Charlie* is the stuff. Probably the most fantastic guy you’d be lucky enough to know, let alone date. Take everything you women want in a man, multiply it by a hundred and sprinkle some angel wings, orgasms and gold dust on top. Yeah, he’s that awesome. Besides his stop-in-your-tracks good looks (see: green eyes and dark hair) and his enormously generous heart, one of his best qualities is his hilarious sense of humor. The guy is so funny he’s made me pee my pants. Literally. Twice. Unfortunately, as it so often happens to a lot of great guys out there, Charlie’s seen his share of crazy. Crazy ladies, that is.
A night of drinking with his buddies somehow morphed into Charlie throwing back Cosmopolitans with Zoe*, a server at his favorite bar. Zoe was a good time. Amusing enough to hang out with casually but not the girl you’re introducing to your mother. She was a short, attractive bottle-blonde with heavy make-up. And she was tan. Very tan. Like, her home planet is the sun, tan. She believed drinking should be done for sport – and she was a professional. That night, she was set on making it crystal clear that Charlie was the prize at the end of this marathon and that her victory lap would be spent sitting on his face.
Eight Cosmos deep, several Patron shots in, and now Zoe’s eighth request to come back to her place and ‘watch a movie’, Charlie assessed the situation and decided that he was drunk enough to make some bad decisions. Mistake numero uno of the evening. He figured the worst that could happen was he’d get an average blowjob and call it a night. His other option was to go home and pass out alone. He hadn’t hooked up in over a month so he decided he was willing to chance some teeth and her likely unwillingness to cup his balls, rather than spend another night alone in the pussy Sahara.
Against Charlie’s better judgment, he hopped in Zoe’s car after she insisted several times that she was ‘totally okay to drive.’ Ten heart attacks and less than seven minutes later, Zoe’s car was turning into the alley behind her apartment.
As the car rolled down the dark backstreet, Charlie spotted a neon yellow pole in the direct center of their path. Surely, Zoe saw this too. Of course she saw this gigantic, brightly painted, five-foot tall, cement pole blazing in the glow of her headlights. Nope. Drove. Right. Into. A. Pole. Zoe’s blank stare and less than appropriate reaction to the minor collision, should have escalated this already impending disaster to a Level 5 – get the fuck out of the car, don’t look the enemy in the eye, back away slowly – Alert.
Ten minutes later, Charlie had been thrown down on Zoe’s bed and was getting mouth-raped on top of pillows covered in a week’s worth of mascara and bronzer. All the while being thoroughly judged by the cold, empty, beady little eyes of three teddy bears and one mangled unicorn. Completely baffled that this woman had lived twenty-seven years of life and had not managed to master the kissing skills of a 9th grader, Charlie began to craft his escape. Of course, he was a nice guy. And he didn’t want to hurt Zoe’s feelings. That would make him an asshole. But it was like making out with an excessively tan Bullmastiff and he could only imagine that his cock would be used as a chew toy if he chanced this encounter for another second.
By the time Zoe finally ejected her darting snake tongue from Charlie’s mouth and excused herself to the restroom to ‘freshen up,’ aka apply more bronzer, he had come up with the obvious solution.
Run as fast as humanly possible. (Drunk) logically speaking, if she never actually witnessed him leaving – he was never really there.
As soon as Charlie heard the bathroom door click shut he launched from the bed, grabbed his sneakers and hoodie, tip-toed to the door like a cat burglar, oh-so quietly opened and closed her front door, leapt from the front porch like Baryshnikov – and ran. Ran like the motherfucking wind. He had made it about ten blocks before he finally felt it was safe to stop, catch his breath and put his sneakers back on.
Colossally dumb decision number thirty-five of the night.
No. No way was he hearing Zoe’s voice calling his name. Not happening. Impossible. Who would chase down someone who had disappeared from their bedroom like a phantom, and who quite obviously would rather run the five miles home than spend another second being slobbered on and risking certain death from tongue asphyxiation? A crazy person. That’s who.
There it was again.
“Charlie, are you okay?! Chaaaaaaarrrrrrrrlllllllliiiiiieeeee?!?!”
Less than five seconds later a pair of lopsided headlights came swinging around the corner just as Charlie succeeded in army crawling into the nearest set of bushes that would provide decent cover. He spent FORTY-SEVEN minutes with his face planted in the cold, hard earth waiting out Zoe’s drunken car laps around the neighborhood, complete implosion of reality and murderous death of any scrap of dignity she had left. When he emerged, shoeless, shivering and covered in dirt, he would have given anything to be back crawling on his hands and knees – sexless, in the desert.
MORAL OF THE STORY: This one is three-fold, kids. One, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD – LEARN HOW TO KISS. For those of you who have encountered a bad kisser, you owe it to society to tell them so the next person is spared the pain and suffering. Two, if the person you’re about to have sex with runs into a pole (or anything, for that matter) with their car en route to the hook up – get out of the vehicle cause it’s all downhill from there. And lastly, do NOT chase someone who has just vanished like Houdini from your presence. It’s humiliating and one giant step closer to boiling bunnies.
By Tracy Pope
*Disclaimer, Yo: The content is real, provided by several different consenting sources and based on fictional characters inspired by actual people. Names have been changed for obvious reasons. Creative liberties are taken to character build but these hilarious and mortifying experiences are all true. Hot, weird, crazy, funny shit occurs when people get naked together. It’s awesome.