I know why you’re here.
You want to know what the three words were.
The three words in the message Country Boy texted me that changed everything. (If you have no idea what I’m on about, or who Country Boy is, you need to go back and read my last column, here.)
His message stared back at me on the screen…
I read it over several times to savour it, like a bucket of Ben & Jerry’s you lie and tell yourself you’re only going to eat half of.
‘Want to fuck?’ it read.
Yes, I did. In fact, riding CB’s D into the sunset was about all I’d been thinking of these past five months, despite the healthy amount of f*ckboy peen my vajayjay had seen since then.
Yeah, yeah…I knew he had the emotional maturity of a potato; and hindsight (read: blood no longer being redirected from my brain to my vagina) had afforded me the clarity of realising just how boring and unimpressive he actually was as a person. (On our third date, I’d asked him if he could do anything with his life, what he’d do. He said he’d always fancied himself a pilot. I pointed out it wasn’t too late to achieve his dream. He responded with something like, “Yeah, but it’s too much effort. My job now is easy, you know?”)
So, yeah. But, TBH, I was kinda bored myself at the time. My options were essentially to attack the pile of laundry on my bedroom chair (at least, it was a chair to begin with – I couldn’t really be sure anymore. It also may have crumbled into dust under my month-old dirty undies and missing socks. Who’s to say?), OR, the other possible route (pun intended) was to get my rocks off. And that would mean finally getting to see if CB’s man jewels were as impressive as his handshake. *Wink, wink*
I snapped a sexy pic of myself reclining back on my bed and shot it to him with the caption ‘How soon can you get here?’.
As it turned out, very soon. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one sitting around with nothing to do on a Saturday night. Clearly CB’s line-up of side baes had dried up. I prayed it wasn’t a sign he’d secretly been hiding a micropenis from me this whole time (actually, that would have explained A LOT)…
“How have you been?” he asked awkwardly after arriving, poorly veiling the fact he didn’t actually care, or want to know.
“Good,” I replied.
He continued hovering just inside the door awkwardly, not saying anything.
“Want a beer?” I asked, suddenly remembering FB#6 had left a Corona in the fridge the night before.
“Sure,” he replied.
Ten painful minutes of small talk and one beer later, I decided to just go for it, and went in for a pash.
The kissing was not the intimate, panty-dropping exchange it had been on our first date. It was a dry, tongue-less weird kind of lip-lock I imagined he gave his grandmother.
Hmm. Okay. So that was off the table… And, unfortunately, so was foreplay.
We might have moved things into the bedroom, but CBs bedroom technique was non-existent. I’ve legit had handsier sessions with my pillow. After what felt like an eternity of hinting and nudging him to take my clothes off with almost no response (was it just me, or had it been an entire minute since he last blinked??) I flung off my underwear in frustration and jumped on his D.
Thankfully, this was the one area in which CB REALLY delivered. HALLELUIJAH!!
If there was a picture of the way a penis should look under the word ‘penis’ in the dictionary, it would have been his. It was so good-looking, I kinda wanted to give it a little coat and hat and introduce it to all my friends. Or maybe frame it and display it in a gallery somewhere.
Which was a relief, because, next to the total absence of conversation, kissing and foreplay, his dick was really all there was left for entertainment.
I got myself to orgasm quickly by riding him like the pogo stick I got on Christmas day in 1996 (let me tell you, I rode that thing till I broke it. The pogo stick, not his penis.), after which point he rolled over, mumbled something incoherent in his thick country accent, then hopped up and began dressing.
“You’re off already?” I asked, still high on the orgasm juices rushing to my brain.
“Yeah. I have laundry to do tonight,” he replied.
GUYS, DEAD SET that is what he said! I wish I was making that up for comic effect, but that is 100% fact.
Yep, CB was potentially the worst excuse for a f*ckboy, ever. But, his D…oh, his D. It had magical powers. Sure, I had to do all the work on account of his appearing to have no knowledge of the whereabouts or existence of the clitoris, but WOW. When I came, I CAAAME.
Needless to say, that night sparked the beginning of a beautiful new friendship. A friends-with-benefits friendship, if you catch my drift. *Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge*.
CB started coming ‘round on the reg. And I secretly delighted in how effortlessly I could snap my fingers and get him to come running, like the pathetic little man with a beautiful penis he really was. It felt like sweet justice, being the one who had all the power now, after months of being strung along.
But, adding him to my now-full rotation of f*ckboys proved a challenge. I already had FB#6 on the scene to take the edge off my horniness from months earlier, when CB and I were first dating; and he was still hanging around on account of the fact he had the tongue of a god. (No woman drops a guy who knows how to eat p*ssy properly. They’re so rare, it’s like finding an actual dress in your size at a Zara sale. You’ll fight a bitch for one if you have to.)
And in the months since CB’s initial disappearance, I’d filled my rotation back out with another four FBs, because, a girl’s got needs. (Hey, there are seven days in a week. Why have one D when you can have six, and rest on the Sabbath Day?)
Plus, I was still browsing Bumble and accepting the odd date with a hottie, because, why not, right? To be honest, while scheduling everything in was a task, it was well worth it. I felt like the girl who’d just discovered she could order Dominos by sending a single pizza emoji.
I contacted the guys on my list, depending on what I was craving on a given night. Steamy, delectable all-night-long sex with my body being explored by the tongue of an oral sex deity? FB#6 it was! Not in the mood for people and just want to get my vag off? Time to text CB! He’d be ejaculating and telling me he had to get home to dust the curtains before 20 minutes had elapsed. Then there were my other four FBs, which you’ll learn more about later… ;-)
Everything was falling into place nicely. And for the first time in a long time, I felt back in control, like a true f*ckgirl again. I was QUEEN OF THE D! QUEEEEN of the DEEEEEEEE!
Unfortunately, little did I know, everything was actually just days from completely crashing down around me. And when I say crashing, I mean huge-f*cking-explosion-life-ruining type stuff.
It all began with a new guy at work, a misplaced condom, and a very cheeky challenge that was way, WAY too irresistible to turn down.
And I’ll tell you what it was, in next week’s column. ;-)
Want to catch up on the hilarious ‘Nadia Uncensored’ series from the start? Start here:
Nadia Uncensored 2: ‘What happened when I flew 900 kilometres for a man I’d never met.’
Nadia Uncensored 4: ‘I woke up in a pool of my own vomit to a VERY unexpected text message.’
Nadia Uncensored 5: ‘My date mauled my face like a Labrador, then became…creepy.’
Nadia Uncensored 6: ‘My Bumble date said three words to me that made my ovaries explode.’