Check out the broads behind DMITF as they sit down with Zach and Ryan of the No Huddle Podcast to discuss fuck boxes, BYOHeroin bars, and finger blasting. Give it a listen; you just might learn something.
I went back to this girl’s house and we started fooling around. I was on top of her and started to finger her. She was really getting into it – screaming, moaning, the whole deal. She came hard and fast and very loud. After it quieted down, I heard a faint sound. “Do you hear something?” I asked. “Yeah.” I listened a little more closely and made out the voice of an automated voice. I immediately starting fumbling through my pockets, but my phone wasn’t there. She rolled over on her side. The voice got louder. My phone was underneath her. I quickly grab it, but it was too late. The call had already been made. I searched my recent calls to find that she literally “butt dialed” my mom at 3:30am while having a screaming orgasm. The call lasted 1 minute 16 seconds.
How exciting–that artsy jerk I dated was in the newspaper!
From the Brooklyn Daily, May 10, 2011
By Natalie O’Neill
Brooklyn Heights–DUMBO–Boerum Hill–Downtown
An artist beat up a man at a bar on Third Avenue on April 28.
The 25-year-old victim told cops that he was at Hank’s Saloon near Atlantic Avenue at around 11:45 pm when he got into an argument with a 33-year-old art gallery owner. The artist then whacked him over the head with a bar stool, leaving him with a gash on his right eyebrow.
Cops rushed him to Brooklyn Hospital and arrested the artsy jerk.
Like many of you out there I am a frequenter of the free dating website OKCupid. One year into using this site I have to admit I use it mostly for the funny stories and what I call “practice dating.”
A couple months ago I started going on multiple dates with this guy George. He was 31, a martial artist and was working on buying his own home. While he was kinda nerdy he was also very cute and seemed to have lots of things going for him. We went on hikes and met up to go bowling. I was becoming quite interested. However, after 4 dates he still hadn’t made any moves. Finally, he invited me to his house for dinner.
After eating he suggested we watch a movie. We settled in and he even put his arm around me. “Atta boy George, getting things done”, I thought to myself… we sat like this for an hour and a half! Periodically I would turn to ask him a question, “When was this film made?”, “Why do you think he is lying to her?”, “What did she say?”, “Where is this taking place?” Progressively my questions got dumber and dumber. I was only doing this to give him ample opportunity to kiss me and yet all it did was make me look stupid.
Finally he kissed me. We lay down on the couch and began to make out. George placed his hands over my head leaning over me and he kept them there. They did not move. Ever. After a while I grabbed one of his hands and placed it on my side. It stayed there limp and unmoving. I again grabbed the hand and moved it up and down my side. He went along with this and again when left to his own devices moved his hand right back above my head and continued our G rated make-out session.
I thought in my head perhaps it is because he is in an awkward position. I shifted us around so that I was sitting on his lap. If I thought that it was awkward before then I had something coming to me. George continued to kiss me but now his hands lay limp at his sides. After a few minutes I literally grabbed his hands and put them on my boobs. I released, like someone letting go of a child on a bicycle, to see what he could accomplish on his own. Flop. Hands back down to his side. I even asked him, “Are you having a good time?” to which he responded yes. I was getting quite bored and there seemed to be no end in sight. I even started to get worried that I had somehow molested the poor man and that he might just not be “ready” to touch my boobs.
I finally made some excuse that I needed to leave. He put on some horrible fur lined jacket (final straw) and walked me to my car. A couple of days later I received a text from him asking if I wanted to hang out again. Poor George. I just couldn’t break it to him that not only did he turn making out into something so incredibly dull but that I couldn’t handle the task of teaching a 31 year old man the ropes. Thanks George, you made me a jerk.
To combat social anxiety at a party full of Ivy League kids, I drank early and often. About two hours in, I settle into conversation with a marginally attractive but enthusiastic woman. Since I had drowned my insecurities in beer and my better instincts in vodka, I proceeded to accompany this young lady on her subway ride to the Bronx.
“Would you want to stop off with me in Washington Heights, and smoke some pot?”, I wondered aloud.
Back at my place we smoked a bit, made out a bit, and then she excused herself to the bathroom.
Having undergone what must have been a harrowing five minute panic attack, she emerged a different person.
She began asking me where she was, and what had I put in that pot, and where had I taken her, and how was she going get to the Bronx.
She told me to keep my hands where I could see them, and she picked up my phone. It was then that she revealed that she was not a freshman at Yale, but a freaking out seventeen-year-old who was calling her father. I politely pointed out that there was nothing between her and the door. I offered to pay for a car service. Instead, we had a long, tense wait while she stayed on the phone with her Dad speaking Spanish, which I do not understand. At one point she actually asked for a piece of mail to verify my address.
I drew the line at her father coming up. As she bolted for the door, she called out, “Sorry about this, please don’t chase me down the stairs!”.
She left a message the next day apologizing and saying she’d love to see me again.
I had an insanely intense and unexpected summer fling with a guy who had been on the periphery of my social circle for years. I had heard he boned lots of girls and always broke their hearts. When I met him, I was in shock. This guy? Heartbreaker? Good in bed? No Fucking Way.
After hanging out with him for a few days, I started to get his charm. On a drunken night, I ended up in a shower with him having condom-less sex in a house full of about 15 of our mutually very close friends. After that, we realized we were totally crazy about each other.
He was moving to LA at the end of the summer and it was already August so we plowed forward, full force. We never discussed exclusivity, we just spent tons of time together and acted like a real couple.
On our very last night together, I was feeling really sad about him leaving. I had slept with someone else in the month we had together and I started thinking about how he must have slept with other people, too. I was locked in my head about it before he came over and was going totally nuts. When he got there, he asked me to meet him downstairs so we could get ice cream to bring up to my apt. When we walked into the bright, harsh lighting of the grocery store, to my absolute horror, I noticed a MASSIVE hickey on his neck. I crumbled.
When I confronted him in my bed, he denied it. How can you deny the existence and cause of a fucking hickey? In what other circumstance than having someone forcefully suck on your neck could you have such a specific marking? I wanted to punch him and I really wanted to punch the girl who gave it to him because I KNEW HER and she’s awful. Instead, I just made him cry by piling on the guilt.
I never mentioned that I had sex with another guy two weekends before. Woops!
i was dating this guy who lived with a bunch of other guys. it was a temporary situation, and he was staying on a futon in their living room. i was like, 19, okay?? anyways, one night everyone was gone and things started getting pretty x-rated on the futon, but under a blanket. all the sudden one of his roomies walks in and comes over to us. i scooch down under the blanket. he says hello to me, fist bumps my man and then offers him a bite of a hot dog he was eating, which my man accepts. we kept fooling around after, but he tasted like hot dog.