Where Boys Hide Their Boners
When a guy pops a boner in basketball shorts, there’s only one place to hide. My first boyfriend taught me where boys keep their boners.
One night he took me to a scenic overlook that had a view of the city which I enjoyed from the inside of my boyfriend’s mouth as we made out against a high-standing stone wall. (That is to say, I did not actually enjoy much of the view because we were otherwise occupied).
He was a giant at 6’3″ to my 5’2″. We kissed in that awkward way that mismatched couples do and it was cold so I huddled into him. As we kissed, I absent-mindedly ran my thumb along the inside of the waistband of his pants. And then I touched something! Something hard and squishy. I was confused…and then I realized.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” I yelled, incredibly alarmed at the magnitude of this secret.
How to Give a BJ to a Piece of Fruit
Another boyfriend once demonstrated the proper technique of performing fellatio on a banana. I’m a visual learner so it was very informative, as you can imagine.
Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid (Especially When Drunk)
We arrived an hour late to a fancy college cocktail party, my friends and I. Our host had smooth jazz playing and offered to make us mojitos or tequila sunrises. Courage (name unchanged because it’s fucking hilarious), his roommate, was a mouse. He barely said a word in a Great Gatsby kind of way, while our host bathed in the kind of grandeur that a fancy cocktail party could inspire in a dingy dorm room.
Soon, Courage drank enough courage (LOL) to cross the threshold into douche bag territory. His shy Courage the Cowardly Dog image was abruptly dislodged as he hit on my friend in the ice cream aisle of psycho Safeway during a quick drunchies run. Back in the dorm room, we could barely understand him anymore through his thick slur. It’s possible he was trying to insult someone when suddenly he erupted with, “My mom sucks my dick!”
The entire room was horrified. There are definitely some filters that should ALWAYS be in tact, even when you are sloppy drunk.
Don’t Tell Your Brother
Back in the days when no one questioned Happy Meals and Rugrats was the best show on television, I used to tell my mom everything. “Everything” was not as exciting as it sounds, but one day I had some real news. In second grade, I told my mom the name of the boy I had a crush on in the mini van as we drove home from school. My little brother was also there, but it didn’t matter.
The next day my crush and his friend confronted me. Not even in a mean way, but I was a sensitive child. The probability that I cried is 100%. When the gates of the mini van had opened that morning, my little rat brother had run directly to my crush to tell him, and know he knew! Little brothers are horrible secret-keepers! I learned this lesson the hard way.
The Worst Place to Get a Hickey
It’s on your lip. The worst place for the purple/brown bruising of a hickey is on your otherwise lovely lips. It will sit smugly on the corner of your smile and refuse to be hidden, even beneath ruby red lipstick–which looks slightly ridiculous given the context of your job serving up dill peas at a retirement community.