Archive for the Miniskirts Category

“I Was Already Three Deep in Terms of White Russians”

Posted in alcohol, Cardigans, clothes, Fashion, Miniskirts, Pumps/heels, Sex, Shirts/tops, Skirts on May 29, 2009 by betoma

Somebody asked recently if I had “given up” writing this blog.  No, not really.  I took a little break from it, but I was always planning to return in the time of my country’s greatest need.  I’m like the King Arthur of sophomoric dick jokes.  But it’s not always easy to find new things to say about drunken acts of physical love.  I’ve been wondering if maybe I should expand my range a little, by commenting on Recent Developments in Feminism.  I have a lot of opinions.  Here, I’ll give it a shot.  Here are some Recent Developments in Feminism that happened while I was away.

1. Fling candy bar. The feminist blogosphere reported on this sparkly, low-calorie candy bar with pink packaging, being marketed with the tag line “pleasure yourself.”  People are mad because it’s being sold as the candy bar for women, and the whole thing is so sexist.  Hey, wait a minute, though!  Isn’t all candy for women?  Am I right, ladies?  (Because we love chocolate.)  The real challenge would be to keep women away from it!  You’d have to go to extreme lengths.  The advertising slogan would have to be something like “The candy bar that rapes your mouth with flavor!”.

My own suggestion, if marketers want to create a candy bar that women won’t buy, is to put a picture of a spider on the packaging.  “Spider candy bar:  There’s a spider in the bathtub!”  It would be a marketing disaster.

The anti-Fling

The anti-Fling.

2. The pull-out method. Science has discovered that the withdrawal method of birth control is more effective than it was previously though to be.  That’s what I’m talkin’ about!  Finally, some good news! I was all, “when are they going to release a scientific study about something I like?”

3. Happiness gap. On a less cheerful note, scientists (different ones) discovered by reviewing data that today’s women report being less happy than women did 40 years ago.  Somebody named Douthat in the New York Times (who didn’t actually read the article) blames this development on the women’s movement.  But then he tries to pretend he’s all feminist by making the following suggestion:  “There’s no necessary reason why feminists and cultural conservatives can’t join forces — in the same way that they made common cause during the pornography wars of the 1980s—” by stigmatizing men who act “sexually irresponsible.”  Noooo!  Don’t fall for it, ladies; it’s a trap!  The very worst thing we could do right now is start shaming male sluts for their promiscuous behavior!   It’s May!  It’s getting all steamy and torrid out!  We need more male sluts around, not fewer!  The more, the better, because who else is gonna do the job?  Instead of being so judgmental, the Times should be encouraging men to explore their sexuality.

“Maureen” probably agrees with me.  She’s a single mother of two who suffers from a little problem:  “Their dad has every excuse in the world to cancel taking them every other Saturday night like he’s supposed to. So…because I’m a conscientious mom (and a broke one that can’t afford an overnight babysitter), I don’t bring guys home. So I don’t get laid nearly as often as I should.”  That’s terrible. Not to be discouraged, Maureen went looking for companionship on Plentyoffish, a dating website whose name is intended to convey the idea “many fish in the sea,” yet which appears, whenever I look at it, to say “Plenty Offish,” and thus to hold out the possibility of meeting people who are “plenty” standoffish or unapproachable.  Anyhow, it worked well for her.    She soon met “Jude,” a “totally hot” man  about her age who said he was looking for friends.  She lives in Boston, he lives in Rhode Island.

Jude’s profile included “a quote I really liked, something like ‘it’s not who you have known the longest; it’s about who has stayed and never left.’ I think that was what led me to send him an email, saying I liked his quotes and he had a nice profile.  When talking to him on the phone I found him really straightforward, funny and smart. He’s studying for the CPA exam, working as a recruiter… seems to have his life on track pretty much.” They remained phone friends for a couple of weeks.

She adds that he seemed “like a great guy that fools around a bit on the side.” Hey, wait a minute!  What “side”?  The “side” of what?  Well, during their time on the phone, he had “told me all about his live-in girlfriend and their 4 month old, and how the one time they fought recently she wouldn’t let him see his daughter. So… he’s sticking it out for a while and partying on the side.”  How scandalous!  But there’s no harm in being friends.  So she agreed to go hang out with him some night when the kids weren’t around.

The day finally came when she had a Saturday night free.   Brutus had friends coming in from Connecticut, and they all agreed to meet at the Rattlesnake Bar in Boston.  “Not having been out in a while and feeling a little awkward on my first night out in a while, I opted for a short, black miniskirt from H&M, four-inch heels (kinda funky looking with 2 small buckles on the front), a silk black camisole (Kenneth Cole) and black cardigan with 3/4 sleeves (I think it was from Anne Taylor).”

Black silk camisole

Black silk camisole

Ann Taylor cardigan

Ann Taylor cardigan

Black stiletto #1

Black stiletto #1

Black stiletto #2

Black stiletto #2

Just for the heck of it, stiletto boot

Just for the heck of it, stiletto boot

“Practiced my smoky eye look so I wouldn’t look like a raccoon and I was good to go.  So. I get there and Jude is late… texts me and tells me one of his friends is already there. Turns out he’s sitting next to me at the bar. We chat, he’s cool but zero attraction factor. Jude soon arrives with some friends, and others arrive right behind him.  It is me and six men: a white guy from Cypress, the white guy from the bar (from somewhere in New England but I don’t remember where), two black guys from the Caribbean, two black American guys… and me, the pasty Irish chick. But I was lookin’ kinda cute.”

Jude “was taller than I expected, dressed really well, was really outgoing and had cool-looking dreads that went halfway down his back (very well kept and pulled back).”  But sparks didn’t really fly:  “It’s funny but when I met him I was already three deep in terms of White Russians and the thought crossed my mind that he was hotter than I thought he would be but I was kind of distracted by being surrounded by all these young men, none of whom I actually ‘knew.'”

Specifically, her attention had been engaged by one of his friends, “T.”, whom she thought was “fine as hell.”  This was “a black American guy from CT, 6’3 with 4 inch braids of some sort. Very sexy eyes. Wearing jeans, Timberlands, t-shirt and jean jacket with some kind of design on the back. And a baseball hat.”  She ended up chatting with him, because Jude was a few seats away, and was busy playing host to his old college friends.   The whole gang had settled in at a table over drinks and appetizers.  T. revealed that he is a “music producer,” and she “showed great restraint in my inebriated state by not rolling my eyes.”

It wasn’t clear if T. returned her interest, because he was too busy checking out the other women in the room.  He “made a point of getting a good look at the ass of one as she sauntered by on her way to the ladies room,” and “even left the table at one point to speak to two women at another table, so “the fact that he is obviously a player was hard to ignore.”  He excused this by opining “that men are animals and as such can’t be held totally responsible for this type of behavior. I replied that a lot of men claim to be animals but have no follow-through when it’s time to prove it.” Well played, madam, well played.

They decided to leave the Rattlesnake and go to the Whiskey Bar. The guys were all drunk and she had to carry one of them up the hill.  Recollections start to grow indistinct at this point, but they had some more drinks, and then “everyone decides to go to a diner in Somerville. One guy’s car got towed so they all piled into an SUV, and I followed with the cute guy.” Hey, wait a minute! Should you be driving?  Technically, there could be some traces of alcohol left in your system from the three White Russians, two Southern Comfort and cokes, and then two more more White Russian you just finished drinking five minutes ago!  I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but experts say that drinking alcoholic beverages can impair your judgment and reflexes!   Sure enough, it did, “which is how, later on, I managed to drive right over a curb in Somerville, scaring my sleeping passenger half to death.”

T. had fallen into a drunken stupor.  It was 3 a.m. They drove “what seems like endlessly.”  When they got to the diner, it was closed. They decided to head to Greg’s place (one of the guys, whom Maureen describes as “short”).  “Everyone has something to eat and conveniently all of the guys except the cutie go to one bedroom that has a bed and couch (and floor) and me and (yes, as you can probably tell by now I am not sure of his name…T? for Trey maybe?) cutie in another room on a futon.”

“Where we cuddled up and got naked fast (it was, after all, nearly 5 a.m. by now). He goes in the other room to get a condom from a friend (none turned up in his quick search of the bedroom we were in) and he gets some kind of generic condom that was apparently so old as to be nearly useless.”  They went at it for a while, “but condom difficulties (and drunken exhaustion) had us taking a break. We both fell asleep.”  It was morning two hours later, so they got up and exchanged numbers.

T. said he’d call her next time he was in Boston, and we all know what that means.  “Whatever, that’s fine. I later asked Jude (casually, of course) how old T. was… he said around 24. Wow. I’m 36… glad I didn’t ask him that night when the thought crossed my mind. I just became an accidental cougar. But at least I got laid.”


“Do You Wanna Lay Down Here?”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Costumes, Denim, Fashion, Hosiery, Miniskirts, Sex, Shirts/tops, T-shirts on February 25, 2009 by betoma

The CTGML Facebook Group is up.  To the 43% of people who voted in my survey that I shouldn’t start it because it’s a “stupid idea,” sorry.  I hate Web 2.0, too, but I hate everything new.  Like, if I had been around at the dawn of ink-and-paper writing, I would’ve been all like “God, this sucks!  Why can’t we just keep using cuneiform?”  Had I been alive in the waning days of the bronze age, I would have proclaimed iron to be “ridiculous.”  Seriously, join my Facebook group.  The most intelligent people on the internet read this blog, so we’ll have some great discussions there.  Possible features the group will include:

— Post links to sexy clothes and hot sales you find online!

— Get fashion advice from lots of stylish ladies!  (Straight dudes, this feature could be especially useful to you)

— Official CTGML discussion thread on pickup lines for women to use on men! (Straight dudes, you can help us out here)

Anyway.  I encountered the following in Hannah Holmes’ book The Well-Dressed Ape:  “While some researchers see copulation as the culmination of the negotiations, others suspect it may be just another way for animals to gauge one another’s quality…. Why [do people like to have sex all the time]?  Is it a test of a partner’s quality?  Some theorists think a roll in the hay might be a good way to gauge another human’s health and personality.”  Sound familiar, ladies?  Little did you know that all your casual sex was a brilliant Darwinian strategy.

But the tactic of hookup-as-relationship-test works even if your pairing is unlikely to produce offspring.  Like the subjects of today’s story, “Heidi,” a musician, and “Gretchen,” a friend of the dudes in Heidi’s band.  The two of them moved in the same social circles, and finally met one night last October, at a sleazy local dive bar (“The Buckaroo”).   Gretchen is tall and skinny, “very androgynous,” and it seems Heidi was attracted right from the beginning.  That night, it happened to be Gretchen’s birthday, and the whole gang ended up going to a different, moderately less dive-y bar to celebrate.  “I bought her a shot of whiskey.”  Along with Levi’s jeans and Chucks, Heidi was wearing an airbrushed Cher t-shirt that said “Gurlz rule.”   Gretchen was a fellow appreciator of Cher, so this helped them build rapport.

Sonny & Cher

Sonny & Cher

Another one

Another one

At the end of the evening,  “we just crashed on a friend’s couch.”  A dude who lived nearby offered up his couch and floors to the few who were still out partying.  Hooking up came fairly naturally once they were in a room together.  Heidi was lying on a blanket on the floor, and said “do you wanna lay down here?”  They ended up fooling around.  She says “it was great sexy times.”

Three or four days passed before they saw each other again.  This time, it was Halloween.  Heidi and her friends went out to a dance party being held in a warehouse.  She was disguised as Ursula from the Little Mermaid, in full purple body paint, silver spray-painted hair, and tentacles constructed from pantyhose filled with packing peanuts.

Heidi is slimmer than this

Heidi is slimmer than this, though

She was wearing a black skirt with some sort of halter top, accessorized with a golden crown and trident, and red lipstick.

Gold crown

Gold crown

(I had, like, heck of problems finding the right kind of trident online.  Free market, my ass.  You’re on your own with this one.)

YSL red lipstick

YSL red lipstick

As Heidi walked into the warehouse, the music hit a lull, “everyone in the room turned and stared at me, and it was like, ‘Yes!'”  Among those at the party, “this particular girl turned and noticed me.”  Gretchen was dressed as Ziggy Stardust.  She was wearing tight jeans with a ball of yarn in the crotch, and had the lightning bolt painted on her face.  They ended up dancing for a bit to “raunchy hip-hop” that the DJ was playing.


The party was “crazy.”  Eventually they left, of course.  Once again, they crashed at someone’s house, their friend “purple Siberian tiger” (for such was his costume).  This is one of those cases where my notes are hard to read, but I think Purple Siberian Tiger slept on the sofa, letting them have the bed?  It could be.  Anecdotal evidence I’ve heard suggests that guys are only too eager to let lesbian couples hook up in their bed, if they get all horny at a party or something.  It is one of the few compensations for the crushing burden of homophobia that queer people must bear in our regressive, reactionary society.

Anyway, having fooled around enough to verify each other’s quality, health and personality, they were ready to have sex.  That’s what my notes appear to suggest, anyway.  But I realized I wasn’t sure what that implies, since the distinction between “fooling around” and “going all the way” isn’t so clear in a lesbian context as it is with straight people.  To gain insight into the “gay lifestyle,” I asked a bisexual woman.  She says: “With a guy, my vocab distinctions would be:  ‘I made out with him,’ or ‘ I hooked up with him’ (which would involve oral sex either way, or finger fucking), or ‘I had sex with him’ (which would be like, regular penis vagina sex).  With a girl, my distinctions would be more like, ‘I made out with her” or ‘I had sex with her.’   The stuff that wouldn’t count as much as sex with guys would count as sex with girls.  Some girls might say going down is a bigger deal than fingering and that that counts more as sex.”  Also, it “probably” makes a difference whether they’re fully nude.  So there you have it.

The two of them continued to date for “a short while,” and then Gretchen cut it off, saying “I’m not really looking to date anybody.”  Heidi has seen her around town recently, they’re friendly and everything’s cool.  When I asked her if the clothes had any effect, she said “absolutely,” and that there were “many references” made between them while they were dating to the Ursula and Ziggy costumes.

“The Universe Sent Me the Boy in Eyeliner I Wanted!”

Posted in alcohol, Boots, clothes, Cocaine, Fashion, Fetishwear, Miniskirts, Outerwear, Pants/trousers, Sex, Shirts/tops, T-shirts, Underwear on December 18, 2008 by betoma

Welcome to the first “Goth Edition” of CTGML!  Loyal reader “Lydia” wondered whether I was interested in her goth stories, and my answer was: of course!  In fact, I think it would be fun to do a series of these, focusing on different musical subgenres and the styles that are associated with them:  prog, krautrock, Americana, freak-folk, yacht rock, and so on.  We could learn about different  cultures together.  You know what genre I bet has the worst clothes?  Hick-hop, that’s what.

Lydia is in her late 30’s and lives in a part of New York that’s not NYC.  Two months before this story starts, she had been dumped by her boyfriend of six months.  She explains that “he was the first boyfriend subsequent to my divorce, and the dumping was  an unpleasant surprise.  I hadn’t had any action since then; I wasn’t totally ready to jump into a new relationship, but I was open to possibilities.”

Such was her from of mind when she went out one night to dance with friends at “Release the Bats” (“local, tiny and pathetic, now defunct Goth night”; not its actual name).   She was wearing a black leather biker jacket with one-inch band buttons pinned to it, “20-eye Docs and fishnets and the little Tripp skirt with purple plaid trim and a black cami,” and was “eyelinered all to hell and gone.”

Black silk camisole

Black silk camisole

Black and purple miniskirt

Black and purple miniskirt

Tall Doc Martins

Tall Doc Martins

Why can’t I find a biker jacket online that looks as good as the one Kate Moss is wearing in this photo?  All the designer-y ones are too weird and don’t resemble the classic style enough.  Anyhow, here is an affordable option.

Black leather motorcycle jacket

Black leather motorcycle jacket

Lydia got to the club shortly after doors opened, talked to a few friends, had a couple of drinks, and danced with her friend “Lenora” to songs like “Bizarre Love Triangle.”  There were a couple of cute guys there, one of whom caught her eye because he looked at first glance like her friend “DJ Knobgoblin” (not his actual DJ pseudonym).  On closer inspection, he turned out to be a guy she’d never met.

She ended up talking to him later, though:  Tthe song “Barracuda” came on and Lydia commented “that that was KARAOKE, not dance music.  Because it’s such an old song, I guess that was what started the ‘no, how old are you?’ conversation this time.”  The DJ Knobgoblin lookalike was hanging around near her and Lenora, and somehow ended up joining  in this discussion.  As she describes him, he had hair in “the classic Robert Smith mode. Eyeliner. Long black coat with a laced back. Black t-shirt. Vinyl Tripp pants that laced up the sides, rawr.  And New Rocks.”

Vinyl pants, not the same ones though

Vinyl pants, not the same ones though

Lancome eyeliner
Lancôme eyeliner

His name was “Edgar.”  She was 36 at the time, but “he guessed me at 22, not my vanity prompting, but more grown out of the music discussion… of course he turned the question around on me, and, honestly, with all the eyeliner, he could have been any age, so I said ’27’ which is usually safe.”  He was 35, and “said he was flattered.”

As you might expect, “we started chatting. He offered to buy me a drink, and I accepted, although perhaps I shouldn’t have, as that made it my third, and I’m a lightweight.”  Aww.  “But we were having a good conversation, and I was having a great time. He admitted, as if it were slightly embarrassing, that he was one of those goths with a real job — a vet. Ooh, gainfully employed!  When I admitted to a real job, too, he asked what I did, and when he heard baker, he said ‘Marry me!'”  She adds that “my job gets that response a LOT.”

Flirting between these two was getting more intense as they found out how much they had in common.  They talked about geeky, Star Wars-y stuff, and he revealed that he was divorced, too.  “Neither of us does drugs any more” — or so he claimed! — “although the drugs he doesn’t do any more are not the same ones that I don’t do any more.”

She also noted that “he dances WELL. Not just the punch-the-hobbit-dropkick-the-hobbit industrial-boy style, either. Old school gothiness. But understands how to shift from the usual goth ‘no I am not looking at anyone else dance just see me not look *peek*’ to dancing WITH someone.”  I feel like I’m in a new world, of aesthetic standards that I didn’t even know existed.  This multiculturalism thing is working!

“I forget what we were talking about when he asked if he could kiss me. I do remember thinking ‘you actually need to ask?’ but I said yes, and, mmm. So nice to get the attention. The universe listened and sent me the boy in eyeliner I wanted!”

When it was time go, Lydia wasn’t sober enough to drive yet.  They decided they could go for coffee in his car, and he could drive her back to hers later, so they went to a local diner.  “I had hot chocolate with whipped cream, because I was pretty sure coffee would make me jittery, and he had cheese fries (although I tried to warn him it’d be nacho goo on them) and a Coke.”  A baker and a veterinarian, having cheese fries and cocoa at a diner?  I didn’t know that was part of the Goth lifestyle, because they never write songs about that.  Nobody writes songs that adorable.  Even goddamn Beat Happening would have been like “we can’t do this song, it isn’t edgy enough.”

“I said ‘let me see if I can do this without getting whipped cream on my nose,’ which meant treating it kind of like an ice cream cone, to which he said ‘now you’re just teasing me.’  My response was ‘and it’s not even a cherry stem!’  He admitted to cheating, in earlier times, by hiding a pre-tied cherry stem in his mouth.””  I guess this part’s kind of edgy.  “As we were driving back to the club to get my car, I asked if he was driving back home then, or following me, or what? He said ‘are you inviting me?’ I said, ‘I’m inviting you.’  He was pleased.”

“There are few things more fraught with silly than two laced-up goths getting undressed for bed, let me tell you.”  After dealing with her boots, she took off her last few things in the bathroom, grabbed a condom, and emerged wearing a paisley satin robe.  He was still wearing his vinyl pants and socks.  “I cuddled up next to him, and the smooches began in earnest. He had his hand tangled into my hair, pretty strongly. Melt!”

“Wasn’t long before he discovered the nekkid under the bathrobe, and commented on it. My response was ‘and you’re overdressed.'”  The rest of the clothes came off.  Lydia says that Edgar “had skills” and that his tongue piercing “rocked [her] world.”  “When I went for the condom, though, he said no”;  He gave her some whole explanation about how he really liked her, and would want to take her on a date before having sex.  “More cuddling and kissing, and eventually sleep.”

He left in the morning with a terrible hangover, and promised to call if he wasn’t dead.  “I played happy music while I was at work — for my values of happy: the Cure’s “Head on the Door,” Elvis Costello’s “My Aim is True,” the Horrorpops, the Raveonettes.”  Hmmm, I suppose that’s pretty happy.  Like, if you ranked all the music in the world according to how cheerful it was, and you gave a ten to “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy” by The Ohio Express, and a zero to “Raping a Slave” by Swans, then Elvis Costello or the Raveonettes would probably get about a six.  (One of today’s elecronic DJ “mashup” artists should consider doing a mashup of “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy” and “Raping a Slave”; it would probably get a lot of attention.)

In the next couple of days, she exchanged a few texts with him, and ended up hanging out at his place soon after.  “We didn’t exactly DATE, although we hung out and fooled around a couple more times in the next month. ”  It all came to and end when he stood her up for a party she’d asked him to, and gave a suspicious-sounding excuse.  She started asking around about him, “at which point I had the glorious experience of four people telling me separately, ‘Oh, HIM? He’s an asshole,’ and going into detail about the coke habit and some of his past exploits.”  He wasn’t even a vet, just a vet tech!

If you’re a less copious drinker than most of my readers, you might find this helpful:  “For a while, I had a really good line for declining a third drink.  Oh, no, two’s my limit.  Know what I did the last time I had three drinks?’ (pause) ‘Edgar.'”

**** Thanks to Emel for coming up with the name “DJ Knobgoblin.”  If any real DJs out there want to use this, it’s all yours.

“I Was Like ‘Hi, Guys, Here’s My Bra.'”

Posted in alcohol, Barack Obama, Belts, clothes, Dresses, Fashion, Holy Grail, Hosiery, Miniskirts, Sex, Sweaters, Underwear on November 19, 2008 by betoma

People loved the story I posted about Georgiana and her black, thigh-high suede boots.  They also love it when I post pictures of “fit girls,” as I found out from reading Daily Sport.  If you enjoy both those things, you are my base, and will want to see this recent post on Street Boners.  Don’t look at it at work, though!

“Margaret” recently graduated from a small arts college in the southwest of England.  She’s currently teaching, and plans to go to Bali next year to study gamelan.  The summer after college ended, she moved back to her college town.  “I still have friends at the college, including some guys who are in a band. This band played at the college during Freshers’ Week this term, and I went along with another friend (“Abby”) to see them play.”  She goes on to ask “do you have Freshers’ Week in the U.S.?”, but I think it’s just the same thing as Orientation.

She was wearing “a really short white dress with short sleeves and pretty embroidered flowers around the neckline, a black and silver waist belt with the buckle shaped like 2 swallows, a black cardigan, black opaque tights, and silver flats.”

White minidress

White minidress

Black cashmere cardigan

Black cashmere cardigan

Silver flats

Silver flats

Margaret felt odd being an alumna and hanging out with a bunch of current students; “this was the first time I’d been back to this pub or on campus at all since our emotional goodbye party at the end of my last term there.”   Also, “I found that I knew a really small number of people at the pub that night.”  She couldn’t talk to her friends in the band, because they were performing most of the night, and her friend was busy reminiscing with a hometown friend she had encountered.

“I was feeling at a bit of a loose end. I did the only thing I could to alleviate all my feelings of weirdness and got wrecked. And when I get wrecked, I get quite… kissy. So I was wandering around trying to find someone I knew, and while I was doing this I looked over at Abby, who had started making out with this guy she knew from home (apparently she had a big crush on him when she was younger, but he knocked her back! And they were chatting about this, and he clearly came to the conclusion he was wrong).”

Our heroine followed suit:  “What happened next was I grabbed the nearest person I sort of recognised, who happened to be a fresher who I had met briefly earlier that evening. I may have started talking to him, or I may have simply grabbed him and started kissing him. I remember thinking that it was fortunate he was walking past, because he’s really tall and so am I, so I tower above most boys I know. We spent the next hour or so kissing in front of the pub (I assume, I can’t really remember this part of the night).”

After Abby got a taxi home, “I decided to stay over in Fresher’s room (because I had been watching a lot of Sex and the City those past weeks, and decided it was the thing to do).”  Young people are so suggestible.  It is fortunate that the things popular culture encourages them to do are, for the most part, benign.  A hundred years ago, recent college grads were probably all like, “So I decided to go civilize Africa — I had been reading a lot of Joseph Conrad that week, and it seemed like the thing to do.”

“Although we didn’t have sex, we had an entertaining night together, mainly with him enthusiastically going down on me.  I then spent a really long time telling him how I was really old (I’m not, just he’s quite young, like 19) and how it was weird that I was an ex-student but I was still hanging around college (it wasn’t that weird) and that I used to live in the same halls of residence that he does (that was a bit weird).”

This boy was “quite nice,” and his actions had disproven the Teuterian stereotype that young dudes are all inconsiderate lovers.  However, she didn’t want to keep messing around with him “because he had just started university and I didn’t really want to be a part of that, I’d done the whole student thing already. So I bumped into him a couple more times at the pub, and we talked a bit but nothing else really happened til last week. I went up to the pub again to see another friend who is still a student, and she knows some people in Fresher’s halls, so I ended up talking to him and some others in his room.”

“We then went into the kitchen to make coffee, and for some reason he was sucking on a lollipop. So, being a little drunk again, I started flirtatiously pulling the lolly out of his mouth and putting it in mine, which inevitably ended up with us kissing again, which we carried on doing until someone walked in the kitchen and busted us.”  These college hookup stories are always so complicated, like “we went to make out in my dorm room, but there were already other people making out there, so we decided to go to his room, but on the way there we ran into the drug dealer, and we had to go to the ATM to get money to buy weed, and then after we got stoned, we all decided to go to a nightclub, but we waited half an hour and our taxi never came, so {etc., etc.}.”  They’re like these ridiculous shaggy dog stories, where you have to go to twelve different locations just to get some cock.

Or not, as in this case:  “We went back and rejoined the people in his room, carried on talking, and that night I decided I didn’t want to stay with him, I would prefer to go home and sleep in my own bed. I was pretty tired, and I think had some stuff to do the next morning or something.”  She was wearing a black miniskirt.  “There seems to be a correlation between the nights I wear short skirts and the nights I get laid.”

The next night she went to a party/event thing on campus, wearing “a HOT short bright red dress with an empire waist and appliqued roses all over the chest, the same black cropped cardigan from the night before, a skinny black belt round my waist, and red red lipstick. I was proud of this outfit.”

Red empire-waist minidress

Red empire-waist minidress

Red and gray vintage Caroline Herrera minidress

Red and gray vintage Caroline Herrera minidress

The chaste relations between her and Fresher couldn’t last long; “I never really think of him except for when I am drunk, when I find him really really attractive and all I want to do is jump him.”  There were bands and DJs at this thing, “so I spent most of the evening dancing, and eventually saw the boy and as I predicted, started kissing him again. We went back to his room at the end of the night, and this time we did have sex, but I refrained from talking about how weird/old I was.”

“This time the walk of shame in the morning was pretty bad, I got up to pee in the morning so just pulled my dress on without my underwear, and then when I went to go home, I couldn’t be bothered with taking the dress off again to put my bra on, so I just walked out with my bra in my hand. And opened the door to the WHOLE of the floor, who were going to the shops and were just about to ask my Fresher if he wanted anything. I was like, hi, guys… here’s my bra.”

Will it happen again?  “I think the No Drama Obama way would be to not pursue this. However, I am fairly sure that next time the both of us are in the same place at the same time and alcohol is involved, I’ll end up getting in his bed again. Probably wearing black tights and a short skirt.”

“Cavemen Did Not Wear Underwear”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Costumes, Fashion, Miniskirts, Sex, Shirts/tops, Shopping on a budget, Skirts, Underwear on November 8, 2008 by betoma

It’s been a long week, but CTGML is back.  (Provisional joke, which I will rescind if everyone hates it:  It’s time to stop putting country first, and go back to putting cunt first!)

First of all, thanks the The Scotsman for naming us “Website of the Week!”  Scotsmen and -women, please submit your stories.  Secondly, the winning Halloween contest entry.  In the past, we’ve heard from Cecily about hooking up with an ex, then meeting her boyfriend in beery circumstances.  Now she returns to tell us what happened to her on Halloween two years ago.

When it all began, she writes, “I was sick, some kind of mysterious death flu, and wasn’t planning on going anywhere.  But my friend talked me into it, she had a great costume and figured she’d win this costume contest at a local bar.   It was $500 or something, so I eventually agreed.  The friend’s costume was ‘rock out with your cock out,’ a giant penis costume carrying a toy electric guitar.  As to whether or not she got laid, I’d have to say yes; she’d been dating this guy who showed up paradoxically dressed as a baby, bonnet, pacifier, diaper.  The baby was grinding on the giant cock all night (i know that sounds bad, but it looked worse).”  Heh!  “I wore the past year’s costume, slutty schoolgirl, which consisted of a prep school skirt and blouse with the embroidered logo, both purchased at a thrift store.  My housemate had one of those fake knives that look like they’re stuck into your chest, which I borrowed and called the whole outfit ‘slutty girl who dies first in the horror movie.’   I know it’s bad when you have to decide what your costume theme is based on what you’re wearing.”

If you can’t find a crested blouse at the thrift store, perhaps you could assemble your own?

White blouse

White blouse

Alexander McQueen plaid mini

Alexander McQueen plaid mini

They had two friends, “Nick” and “Nora,” who lived near the bar they wanted to go to, so they started out partying there.  “They had a tiny baby who was dressed in a very cute Pooh bear outfit having just gone trick or treating.  Nick had not gone trick-or-treating with the wife and kid, and there was a lot of tension about this.  I’d met him a few times before and thought he was entirely too irresponsible to have a family.   Anyway, we made it to the bars and copious drinking ensued.”

“I started talking to a guy dressed as a houseplant and lost track of ‘rock out with your cock out’ and the others.  There were multiple bars and clubs with parties within the same block and it turned into one big crazy mess that you couldn’t even walk through.  I ran into my friend Shaun.  He had a paper grocery bag positioned at crotch level with the words “Free Candy” written on it.  Inside the bag was some candy and Shaun’s dick (later that evening I saw him with some girl whose hand was permanently inside the candy bag).”  So many costume ideas in this story.  However, did he walk around all night with his dick inside a bag of candy?  That sounds so uncomfortable.

“Being sick, I wasn’t having the best time ever, so I found Nick and asked if I could crash on his couch.”  He walked her home and she did just that, but “a few minutes later, Todd crawled onto the couch with me.  I said something to the effect of ‘what the fuck, I’m not going to sleep with you with your wife in the next room, dumbass.’  For some reason he felt the need to tell me all about his ‘open marriage,’ I didn’t buy it, I pushed him off the couch, got my stuff and left.”  People who really are in open marriages are the real victims here; no one ever believes them.

But the people who write in to this website are heroes in their own way.  If you’ve ever asked yourself, What the hell does it take to get laid?  Why is it so difficult?, let this story inspire you.  Sick, traumatized and sleepy, Cecily could have given up and sought out another place to rest.  Instead, she returned to the bar.  “I realized I could either feel miserable all night or drink until I felt better.  I chose the later.  At the bar I ran into Tarzan.  He was wearing pretty much just a piece of leopard-print fabric.  He was quite pleased with the fact that he was not wearing underwear — ‘cavemen did not wear underwear’ — and [he] showed me as much.”

“I’d always had a bit of a crush on Tarzan, he was always the crazy guy at parties who would get drunk and do something completely ridiculous.   A few months earlier, we’d both gotten wasted and taken naked pictures of each other, yet somehow didn’t hook up.  I told him the Nick saga and how I’d resolved to kill the flu with tequila.  Tarzan and I ended up at his place.  It turned into this very chill drunken fuck buddy relationship.”

I never asked whether these adventures cured the flu or made it worse, but it doesn’t matter.  This story shows what an ordinary person can accomplish if they set aside personal comfort for a higher goal, and wear a really short skirt.

“I Slept With Him to Prove Him Wrong”

Posted in alcohol, Boots, clothes, Costumes, Fashion, Hosiery, Miniskirts, Sex on September 20, 2008 by betoma

Recently I spoke on the phone to my old friend “Cecily,” She told me a bunch of stuff about how she met her current boyfriend; it was pretty interesting, but I had to wonder if she had any scandalous trysts right before meeting this fellow.   It turns out she did.

Two years ago, Cecily was living in Tahoe and dating her boss at the ski resort where she worked.  He got mad at her about something or other, and broke up with her in a really assholish way.  He got all huffy and petulant, and refused to be friends, even though they worked together and would have to see each other every day.  Cecily apparently didn’t believe that the breakup was 100 percent for real, so she asked him if they were going to keep randomly hooking up all the time, as they had done before they started dating.  For some reason, this question irritated him:  He said “I’m never gonna sleep with you ever again!!”

A few months later, they found themselves at a Halloween party, totally drunk and irresistably inclined toward each other.  Cecily was dressed as a punk, in a fluorescent orange mohawk wig, plaid miniskirt, fishnet stockings and black boots.

Plaid miniskirt

Plaid miniskirt



Orange mohawk wig

Orange mohawk wig

He asked her “do you want to come home with me?”  She said yes, but clarifies that “I did it to prove him wrong.”  She envisioned herself waking up the next morning and rubbing it in his face (his lack of perspicacity, that is):  “So you’re not going to sleep with me ever again, huh?”  Hang on a second, though.  A few days have passed since I spoke to Cecily, and in the intervening time I realized something.  Simply by asking her to go home with him, Jack had already disproved his original statement that “I’m not gonna sleep with you ever again.”  If Cecily’s true goal was to prove him wrong, she did not have to fuck him; she could have achieved it just as effectively by doing nothing at all.  Never trust somebody when they tell you what their motives were.

In any case, her morning did not go the way she planned.  Jack had moved to a new house, and when she woke up there, “I didn’t really know where I was.”  She was still wearing the mohawk wig, which may have contributed to her discomfiture.  (Like all novelty punk wigs, it was of extremely high quality, or at least I assume that’s why it stayed on all night.)  Confused and disoriented, she didn’t really feel like berating Jack, and instead “I scurried away.”

The most upsetting part of the story is still to come, though.  I asked her what Jack’s costume was, and at first she thought he didn’t have one.  Then she remembered that he was wearing “these stupid Chinese embroidered pants.”  They were blue, with a dragon on them.  He had borrowed them from someone else, so they didn’t fit him very well.  At this point, I told Cecily I felt she should not have slept with this person.  She agrees with me:  “It was a terrible mistake.”

Chinese dragon pants; pretty hideous

Chinese dragon pants; pretty hideous, no?

“She Actually Ripped the Dress Off Me”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Dresses, Fashion, Holy Grail, Kneesocks, Miniskirts, Sex on September 10, 2008 by betoma

Just a note: I am going to post a new post soon, like tomorrow, but not right now.  Usually when I tell people I’m “really busy,” I’m lying to make them stop bothering me, but this week I actually have been really busy!  It is terribly unpleasant.

“Anaïs” is a biologist living in Manhattan. I know, NYC again, but that’s where today’s androgynous, polymorphously perverse singles are living. Anaïs the ex-girlfriend of one of the ladies I’ve already written about, as well as an old college friend of mine; I talked to her on the phone about her experiences wearing a certain H&M dress. She describes this item, which she got last summer, as a sort of “industrial jumper,” with a belt and pockets. Anaïs is more of a pants-wearer, but says the dress “has powers.” In fact, she’s had so many adventures in it that it qualifies for holy grail status. She obligingly sent in a picture of herself wearing it:

Anais models the dress

Industrial jumper

She first wore it to a party held by the Lesbian Sex Mafia on the gay, clothing-optional section of Queens’s Jacob Riis beach. I didn’t even know such a beach existed, but now I want to go. I wasn’t sure if they would allow in a person such as myself, but Anaïs says they do not screen out heterosexuals in any meaningful way, and that I could get in by claiming to have “a raging case of gaybies.” I think that’s what she said, at least; when I conducted this interview I had just woken up from a nap, plus I have bad hearing, so I had to keep yelling “WHAT?” at her. People find it really charming when I do this. After the Lesbian Sex Mafia beach thing, she and her friend went to a different party, and there they met two other gals and all four of them ended up all making out together.

The next time she wore the dress, she was in Austin, Texas for a music festival (Austin City Limits, I think). She and three other ladies were staying in a friend’s efficiency apartment. Not a lot of privacy, which was unfortunate, because one of the other guests was her hot ex-girlfriend “Leda.” A clever subterfuge was needed. Here’s what Anaïs came up with: “I can’t find my glasses! I think they’re in the bathroom! Leda, come to the bathroom with me and help me find them.”

Leda thought her dress was really hot, so they had sex with her in it. They spent about an hour in there “finding her glasses.” Anaïs can confirm that “they weren’t up my vagina.” They weren’t up her friend’s vagina, either. (Me: “Did you find any other stuff up there?”)

That afternoon, she went to visit “Cassandra,” another friend in town (“the kind of friends that sometimes sleep together”), and she loved the dress too! So much so that “she ripped it off me, so that the buttonholes were actually ripped,” and it had to be repaired afterward.

Anaïs hasn’t worn the dress that many times, but “it almost always led to sex, and very good sex.” Here’s another example. She met got asked out on a date by “Lawrence,” a guy she mat at a housewarming party, after she walked up to him and pointed out that they were both wearing western-style snap-up shirts. When they first met “I thought he was gay, but apparently not, or not entirely.”

This is why they're hot

How to look hot in a cowboy shirt

Cowboy shirts on sale, and less so.

Update: I thought she said they went to a gay bar on their date, which would have made the story more hilarious, but it was a regular old dive bar. She wore the amazing dress with a pair of black and brown-striped kneesocks, and it caused her to get hit on immediately by two dudes in an annoying, overly aggressive way. Lawrence was jealous that she was getting more attention than him. What do you suppose happened after they left the bar? That’s right: He asked her to keep the kneesocks on during sex. Human behavior has consistent, predictable rules! How reassuring.