The Worst

It was a dark and stormy night when I experienced the horror that came to be known as THE ONE EYED SQUISHER.

Gather round children as I tell the tale of an unsuspecting young woman and the ghastly occurrence of the worst sex of her life. It all started so pleasantly, but it all went horribly horribly wrong.

The woman met a man. Tall, handsome, with a rakish eye patch that made her think of dashing pirates and romance novels, he beguiled her with his humour and self confidence. They played pool, he winning her phone number by winning the game. The met again, chemistry ignited, and though they did not consumate their relationship, they stoked each other's fires for yet another meeting. On the third meeting, they met, drank, flirted, touched, walked drunkenly through the streets and made out like teenagers on the porch. It rained, heavy pouring sheets of water.

"I can't make you walk home in this," she smirked, "You'll have to come inside."

Once inside things heated up. Hands and lips and clothing flying everywhere.

"Safety first," and the condom went on.

That's when everything went wrong.

Climbing on top of her, he settled his entire weight, all 200lbs of himself, directly onto her. No supporting his weight with knees and arms, just lying completely on top of her. Already the woman was uncomfortable, being nearly half his size, she was pinned, and having trouble breathing, but things were about to get so very much worse. The thrusting began, his hip bones jamming painfully into her soft thighs bruises forming instantly. Something internal was being poked awkwardly and she was unable to shift position at all. It continued like this for a blessedly short amount of time. And then it was over.

As she lay there, counting her bruises and checking for compression fractures on her ribs, the woman wondered How can someone be so good at foreplay and so very, very bad at sex? It was a mystery. She contemplated that he was perhaps a little drunk, so she decided to give him a second chance in the morning. That did not go any better.

How on earth can someone manage to squish you from the spoon position?!?! No one is even on top of anyone!

Not one to give up easily, and believing that everyone can be taught a few tricks, she gave it one more chance. Another night altogether would surely go more smoothly.

Unfortunately for her...

Seriously? You can be squished from behind AND standing?!?! How is that even possible?

He was completely untrainable, and worse yet, seemed not only to be unaware of his squishing propensity, but to be unwilling to change.

The truth had to be faced. She had met the dreadful One Eyed Squisher. All she could do was walk away...

And dear reader, lest you think that is the end of the tale, listen closely as I tell you the anti-mating call of the dreaded Squisher...

When the woman tried to meet up with the Squisher, with the sole purpose of ending their brief relationship maturely and in person, she received a voice message, rambling, drunken, and over five minutes long, explaining how he was a drunk, the economy was down, and that he wasn't over his ex yet (lucky girl or she'd be squished), and that it wasn't her it was him.

How right he was, children, how very right he was.