PSA: Here’s What Happens When You Get A Girl A Fancy Hotel Room For The Night

I like to think of myself as a pretty fun girl. I’m generally up for anything one of my good girlfriends will suggest, so when a friend asked if I’d come distract the tagalong friend of the dude she’s boning, I thought, “Why the hell not.” The fact that she added, “They’re rich and will pay for everything” helped too. So I met them for dinner and chatted with the friend, who was nice in a small-town way and picked up the check. OK, I thought to myself, this will be just fine. I’ll hang out with him for a few hours, have some drinks and go home. Favor for a friend, no big deal. Or so I thought. Our next stop was the strip club down the road (my idea), where said dude handed me a fat stack of $1 and steered me towards the stage and towards his lap. The two bourbon slushies I had consumed thought this was an OK idea, so on the lap I plunked. And into the G-strings of all my favorite strippers went his money. I let him kiss me – whatever, he told me my hair looked nice. But then he started sliding a hand up my dress even though I pushed it away. And then he started telling me how what he wanted to do was slip a finger in my panties to feel how wet I was. (I wasn’t wet at all. I just wanted to see some strippers.) He was telling me how pretty I am and how much he wants to get out of here with me, and I’m honestly thinking, “Well, I am trying to get back at another dude, so … this is the mature choice, right?” Of course not. I told him we were absolutely not going back to my house and we were absolutely not having sex, but what was the harm in a little makeout session, maybe the kind where my top comes off? I like those. Plus dude had mentioned he was gonna get us a fancy hotel room for the night, and I am all about the fancy hotel room. “No sex. Got that?” I said sternly. “Absolutely no sex. Nuh-uh.” He nodded and drooled all over me with his eyes, then booked the room on his phone. I hoped it had a Jacuzzi. I had my hand right on his cock as he checked us in, watching him fidget around while the clerk took his credit card. I was also watching the clerk, who probably thought we were some drunk kids who were gonna fuck for an hour and then dip. Or he thought I was an escort. Dude is getting really hard and uncomfortable under my hand, which I love. I love making them squirm. He guided me into the elevator and I started to laugh. “I feel just like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman.’” We made out all the way to the ninth floor and it felt good, a little bit naughty and a little bit sexy. What an adventuress I was. I was kind of thrilled by this whole thing. Nobody’d ever wined and dined and hotel’ed me before. That is, until we got into the room. I laid down on the bed and he was upon me, which was fine, until I realized that dude was kissing me with his ENTIRE tongue. HIS WHOLE TONGUE. THE WHOLE THING. I know. I know. You’re gagging, right? I was trying not to. The thing was giant in my mouth and thick. It was like that episode of “Sex and the City” where Charlotte dates the bad kisser. I was looking for an escape. Plus he kept trying to shove his fingers in my panties. If I hadn’t shoved him away as hard as I did it would’ve been a repeat of my first fingerbanging at 15. It hurt. 
Then he took off his shirt. Brace yourselves. He shaved his chest. Never in my 27 years of life have I fooled around with a man who shaves his chest, and let me tell you, it is not a fun time. It’s like having a giant flat stubbly face chafing against your torso and that really sensitive soft skin of your boobs. I was looking at the ceiling thinking, “Please god, don’t let me get marks from this shit.” Why do men do that? I thought that trend died with the rise of the lumbersexual! I like a little chest hair. It’s sexy. I don’t like this scratchy shit wreaking havoc with my skin, and I really don’t like it with someone’s entire tongue shoved in my mouth. I never thought Ken Dolls were sexy. I thought they looked like aliens. I had to stifle my laughter. I wiggled away from dude and blamed the booze on my sudden disinterest. “But I wanna see how wet you are,” he pleaded. I was like, “Bro, I am not fucking wet at all because you shaved your chest and suck at kissing. Also, you’re like five years older than me so knock it off.” Now, I didn’t say all of this aloud because I don’t want to bite the hand that books me a hotel room, but I was thinking it. I was also thinking that maybe Kardashians were on TV and he’d pass out so I could watch. Spoiler alert: He didn’t. I kinda forgot about shitty kissers because I’ve been on a streak of 100% delicious kissers, the kind of dudes who make your knees shaky and drunk and your head all spinny. But that’s the thing with fooling around: you win some, you lose some. I guess I just have to chalk this one up as a “lose.” I did steal all the toiletries, though.