track, “Ballin’ On A Budget.” Well, in theory at least. It’s about enjoying yourself without making it painfully obvious that you’re working on a limited money supply. Most importantly, it’s about late night movie marathons at home, free art shows, enjoying nature, sharing hobbies and engaging in other activities that emphasize quality time.

Even before the recession and pending depression, finances or lack thereof have put a strain on romantic relationships due to a culture of excessive consumerism. We’re all aware that the divorce rate is beyond ridiculous and that many people with failed marriages can point to money as the main cause of their marital downfall. By starting off with a recession-proof date plan, a couple can build a solid connection based on a realistic vision of their financial situation, capitalizing on their personal interests.

One may find that coming up with quirky, money-saving dates will enhance the excitement of budding and established relationships.

gawker.com repost

Obama Pretty Much Legalizes Marijuana

By Hamilton Nolan, 12:00 PM on Sat Feb 28 2009, 33,471 views

We don’t want to over-excite anyone out there on the West Coast who may currently be engaged in wake-and-bake, but marijuana is now, for all practical purposes, legal in 13 states. Thanks to Obama!

Our new US attorney general, Eric “Loves Marijuana” Holder, said this past week that the federal government is no longer going to raid medical marijuana distributors, if medical marijuana is legal in the state. Under the Bush administration, it was nice and everything to live somewhere like, oh, California, where medical marijuana could be easily had, but it wasn’t completely nice, because the US govt. officially considered marijuana illegal still, so federal types would come in and raid medical marijuana places, being all like, fuck your state laws! But Holder said the federal government is scrapping all that, and going by what Barack “Marijuana is Good” Obama said during the campaign:

“My attitude is if the science and the doctors suggest that the best palliative care and the way to relieve pain and suffering is medical marijuana, then that’s something I’m open to,” Obama said in November 2007 at a campaign stop in Audubon, Iowa. “There’s no difference between that and morphine when it comes to just giving people relief from pain.”

And since getting a medical marijuana prescription in Cali is as easy as telling some weedhead doctor “I have stress,” weed is basically legal there now, as well as in many other states.

Dude. [MSNBC, Alternet; pic via]

So lucky all i have to do is turn my head and cough..

LONDON – A DAY AT THE STD CLINIC

I used to think I was selective when it came to choosing my sexual partners. That is, until I woke up yesterday morning to find that trying to wee felt more like passing molten lava. So I did what everyone does when they think something’s wrong down below and Googled my symptoms. Chlamydia was ruled out after I took a home kit I’d been mailed and the clap looked too fucked up to go unnoticed so I ticked that off the list. That left me with about a hundred other diseases, with symptoms ranging from crazy amounts of pain and gross looking discharge to absolutely nothing. And so that left me with one option: a trip to the STD clinic.

Until now I had never had a smear test. Instead, I had relied on my own method of prevention, which is basically a simple Q&A with my potential infectors before we get down to business. I’d usually put thoughts of infertility to the back of my mind but seeing as my friend was going to collect some results of her own I thought she could hold my hand and we could turn it into a fun day out.

Before getting decontaminated I decided it was important to make it look as clean and pure as possible. Or, at the very least, not always open for business, just occasionally open for business. I definitely didn’t want to give off any more slut vibes than were absolutely necessary.

The clientele at the clinic were better than expected. On the downside, even though we were one of the first in we still had to wait for over an hour to be seen (hence the woman above sleeping). Something tells me this wasn’t her first time. Whore.

This is where you breeze over any mechanical problems with a student nurse. After all, you don’t want them to know you’ve been performing tricks until it’s definitely been confirmed.

I had four people in the room with me for the examination, which, considering the circumstances (legs flailing in the air), wasn’t that embarrassing. Neither was being (technically) fingered. I guess I was just glad to not have to take the lead for once.

The examination itself consists of being stretched open with a metal clamp so they can get a swab. Although it didn’t make me reconsider childbirth, after attempting to insert it for the third time I made a mental pact never to never go to an STD clinic ever again.

vice magazine sex issue

Lauren, a 26-year-old from Long Island, is New York City’s youngest madam. She rents out girls—mostly models who aren’t going to make it—to Wall Streeters who are too busy, lazy, or drunk to pick up girls that might actually like them. Here’s what else we learned: • Lauren spends a half-million dollars a year in advertising. “TV spots, ads in local papers, even just a page in the yellow pages costs 45 grand,” she said. • Whores beget whores. “I find most of my girls through referrals. Once a girl sees how much money her friend makes, she wants in too.” • Lauren tells callers about the same girl, using different names and several price ranges. “Guys tend to go for the highest-priced girl. All I’ve got to do is tell her her name before she heads out.” Prices stretch from $300 to $1500 per hour, depending on the girl. (Rates are all-inclusive, from first kiss to blowing a load on her tits.) • Lauren says that one of her girls has dated a guy in a band for a few years (let’s just say they’re top 40 and their name rhymes with Pimple Glan). “He thinks she models,” Lauren admits. “He loves that she has money of her own. Of course, he thinks she makes it modeling. Most models only make like $150 a day, though. You make more waiting tables.” JAKE BRONSTEIN (Click here for more dirty stories)		This is a post-op picture of our interview subject’s catastrophic penile fracture. CLICK THIS PHOTO IF YOU HAVE NOT EATEN WITHIN THE LAST HOUR We thought it was an urban legend on par with pop rocks and Coke, but nope—you can fracture your penis. Repeat: YOU CAN FRACTURE YOUR PENIS. Our friend here, who insists on remaining anonymous, did just that. VICE: How. The. Fuck. Did. This. Happen? Guy Who Broke His Dick: I was fucking someone really hard, pulling my dick completely in and out. I had an off-target reentry and BANG! How will I know if I’ve broken my penis? Good one. Wait, you’re serious? Trust me, you’ll know. First you hear a loud cracking or popping noise. Then comes unspeakable pain and instantaneous loss of erection. If you’ve managed to also tear your urethra, which happens in 10% of cases — including mine — you’ll be pressure-spraying your immediate surroundings with an unbelievable amount of blood. I pulled the condom off my broken dick right when it happened, and there were just jets of blood spraying out. And I’m sure the operation to fix this is totally painless. Sure. First the doc has to check if your piss tube is still intact. Leave that untreated and you’ll be urinating like a lawn sprinkler forevermore. If it’s busted, you’ll likely be sporting a catheter for a while. Then he’ll drain any hematoma and then — and this was the best part — he’ll get to patching up your corpora and tunica. Give it to me in plain English. OK, OK. I went to a reconstructive penile specialist. He removed the cap of my penis, fixed up the insides, then slid the cap back on and stitched it up. Can we get a photo? Oh man. I guess. GRANT STODDARD
GO TO PAGE 2 When I was in sixth grade, we had this Yorkshire terrier. He would hump anything. Couch pillows, stuffed animals, your leg. We could not get over laughing at him. I was playing with the dog one day. I had a piece of paper balled up, and I got the idea to put it in my underwear. I wanted him to go down on me. He did. Whenever I was home alone I would get him to go down on me. I wasn’t into that it was a dog. I did it in my bed, squatting in my closet, and under my mom’s bed. I did it mostly when she wasn’t there, but I remember once she was. It was the afternoon and she was on the telephone right above me and the dog. After a while my mom and my sister knew what was going on. So I turned sneaky. I rinsed the dog’s nose off after, so he didn’t smell. When his snout was wet, he had a little French-guy mustache. It made me sick. My sister moved away and the dog went with her. He got all these teeth infections and ultimately died while being put under to have something done to his mouth. NICKI LUPUS (Click here for more dirty stories) Time to debunk a myth once and for all: Jews don’t fuck through a hole in a sheet. This BS may stem from an undergarment that Hasidic men wear called a Tallit. It’s a poncho, but Jewish. When laid out flat, it looks like a sheet with a hole in it. Supposedly, gentiles would see these things on laundry lines in Jewish neighborhoods and draw their own perverted conclusions. Ancient Jewish law says couples should be naked when doing it because then they feel “powerful emotions awaked when the body is caused to tingle by contact with another body.” Eww, “tingle.” According to Bracha Rudner, a rebbetzin (rabbi’s wife) and expert on Taharot Hamishpacha (laws of family purity), “It’s written in the Ketubah (Jewish wedding contract) that a man must have relations with his wife even if she’s post-menopausal and even during pregnancy.” The Talmud says that men have to ensure that their wife has an orgasm. There are even detailed guidelines about the required frequency of sex. “The times for conjugal duty prescribed in the Torah are: for men of independence, every day; for laborers, twice a week; for ass-drivers, once a week; for camel-drivers, once in 30 days; for sailors, once in six months. These are the rulings of Rabbi Eliezer.” Hear that, ass-drivers? You are required by Talmudic law to fuck weekly. KELLY AMNER Scientists in India have invented a liquid drug, Kamagra Oral Jelly, that makes Viagra feel like a baby aspirin. Available from coke dealers in London at 100mg for £5, it comes in mint, orange, or pineapple flavor. I took an entire sachet of pineapple at 10:30 PM on a Wednesday. I’d fucked my girlfriend four hours previously and I had the flu, so the odds of getting an erection were low. Yet 30 minutes in, my head started throbbing, my face went red, and my dick started getting hard. I told my girl it was her duty to test my cock out, and because she only gets fucked about three times a week maximum, she complied. I’m delighted to say that my dick got so inhumanly hard that I fucked her for one-and-a-half hours straight, or however long it was that the Eminem documentary I was watching over her shoulder took to play out. Then she fell asleep. I stayed up for four more hours playing PlayStation with the worst headache ever. The next day yielded a couple of unprompted, painful boners, which made it really hard to take a sit-down shit in the morning. Still, my girlfriend’s been really mellow for hours, so I’d definitely think about taking Kamagra again. ANDRE CORPER GO TO PAGE 3 You’re walking down the street in Tokyo, and—fuck it, you’re straight, and they’re beautiful and they dress sexy—girls in their early 20s are catching your eye. Luckily, your brainy (and imaginary) friend Factman is walking beside you. And he’s gay. “Do you know,” Factman tells you, “that one in 16 of these young women has worked in the sex industry?” You don’t really hear him, because some slim, pretty schoolgirls in plaid skirts and sailor-suit jackets are approaching. “They look like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, don’t they?” says Factman. “But about a quarter of these kids have already taken part in telephone chat clubs, dating older men for paid sex in one of Japan’s 40,000 love hotels. One source has estimated that soon up to 50% of Japanese people living in urban areas will be working in jobs related to the sex industry, which in Japan soaks up 1% of GNP. That makes sex as big a sector here as defense, and the sex industry richer than many medium-sized nations.” You’re not listening. Right in front of the train station some sleazebag is pestering a pretty girl, following her down the street saying stuff in her ear, touching her shoulder. She just smiles and walks on. “Factman, shouldn’t we do something? That’s pure harassment!” “She doesn’t mind,” Factman explains. “It’s all about money. The guy’s a scout for a porn film company. He knows she loves shopping for expensive Fendi handbags and Prada shoes and maybe owes millions to loan sharks. He’s giving her a chance to become a porn idol and earn 20,000 bucks a video. If she works for 20 days, she can earn as much as 4 million yen. That’s a lot of Prada.” “Jesus God, Japanese men must be even bigger masturbators than I am!” you exclaim. “Well, they probably have sex less than you do, especially if they’re married,” says Factman, peeling a banana. “After children arrive, straight couples tend to cool off here. There are also a lot more single men in their 30s these days. So there’s a wide range of sex for sale. For about $500 you can go to a Soapland and have a naked woman soap up and slither all over your body. For about half that you can have crotch play (handjobs, blowjobs) or delivery health, a kind of pizza-delivery service with sex instead of pizza. For a hundred bucks you can screw some illegal Filipino dancer being pressured by her manager to ‘broaden her appeal’ in a tough recessionary climate. And then there’s a range of quickies for cheapos, stuff like Fashion Massage…” When you get home, you decide to become gay. After all, being into Japanese girls is the last stop before full-on homosexuality. Everybody knows that. You email Factman your fave J-porn websites with free daily movies. You won’t be needing them anymore, but his magic eyes can see through the pixel mosaics to the dicks beneath, so maybe he’ll be able to use them. MOMUS How hot is this guy? He’s like, a perfect 10. Great lips. Great attitude. He’s got a better ass than Joe Namath and a better vagina than, I don’t know, the best vagina in New York. What are the girls in Sex and the City complaining about? Are they blind? There are plenty of hot dudes in this city—and this guy’s at the top of the list. SANDRA DEE (Click here for more dirty stories) Escort rates are skyrocketing. Last year, you could get a cute guy to come over and tongue your asshole all night for £200. These days, you’re looking at £800. Enter Joe Loner—the no-fees, no-strings-attached gay escort who’s making a real name for himself in the rent-boy scene. Based in a council flat in Islington, Joe has no fees and a progressive “no condoms” policy. If visit, don’t look for a boyfriend-y experience. Joe never takes his face out from under his sheets. He just lies there on his bed while you fuck the shit out of him. When our photographer asked him to explain why he’s so generous with his tattooed ass, Joe mumbled, “Just get on with it.” JON SPRITE

college was bad for my balls, and other stories…

SEASONS IN THE ABYSS

College Sex Disasters

ILLUSTRATIONS BY JESSICA PENFOLD

I NAILED MY STALKER
I was a bit spooked when in my first term of uni I started getting sexy notes posted through my halls of residence door. They said things like, “I saw you at the Get Up Kids show last Friday. I want you inside me.” It appeared there was a rather keen girl who shared my embarrassing interest in emo. Over the next few months, the notes got more regular, and more freaky – terrible emo lyrics juxtaposed with weird sex stuff she wanted to do to me. One time I found one posted through my bedroom window – I was thinking about speaking to the campus security. Plus, I’d had a tip-off from a friend at our neighbouring St. Thomas’ Halls that there was this ugly, psychotic little skater girl there who was obsessed with me.

At our college’s end of term party I lost the plot a bit. I’m not a big drinker, and had been dragged to the party against my will, so decided to get wasted. I started necking pints of Deadly Cobra (Snakebite and black with a double vodka) and by 10 PM I couldn’t remember my name. By 11 PM I was at the mercy of my loins, and found myself licking the fillings of the nearest female – with absolutely no idea what she looked like, or who she was.

By midnight I was back at hers, pummelling away at her troll-like frame. Come morning, I ascertained my whereabouts – St. Thomas’ Halls – before excitedly telling my companion about my St. Thomas stalker. Maybe she knew her? She didn’t say anything. When she got up to go to the toilet, I gazed across at her CD rack – Thursday, The Movielife, Saves The Day – uh oh, yes, I might’ve just impregnated my stalker. By the time she returned, I was running like the wind.

JAMIE HOLMES

RUPTURED BUM LOVE
I was one of the guys at uni whose standard dreams of a different girl every night were promptly shattered when I found myself settled down with a girlfriend, an eighth and a Curb Your Enthusiasm DVD within the first week. It could have been so much worse. She was the fittest girl I’d ever had the privilege of seeing naked, and she was more than happy to sit in, have sex, get stoned and skip lectures watching sitcoms. In fact, I’m missing her just recalling this.

One afternoon, our usual routine in full swing, idle telly-watching soon strayed into a bout of lazy sex. For some reason – I dunno, perhaps we swapped Curb for 24 that day – things started getting pretty dirty. We were doing it from behind, and having handed my first essay in that day, I thought I’d treat myself by sneaking it in her “special hole”. Now perhaps I’d been a bit overzealous in my entry, but before I knew it her body went completely limp and she slumped forward. As I’m sure you can imagine, I found this situation quite alarming. My heart was in my mouth and weird catholic-deviant-sex-killer guilt began bubbling in my throat. My state of panic intensified when I pulled my member out to find it soaked in blood, unleashing a torrent of red gloop from her bum as she just lay there totally motionless. It all got too much for me, and without thinking I dashed out into the corridor with my blood-caked willy in-hand in search of my friend who did medicine. Midway down the hall, I had second thoughts and opted to call up the NHS Direct helpine, worried I’d somehow ruptured her insides. Thankfully, while I was attempting to gabble some kind of explanation to the bemused guy on the phone, she came to. Despite her emaciated, bloody gloop-oozing state, she began to dazedly apologise and ask if I was OK.

Maybe we should have never broken up.

JOHN NORTH

HAMSTERDAM

I hate Amsterdam. I came to university a virgin and ended up getting into my first proper relationship midway through my first year. As he was the first guy I’d let have his wicked way with me, feelings were running strong. I was paranoid about him thinking I was this big virgin loser with barely a handjob to her name, so whatever he was up for I went with it. Lucky bastard. So we ended up trying pretty much everything. I just thought, why not? I’m an open-minded kind of girl.

A few months in, we decided to go on a romantic trip to Amsterdam and stay in a really nice apartment, the works. In my mind I had visions of candlelit dinners and canal-side walks by moonlight, but as soon as we got there it became apparent that he may as well have been going with the college rugby team. We headed to a sex show which was simultaneously the most awful and least erotic experience of my life. The next treat was a trip to a multi-level sex shop the size of a 24-hour Tesco where he bought Thai love beads “for me”. We got home and I begrudgingly gave them a whirl. They were OK but nothing worth writing home about. After we’d got past the formality of putting them inside me, he snatched them out of my hand, convinced they were meant to be amazing. Anyways, I shrugged, lubed him up and got to work. We started fucking with the beads wedged up his arse. Just before he came he yelled at me to pull them out. I yanked and the beads popped out. Regretfully, it wasn’t the only thing to emerge. Like a massive geyser, a huge stream of yellowy-brown, lube-laced shit come flying out, soaking our legs and the bed sheets.

It took us a few moments to realise what had happened. Then he suddenly snapped into consciousness and yanked the sheets off the bed in a shame-ridden sulk while I giggled in the hotel room, once my shins were rinsed of course. The whole incident served to make me realise I really wasn’t into the guy. I broke up with him while we were still over there.

JANE SMIDGE

RAINING BLOOD
I’d known this girl for a while. We weren’t great mates or anything, but we shared an interest in sitting around people’s houses getting wasted. One night after we’d been left alone together we ended up getting cosy and eventually started kissing. I didn’t even really fancy her, having been put off by her extremely hairy forearms (but as it turns out, strangely bald pubic regions. Go figure), but I was pretty bored and she had decent tits.

We were making out pretty intensely and everything seemed cool when all of sudden she bites down. Now we’re not talking a cheeky little nibble here either. Her tooth goes straight through my lip.

Reeling in shock, I pull back and splutter, “What the fuck are you doing?” To which she replies, “You love it!” Obviously assuming that because I was a complete wreck-head waster that automatically meant I was a total sadomasochist pervert too. I insisted quite firmly that I didn’t in fact love it in the slightest, to which she sighed and started going down on me. Everything was going fine until she raised her head up and again decided to sink her teeth into me. This time it was my solar plexus that was given her vampire treatment.

At the time I was pretty skinny, so this was no mean feat, but she managed to get a firm grip and something somewhere must have snapped. I looked down and couldn’t believe what I saw. I was gushing blood everywhere. A steady stream of blood poured all over both of us.

My reflex reaction was to let out a donkey kick, booting her right across the room. As she got to her feet there was a grim smile across her face. “Jesus,” I thought, “she loved it!” I’d unwittingly played into her trap. After that, there was no way I was risking further injury, so we opted to just get off our heads instead. Never again will I break with a tried and tested routine.

BEN JOHNSON

http://www.viceland.com/int/guide_student_uk08/htdocs/seasons_in_abyss.php?country=uk