I have definitely found myself in plenty of awkward situations during my adventures with opposite sex. And I really pride myself on my truly warped sense of humor and irony. I thought I’d share some funny tidbits from my adventures, ones that don’t involve me having sex with a psychopath.
The first three times PB and I went out our clothes kinda ’matched. It was amusing to both of us that each time we were wearing almost exactly the same color shirt. We both just determined we look good in the same colors; it was funny and cute. But the fourth time we went out I realized that it could be a problem. We had just finished sexy time, he was sweating and I had stuff on my chest and abdomen that I wanted to wipe off. He scanned his room for something we could both use. We had both worn light blue that night so when he picked up a light blue shirt off the floor, wiped his brow and handed it to me adding, “Use this. It is fine,” I took the shirt and wiped myself off, handed it back to him and he tossed it the corner of his room..
He went to use the bathroom and I decided it would be a good time for me to pop outside for a smoke. I stood up, pulled on my jeans but didn’t see my blouse. I stood up and scanned the room. I looked at the foot of the bed and found PB’s discarded clothes in a pile, light blue shirt included. “No” I mumbled. I turned to where he had tossed the other shirt. “No, no, no,” I whined. I cautiously pick up the shirt and held it out in front of me. “Fuck!” I said as I stared at my blouse which now had a nice big smear of PB on it. As I stood there staring at my blouse, mumbling to myself, PB came back into the room. “Oh no!” he exclaimed. He tried to fight his urge to laugh as he apologized profusely.
“I need a shirt.” He went to his closet and got me a t-shirt. He informed me that the shirt I was now putting on was the shirt he thought he had handed me only moments before. I just started laughing. I kept thinking about my blouse and the whole situation and it was funny. I was now wearing hooker boots and a t-shirt. If that doesn’t scream “Walk of Shame” then I don’t know what does. I wondered if my blouse was ruined but I really didn’t care. I had a great story and I love great stories.