Due to the innate pleasures of working at home and watching VH1 Classic at the same time—and the fact that a former work colleague’s protégé and my highly inappropriate young man crush has gotten a new job in my former stomping grounds of Las Vegas—I have decided to write a post Dedicated to the Worst One-Night Stands of All Time.
They all have something to do with Vegas.
Worst One Night Stand One: My ex-boyfriend, who shall remain nameless, went out one fine evening to some local shitty townie bar where a bevy of Bud Girls were handing out free tall boys and such. After many some such free beers, cigarettes and exposure to dark lighting, that young man found himself some 10 or so hours later awoken by a young child, smacking him on the head with a wiffle-ball bat, yelling, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Oh, and that Bud Girl? Not so good-looking in the daytime.
Worst One Night Stand Two: Another ex of mine was crashing with me for the weekend. He was hell-bent on getting laid no matter what. So, we took him out to another townie bar where a friend was doing a music show. My ex immediately started sidling up to this mid-40-something cocktail waitress, who was sitting and chain-smoking at the bar. “You do not want to do that,” we all told him. And he was like, “No way, who cares? I like that she looks rode hard and put out wet.” And so, we let him get progressively drunker, but before we left for the evening, my then-boyfriend (the so-called gent from the Worst One Night Stand One, so you know he had high standards) even went over there and tried to get him to change his mind. “Man, you do not want to do this. You’re gonna end up in a trailer parked off Boulder Highway somewhere.” But he went through with it and showed up the next day, shakin’ and a shudderin’, admitting that while he did manage to “tap that from behind” it was a quite unpleasant journey he would never repeat.
Worst One Night Stand Three:
OK, admittedly did not actually happen in Vegas, but Vegas influenced. You know how people date the same type of people over and over and how fucked up that is? Yep, I found a guy on Nerve who looked exactly like a dude I had a thing for in Vegas—sick, I know, but hey, I was trying to fill a void. So, I go out with this dude a couple times—he was named after a whiskey—and after date three, he comes back to my place, but he’s drunk as shit, and we’re trying to do it on the couch and it is completely lackluster and he keeps going all Mr. Softie on me and I am losing my patience as it’s all just turning out really bad. So, after that, it’s like 4 a.m. and he lives way across town and refuses to take a cab home—so he has to stay over after the awful sex. Admittedly, we give it another go, which also ends quit badly, and I get no sleep while this Vegas Doppelganger Named After a Whiskey is snoring away on my deluxe pillow-top mattress.
The next morning, I want him out. I can’t stand it. So while he’s in the shower, I go around the apartment and gather up all his shit—backpack, pants, cigarettes—and pile it by my front door. I’m sitting there, smoking, when he gets out and I’m like, “There’s your shit.” And he looks at that sad little pile—and bolts as fast as he can.
In retrospect, yeah, that was mean. But if you’ve ever had the Worst Sex of Your Life, you want it eradicated from your life. Immediately.
I want to hear about everyone’s Worst One Night Stands Ever. Please post away in the comments below.
(This post was written while listening to Ratt and Motley Crue.)