We went out to karaoke, one night, and to do karaoke, you usually have to be drunk. Unless you’re a good singer, in which case being drunk is just a nice bonus. We were all very drunk, regardless of our level of singing talent, and talk turned, as talk usually does when you’re very drunk and happy, to sex. It’s easier, of course, to talk about sex when you’re three sheets to the wind and can blame every embarrassing thing that comes out of your mouth on the highball glass filled to the top with beautiful vodka. The sex talk came around, after some meandering, to talking dirty in bed, which ended up becoming a conversation about the very worst thing anyone had ever said in bed to us.
I am very disappointed to report that I don’t entirely remember my friends’ stories. I know, however, that they were terrible, and painfully hilarious in the way that only something wretched and awful and embarrassing can be, in retrospect. I kind of wish I didn’t remember my own story, because it still makes me cringe, 15 years later, when I think about it.
We were making out, me and a guy I was hopelessly attracted to. He was
a charming, smarmy, slightly cheesy finger-guns kind of guy, which
should have warned me, but I did not heed the urgent, screaming
klaxons. I loved that he was so smooth and that he turned that charm on
me so regularly, with brilliant results. I mean, he had his hand on my
boob, so I think he could be pretty confident that Operation Charm Her
Pants Off would be a complete success.
Maybe he got too confident. Maybe the boobs went to his head as the
blood rushed from it and down to his dick. Maybe–and this is so
terrible to think about–it had worked before. But he pulled away from
me, took my hand and led me to his bed. He kissed me, drop kicked his
pants, yanked off his shirt and sprawled on the mattress. I believe I
was stunned into silence in immobility, in the face of his erection,
which was rampant, and pointing straight up and a little to the side
like a sundial. He grabbed it, shook it at me, a little wobble to and
fro, and he said, “Saddle up, babe!”
I’m pretty sure I said “Oh god,” and left the room. At least, I hope
that’s what I did. The misty fog of memory swirls and coalesces,
mercifully closing over the rest of that night and shielding me from
further psychic harm. But I am still left with residual nausea and a
little bit of heartburn.
I think it’s easy to say the wrong thing in bed, I think, especially if
it’s the first time, or your relationship is still new. You’re not
thinking particularly clearly, you’re incredibly vulnerable, you’re
sometimes incredibly, nerve-wrackingly nervous and afraid you’re going to
do the wrong thing, physically. You could perform the wrong technique
the wrong way or trip or drool or fart or stumble or do something
ridiculous. And you’re so busy concentrating that your mouth is left to
its own devices, and you are liable to blurt out the most ridiculous,
embarrassing things that you feel like you won’t ever, ever live down
or get over. Luckily, there are ways to distract your partner
immediately, if you are a quick thinker. And if she hasn’t fled the
room in horror.
What’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to you in bed? What’s the
worst thing you’ve ever said, that has made you want to sink through
the mattress (or the car seat or the kitchen table or the floor,
et cetera)? We want to know. Sharing spreads the pain and in this way,