The Weirdest Sex I’ve Ever Had
I’m sharing my story for the first time, and I invite you to do the same.
What’s the weirdest sex you’ve ever had? I’ll go first. The most oddball sexual experience from my archives has to be the one where a flying cellphone hit me square in the back. But that part comes later. Let’s start at the beginning.
Before my senior year at Syracuse University, I made the decision to move into the apartment my boyfriend, C., shared with two male roommates. This was not an ideal situation nor my first choice. It was, however, my fault. Procrastinating on securing my living arrangements until the last minute meant I was scrambling to find a place to live (and low-level panicking about what to do). C. swooped in at the 11th hour to save the day.
At that point, my relationship with C. could best be described as having outlived its usefulness. We were bonded by a quirky collection of inside jokes, few shared values and loads of built-up resentment. We’d first connected a couple weeks into our freshman year and had mostly been together ever since. Things had obviously run their course. I think we both knew that, but it also seemed more convenient to stay together a little longer than deal with the fallout of actually breaking up.
As often happens when you live with someone whose presence you only mildly enjoy, the relationship quickly began to break down. Being the lone woman in a house of college boys also proved to be less “New Girl” (or “Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place” if you came of age in the early aughts) and more “three lazy slobs with minimal ambition and a girl who had a job, a life and goals.” I’m not being generous with my description, but it’s also not inaccurate, so it stays.
Regardless, it didn’t take long for me to feel beyond fed up with the situation. As someone with few options and a pervasive reluctance to break a lease, however, I was locked into this living arrangement for at least another semester. I tried to make do. When C. and I inevitably called off our relationship, he pressured me to move out. I declined the option to become house-less. Since I was paying rent and he was behind, I was fairly confident that if someone was going to be asked to leave, it wasn’t gonna be me.
Reluctant to press his luck or demand a vote among the roommates, C. had little choice but to accept I would be around. I suggested that he and I set some ground rules until graduation to make this period as painless as possible.
For example, I felt it completely reasonable that we not bring people were dating to the house. C. pushed back. He wanted to bring girls to our house if he felt like it. The caveat being that he didn’t want me to bring guys back to the house. Seems fair and reasonable, right? Now, I pushed back. If he was bringing dates back to the house then so was I, although (I reiterated) that was not my preference and seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. Fine, he agreed. FINE!
C. got huffy. I got motivated. This all went down on a Saturday, and I happened to have the night off from working the “drunk shift” at the Pita Pit. I decided to go to a party with a friend. I also decided that I was going to make C. regret his idiotic position that we should purposefully try to make one another jealous by bringing love interests to our shared space. He seemed pretty confident that he would have no problem attracting someone new. I felt his chances paled in comparison to mine. It was the perfect time to let pettiness reign.
So, I got pretty and went out with my friend, G. The house party we attended had plenty of liquid courage options. I spent some time partaking before I went on the prowl. One of G.’s friends was visiting, and that friend brought along another hotter friend, M. I was vodka-drunk enough to feel good about my chances. When M. went outside to smoke, I followed him to make a move.
At this point, things get a little hazy. I remember standing in the cold outside the party. I remember chatting with M., and then, I remember taking his hand and leading him back to my place to get laid. I have no idea what I said, but apparently it was charming and deliciously sexy. Or maybe it was crude and “unladylike” but very explicit? Who cares. It worked. We stumbled back to my place.
Now, here’s the point in the story where it’s important to understand a little about the layout of the house. When I first moved in, C. and I mostly shared a bedroom upstairs, which was where all of the actual bedrooms were located. After our relationship changed, I moved into a smaller room upstairs before deciding to sleep in the “glass room” downstairs.
In a normal household, the glass room would have been a dining room or office separated from the living room by floor-to-ceiling French doors. In a house where students lived, it quickly became another bedroom/place to cram additional rent-paying occupants. I kept my clothes upstairs in the closet-sized bedroom I had before and slept in the spacious room with the glass doors.
This was a good fit for a few reasons: 1. I had much more space. 2. My super power is the ability to sleep through anything, which meant noise from the living area never bothered me. 3. C. and I had some distance between our bedrooms, which was particularly crucial if we were going to embrace his idiotic plan to bring people we intended to fuck home with us. The glass room also had some downsides. You probably see where I’m going with this.
When M. and I came back to the house, no one else was home. This was unsurprising. My roommates often went out together on Saturday nights, so I anticipated having the place to myself, at least for a bit. M. and I got straight to it. I did my best impression of a sexually assured woman who really knows what she’s doing in bed.
In the absence of years of experience, the fake-it-til-you-make-it approach seemed appropriate. After all, I’d lost my virginity to C. sophomore year, and I’d only really slept with a few people in the times when we were “on a break.” The act seemed to be working. M. was into it, especially when we rolled over, and I positioned myself on top.
Just as I was starting to embody my sensual inner cowgirl, I felt an object nail me right between the shoulder blades. It took another minute to realize it was a cellphone. It took a few minutes longer for me to hear the screaming. “I hope you enjoy the ride, bitch.” It wasn’t clear if that sentiment was directed at me (as the cellphone had been) or M., but C. was definitely home. He saw us through the glass.
A starting pitcher all throughout high school, C. hadn’t lost his touch. The aim on that throw was damn precise. He had, however, completely lost his mind. M. got dressed, and the two exchanged some heated words before he left. What followed was the most awkward night of my life. I ended up spending half of it trying to calm down my belligerent ex-boyfriend while also explaining that this was exactly why I attempted to implement the rule about not bringing people home (and also, I told you so).
I mostly felt bad for M. Look at it from his perspective: You go home with someone who claims to be single for a very specific purpose, only to narrowly avoid being assaulted by an airborne Android, and then, you have to pull out and put your pants back on, so you can get the hell out of there while a person who is supposedly no longer in the picture goes absolutely nuts over the fact that you’re with his ex-girlfriend. Yikes.
For me, the situation was equally cringe. It’s weird to have pretty decent sex interrupted by so much drama…even if that drama was of your own making and had the intended result of making your hungover ex crawl back the next morning with his tail between his legs to admit that you were right about the “no new love interests in the house” rule.
Fortunately, I did get a redo with M. when I went to visit him at his college a month or so later. Spoiler alert: The sex wasn’t nearly as fun. Alas, some men serve a purpose greater than blowing your mind in bed. Sometimes, their greatest gift is simply a good story and the opportunity to ruin someone else’s night.
With pleasure,
Yes, Misstrix
P.S. Do you have a weird/wacky/wild/hot AF sexual experience you’d be willing to share? I’d love to hear it! In the next couple of months, I’ll be launching the Yes, Misstrix podcast where I interview brave souls who are speaking about the sex they can’t stop thinking about (for better or worse). Think you might be a good fit? Shoot me an email at yesmisstrix@gmail.com. Know someone who’d be down? Share this post using the button below.
And don’t be shy—not only are all gender identities, sexualities and humans welcome, but there’s also an option for me to disguise your voice, personal details or anything else you fear might give your identity away. We can do the audio interview as anonymously or as openly as you’d like. Thanks in advance for considering!