Just Not Feelin’ It
When I was about 20 years old, I dated a sweet guy from my university. I could go on listing his stellar qualities, but, unfortunately, I’ve forgotten most of them. Home after a date one Saturday night, we settled in for some very heavy making out. You know, the PG-13 kind with all the soft-core action and never really any resolve. He decided we should just. keep. going. I was so excited and elated that we were ready. Really and truly, I thought this was going to be one of those beautifully passionate moments… until I unzipped his pants to find My Very Worst Date.
My first reaction was…well, I’ll just seduce him girl-on-top style with these smaller things. He put the condom on and I gave it a go. I felt nothing. Tried again. Still nothing. Was it really me? Oh my God, panic set in. I mean, I was only 20 and still fairly inexperienced with this sort of thing.
Thinking something was wrong, I stopped and dismounted as gracefully as an Olympic gymnast, only to find his manhood all limp. Smooshy. Just flopping in the breeze as if nothing ever happened. So, I did what any good pseudo-girlfriend would do: I offered fellatio. I smiled and teased him; he said politely, “no thank you, you don’t have to do that…really, it’s okay.” I ignored his warnings. Almost a minute later, my right cheek was totally numb. As numb as the Novocaine from the dentist. Numb like Icy Hot. Dead, droopy numb.
He tried to avoid the awkward moment where he neglected to tell me that he was using climax control condoms. Primary numbing agent: Benzocaine.