Archive for the Outerwear Category

“So You Wouldn’t Eat My Antelope?” “No, I Would.”

Posted in alcohol, Boots, Cardigans, clothes, Cowboy attire, Denim, Outerwear, Sex, Tank tops on April 22, 2009 by betoma

Sorry for the gap in posting; I was doing really important stuff.  While I was gone, my old nemesis Joe the Plumber gave a nonsensical speech to a group of teabaggers, the nation engaged in a vigorous (sort of) debate about sex-positive feminism, and I got bronchitis or something.

Say, if you’d like to see more updates in this spaces, why not e-mail me and tell me about your recent exploits?  I am currently seeking CTGML stories that feature (1) makeup sex between couples, and (2) guys as the protagonist, especially gay guys (but straight guys too).  But raunchy stories from straight women, like the subject of today’s story, are always appreciated.

Blonde vixen “Debby” is a political blogger who lives in Tallahassee, Florida.  Every so often she visits her grandfather “John” and his wife, who live in Tahoe — she’s an expert skier.  One weekend this winter, she went up there for a short ski vacation.  On one of her first nights in town, she and John went out to a restaurant that featured lots of unusual game, like buffalo, antelope, and elk.  She was still wearing ski clothes from her day outside, but likes to go for a look more glamorous than the natural/sporty vibe most ladies project there (or so she claims — I don’t know anything about the topic; I am frightened of skiing, and don’t have any relations that do any leisure activities more glamorous than copy-editing), so she was wearing black Under Armour leggings and a tight black ski jacket by Salomon, with heavy black eyeliner.

Salomon jacket

Salomon jacket

Kohl eyeliner

Kohl eyeliner

As she and her grandpa were ordering a bottle of wine, she noticed their “hot young server.”  He had “classic male” good looks, and he looked admiringly back at her.  Debby ordered the antelope.  She asked for medium rare; grandpa made the interaction weird by saying “She’s a meat eater, she likes blood on her plate!”  But when the antelope showed up, it was dry and overdone, and she had to send it back.

The replacement piece of antelope, when Seth the waiter brought it, was “fabulous.”  This time he and them ended up getting into a conversation.  He revealed that he’s from the same state the she is, and that he was in the process of applying to law school, and that he was a skier rather than a snowboarder.  Debby’s grandfather approved of these facts.  (He is prejudiced against snowboarders, on the ground that they tear up the snow too much, or something.)  He seemed impressed by the guy and, noticing the sparks flying between him and Debby, “conveys that he thinks I should get on it.”

He helped out with this by supplying a pretext, saying something along the lines of “my granddaughter has this blog, she’s doing a story on snowboard clothing.”  She wasn’t doing any such thing.  I didn’t understand why he brought snowboarding into it when all three of them were skiers, and according to Debby, “it didn’t really make any sense.”  She can’t remember how on earth he introduced this topic in the first place.   Anyhow, he suggested they meet up so she could interview Seth.  “Are you available tomorrow?”, he asked.  Meanwhile, she and Seth were looking each other in they eyes, and he looked, in her words, like he “can’t believe this is being handed to him.”    She was pretty pleased about it, too.  (It sounds like kind of unusual behavior on John’s part, but again, what do I know?  Both my grandfathers drank themselves to death before I was born.)

Seth said “No, I’m not available.” and John asked “What about tonight?”, and handed him her name and number on a piece of paper.  When they walked out of the restaurant shortly afterwards, news of the little romance was already being bruited about among the staff.  The bartender called out “hey, don’t forget to call Ben!”  Debby was in a relaxed mood, having “been drinking all day with cougars” that she’d met on the slopes, and she was “laughing her ass off” about the situation.

She called Seth a couple of hours later, saying she would be at this bar the Dusty Boot later that evening, and did he want to meet for a drink.  He did.  He texted her a while later, saying “I’m at the Dusty Boot.”  She had changed into dark gray BDG jeans from Urban Outfitters, white cowboy boots, a loose black tank top, and a cardigan also from Urban Outfitters.

racerback-tank

BDG jeans

BDG jeans

Urban Outfitters cardigan

Urban Outfitters cardigan

White cowboy boot

White cowboy boot

A bunch of her new Tahoe friends were at the bar, and had a good time.  She and Seth drank tequila with lime and talked about “kayaks” and “ice climbing.”  He told her about how he got fed on the job by eating people’s sendbacks, and explained his policy as “I would eat anybody’s food I would make out with.”  “So you ate that burned-up piece of antelope?”  He said no, he didn’t eat the burned antelope.  (What a ridiculous sentence to have to type.)

“So you wouldn’t eat my antelope?”

“No, I would.”

Having gotten that out of the way, they kept talking for a while; he said “do you wanna go make out in the bathroom?”, and she said “no, I wanna go play in the snow.”  They went to her car and got a flask of tequila.  They ran around until they found a “snow-enclosed gondola,” got inside and started “making out furiously.”  “Before I knew it, my pants were down, and I was like ‘What am I doing, no.'”  That sounds uncomfortable, but also, she revealed to me at this point that when she stays with the old folks, she has a 12 p.m. curfew.  What the heck?  So they both started walking back to her condo entrance.

Instead of separating, though, they went into the locker rooms that the building has for people to store their ski equipment, where they again started “makin’ out like crazy.”  Debby didn’t feel she could afford to get into trouble, so she came up with a plan.  She said “I have to leave and come back.”  Seth said “I’ll wait for you.”  She went upstairs, found her grandpa, and said “okay, I came back, I’m gonna go back out,” all petulant-like.  John was amenable to this, only saying “don’t stay out too long.”

She went back down to the locker room and found Seth, and they resumed “makin’ out all hard.”  Finally, the clothes came off, and “we did it up against a locker.  It was really hot.”  One might think this would be difficult, especially since she’s short, but she claimed they did not suffer from any logistical difficulties.  Then they said goodbye, she went upstairs to bed, and she hasn’t seen him again.

EDITED TO ADD  that I share your confusion about this story, readers.  Debby is in her 20s and doesn’t need a curfew.  On the other hand, when I visit my parents, I can’t even go to CVS without briefing them on where I’m going, how long I’ll be gone, and how I won’t wreck the car on the way home.  That is what family members are like.  On the other hand, if her grandfather is of a protective bent, why pimp out her and her juicy antelope to a virile young man?  Debby’s grandfather sounds like a weirdo.

Advertisements

“We Shared a Moment of Deep Personal Intimacy, and Now I Want Nothing to Do With You”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Cocaine, Corduroy, Cowboy attire, Denim, Dresses, Fashion, Hosiery, Outerwear, Sex, Shirts/tops on March 5, 2009 by betoma

If you live in the eastern half of the United States, it’s possible that you, like me, are too sick to think about sex. Perhaps you clicked this bookmark out of sheer habit, from the deep recesses of a germy sickbed, and didn’t really want to be titillated. For you, I’ll begin with a couple of generalized bitches (“observations”) about life.

(1) Legislators all over America are mulling plans to regulate and tax marijuana. Just great. They finally get around to legalizing recreational drugs, and they start with the one that makes me all paranoid and antisocial. Why can’t the government ever regulate and tax a drug that I like? They could do mushrooms/peyote, which are just as healthy but give you fun hallucinations, or opium, which has that cool smell. The last time I got high on marijuana, all that happened was I became so fascinated by the movie Scrooged!, I barely noticed when all my friends went home to bed. I’m going to start a new political organization, called The Legalize Cocaine, Ecstasy and Adderall Abuse Party.

(2) Seriously, what is the effin’ deal with this illness? For those who have not experienced it up close, it’s a cold/flu with a dramatic cough. If you can imagine the domestic chaos that would ensue if the head of a family of ducks came home to find his wife making love with another duck, the resulting hellish cacophony is what it sounds like when I have to cough, every 12 seconds. It’s March! I was supposed to be rolling around nude in a verdant field! This was not the plan at all!

But enough of that; our story takes place way, way, way back, near the middle of our Winter of Discontent, on New Year’s Eve. “Chloe,” a recent college graduate, was going out to a big party with “Brad”; they’re friends, and she had agreed to act as a his wingwoman. Brad had been casually dating a young lady, and hoped this would be the night to seduce her. She would be attending the same party, and the idea was that “when she showed up, he was going to gracefully ditch me.”

Chloe was wearing a Betsey Johson dress, empire waisted, with turquoise stripes, black stockings with seams up the back (for “old-fashioned whorishness”), and black stilettos by Mossimo for Target.

(Picture of the dress coming soon!)

Back-seam stockings

Back-seam stockings

Mossimo pumps

Mossimo pumps

Brad came over before the party, and “we get kinda coked up.” They had bought some coke a couple of weeks before, in anticipation. They went the party, where everything went as expected. Brad’s lady friend showed up, and “they were pairing up as the night went on.”

A little while before midnight, he was like “Can I leave with her?” and Chloe was like “Dude, that was the plan.” He was wearing cowboy boots, jeans and a sable corduroy jacket. Chloe says he has “rugged good looks,” and would have gotten laid anyway.

Corduroy jacket

Corduroy jacket

Cowboy boots

Cowboy boots

She decided it was time to leave the party and head to a certain bar (“The Liquor Box”) where some of her friends were. She hurried over there, arrived “literally three minutes” before the countdown to midnight, and proceeded to get “shitty drunk on free champagne.”

She was with her friends, feeling comfortable and happy. But “there’s this guy.” He was across the bar from her. “I’m making eyes at him, he’s making eyes at me.” A pale blondie, she loves “swarthy men,” and he was tall, dark and handsome (it turned out that he’s Iranian). She said to herself, “I want that dude.” Knowing what to say was not a problem because, according to her, “I’m not shy.” She introduced herself, and had a conversation in which she asked the following four questions:

— What’s your name? (“Alan”)
— What do you do? (He’s a business school student)
— Where do you live? (In town, near her)
— Do you want to go home with me? (Yes)

All the stars were aligned: “I wanted to have sex, he was there, he was hot.” Alan drove her to her house, unnerving her in the process by having the “cleanest car ever.” In the living room, they “pretended to have a conversation,” in interest of feigning decorum. But it didn’t last too long. After that, there was “lots of fuckin’,” with her on top because she “wanted to look at his perfect caramel skin.” She adds that “the sex was good, nothin’ to call your mama about.” Those were here exact words, but I think your mama does not want to hear about how you were ravished by a huge Arab, even (especially?) if it was mind-blowing. They fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning, she and Alan woke up around 10 and he drove her back to her car. She was “hung over as balls,” with a mouth tasting of “ashtray and cock,” and went back to bed immediately. When she woke up again around 5, she discovered he had left a Burberry Scarf and Kenneth Cole watch behind in his “mad dash to get out of my vagina.”

The tan one is ugly.

The tan one is ugly.

She considered selling these items on Craigslist, but her conscience got the better of her, and she managed to track him down on Facebook (they hadn’t traded contact information, or even last names). He came and got his accessories a few days later. Since then, they’ve seen each other out multiple times; each time, they have exchanged looks across the bar, as if to say “we shared a moment of deep personal intimacy, and now I want nothing to do with you.”

It’s also worth nothing that until shortly before this story begins, Chloe was in a relationship with a “fat science fiction fan,” and she says ever since then, the guys she’s slept with are getting hotter and hotter.  She attributes this to a combination of confidence, alcohol, and the fact that “I am always willing.”

“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.

“Women Love Cashmere”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Fashion, Outerwear, Pants/trousers, Sex, Shopping on a budget, Sweaters on December 3, 2008 by betoma

Sorry for the gap in posting; I was in drunken stupors.  “Albert” is the subject of today’s story; he’s in his late 20s now, but reminisced with me about the good times he had during his college years.

Albert says he was raised a “good Protestant Presbyterian, very by-the-book.”  He didn’t have a very wild time in high school, but then he went away to college and “experimented” with drugs and alcohol.  (The college was in a small city in the south.)  During this time period, he was able to overcome his “Calvinist upbringing,” and from about 1999 to 2001, he “found [him]self getting laid all the time.”  I asked, “Did 9/11 ruin it?”  He replied, “It did.”  You know, when thousands of Americans lost their lives in a brutal terrorist attack, I was too busy being all paranoid about Bush to be suitably mad at the hijackers.  People would be all like, “They hate our freedom,” and I thought it was mindless jingoism.  Now I can totally see it, though.  Islamic fundamentalists do hate our freedom.  Going to college and getting laid a lot might improve their attitude.

Before all that went down, however, Albert’s campus was a paradise for the carefree drunkard he had become.  How did he make himself over?  Perhaps, like me, you’ve been watching the new season of The Pickup Artist, and have been disheartened by the execrable fashions in which Mystery and his contestants display themselves.  (Seriously, this is an amazing show, but I don’t need to see men wearing a bunch of labret piercings, fur top hats, and bedazzled t-shirts!  What a mess!)  If that’s the case, you will be glad to know that Albert seduced a quite respectable volume of women while attired in classic masculine styles.

First of all, he acknowledges that “it could be the beard” that did it.  He still has it now, but in the younger age range, a lot of guys aren’t able to grow them, and anyone who can has a Darwinian advantage.  Listen up, haters:  A lush, full beard is a total panty-dropper. In addition, though, his usual look consisted of khaki pants, a button-up shirt, and a v-neck cashmere sweater.  He would get these sweaters at thrift stores, so he had enough of them to wear out every weekend.  If it wasn’t the beard, it was the sweaters:  “Women love cashmere.”

American Apparel oxford

American Apparel oxford

Argyle cashmere sweater

Argyle cashmere sweater

Harrison cashmere sweater

Harrison cashmere sweater

Beard example

Beard example

(Above, an example of a good-looking beard, for demonstration purposes; that is not Albert.  Imagine if it were, though!  I’d marry him.)

Our protagonist would wear usually muted colors, but accessorize the outfit with a brightly colored scarf.  I approve of this look — it’s well-thought-out and dapper.  His various hookups would happen when he’d go to friends’ parties.  He would go outside to smoke and “the gals would be there.”  As he points out, “I’m a pretty gregarious guy.”  He would get talking to these gals, probably they would want to handle him because of his pleasantly soft exterior, and the next thing you know they’re making out.

Cashmere scarf

Cashmere scarf

Albert remembers one incident in particular.  He and his roommates had a big party at their place.  He had invited his co-workers at the restaurant he worked at.  One of these was an older woman, about 32.  (She was a waitress, he was a host.)  He had never thought of her in a romantic way before, but started to do so quickly:  He ran into her in the bathroom, as she was heading out and he was going in.  He opened the door, and she was drying her hands.  He was wearing a pair of big aviator sunglasses, and she said “nice sunglasses.”

Yves Saint Laurent aviators

Yves Saint Laurent aviators

Since she liked them so much, he put them on her.  They started slipping down her face — he has a big head — and he said “you look hot.”  The next thing you know, they were making out.  They didn’t go all the way in the bathroom, but they didn’t need to:  His bedroom was only seven steps away.  At this point my notes become intelligible, because I was experimenting with alcohol when I took them, but I assume they had a good time.

“Maybe ‘Asshole’ Is a Little Harsh”

Posted in alcohol, Barack Obama, Belts, Boots, clothes, Costumes, Denim, Dresses, Fashion, Hosiery, Outerwear, Sandals, Sex on November 10, 2008 by betoma

I always want to keep this website topical, so you’re a reader in a pro-Obama country (United States, Kenya, Indonesia, etc.) and you get laid on election night, tell me about it.  I know personally, for a fact, that people were having victory sex that night.  (I know this because I read it on the internet.)

“Rachel” is a university student living in Brisbane, Australia.  She describes her motive in writing in to me thus:  “I recently had a bit of a roller-coaster ride of a non-relationship with this guy, am currently at the stage of hating every fibre of his being, and have decided that to write it down would be therapeutic.”  Actually, I think that’s what happened with most of the sad bastards who write in to me.

Rachel’s story begins when “I met this guy… I’ll just say that he has one of those dreamy names that’s always given to sexy fictional characters and that tends to make girls swoon.”  I will call him Glenn.  “I met him because we worked at the same restaurant for a few months. I was on pretty good terms with lots of the other people there, but didn’t know him too well – until a party at one of the other peoples’ houses.”  Rachel had found at that Glenn was leaving the job soon, and she went to the co-worker party because “I kind of liked him.”

“I was at work that evening, and some people there convinced me to quickly go home, change and meet them to share a taxi once our shift was done.  The problem: WHAT TO WEAR?  You see, it was a costume party!  After a bit of brainstorming, it turned out one of the boys in the kitchen had a sailor hat he could lend me.”

Sailor's cap

Sailor's cap

“Upon getting home, I changed into a CUTE little dress – bold blue and white stripes, halter neck, kinda flared skirt ending just above the knee. Combined with a denim jacket, flat gold sandals and (of course) the hat, I made a kick-arse sailor. So I met up with my friends and made it to the house party on the other side of the city by 11 p.m.”

Blue and white striped dress

Blue and white striped dress

Wrangler denim jacket

Wrangler denim jacket

Gold sandals

Gold sandals

Many of the other guests weren’t even in costume, and she easily outclassed them.  “I spent most of my time at the party talking to/flirting with Glenn (and drinking), and by my fourth drink was sitting on his lap (of course). When he whispered all deep-voiced in my ear ‘meet me outside in 30 seconds,’ I sure knew what was coming.  Glenn and I went for a ‘walk’ and ended up making out in the park across the road from the party. Can I just mention that it was the middle of winter and I was wearing a short dress, so despite the jacket I was FREEZING. It detracted from the fun somewhat.”

“After at a guess an hour of that, I saw a cab pull up outside the house and knew it was the one meant to be taking me alllll the way back home with the other people who live near me.  Glenn was trying to get me to go back to his place, which was just around the corner and apparently had plenty of blankets to warm me up.”  I would probably accept an offer like this — it’s cold in my house right now — but she declined.  “He also used the somewhat flawed ‘what if I never see you again’ argument. Dude, I know you’re leaving the job, but we live in the same city and I have an email address and a phone.”

On the way home, Rachel sat “in dazed silence mulling over the events of the evening.” She ended up sleeping on a friend’s floor, and since her dress “made shitty winter pyjamas, I just about froze to death.”  Probably, this was God’s punishment on her for turning down free sex and blankets.  If that’s the case, there was more persecution to come.  Rachel waited for her hot guy to contact her, but days and then weeks passed, and he didn’t call.  He did, however, waste her time with some lukewarm Facebook messaging.

After a few weeks of this, she concluded he wasn’t really interested, she concluded that he wasn’t really interested, so “when I was asked out by another friend (also a friend of Glenn’s) I didn’t see any reason to say no. This resulted in Glenn getting really angry/stroppy at me and his friend, because apparently despite not showing further interest in me and telling his friend that nothing was happening, he was *actually* just waiting for an opportunity or something.”  What a dork.  He was “sending me long angsty messages about how he had thought I was out of his league and wanted me to give him another shot (causing me much stress and guilt and tears).”  She felt bad, and so she “decided I had made a terrible mistake and that I really liked Glenn. I decided the best option was to stay friends with the other guy rather than date him.”

When she saw Glenn next, she was out drinking with friends, “wearing a satin, cream-coloured dress with a colourful flower pattern around the hem and a gold belt around my waist, over black opaque tights, with black lace-up ankle boots.”

Cream silk dress (no flowers, but the designer is Australian!)

Cream silk dress (no flowers, but the designer is Australian)

Gold belt

Gold belt

Here is where to get black tights.

Via Spiga ankle boot

Via Spiga ankle boot

She was “extremely drunk (and thus emotional).  We had a talk, which I can remember little of as I have rarely been as drunk as I was that night. The talking led to reconciliation making out, at which point I decided it would be a good idea to hop in a cab and go home with him.”  “*Facepalm*”, she adds, in an eloquent display of self-reproach, she adds.  But how could she have known?  “I kind of expected that after the whole fuss he kicked up when the other guy asked me out, he would actually… want to be involved with me himself.”

Instead, they returned to their pattern of pointless Facebook contact.  “When I was particularly friendly or showed interest, he would tend to be fairly dismissive and make me feel like an idiot. For a few weeks a pattern continued of seeing him with mutual friends when drinking and making out, but that fizzled out too.”

How are we to describe a dude like this?  Rachel writes that “maybe asshole is being a little harsh – but I was pretty mad that he was such a drama queen… only to get what he wanted and then be interested in nothing more than the occasional hook-up.”  Hmmm.  “Asshole” may be the mot juste.  Glenn, however, is the one who actually has cause for regret.  Rachel points out that her outfits at the time were “fantastically cute. And that’s what matters.”

“You Know He’s Gay, Right?”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Costumes, Denim, Fashion, Outerwear, Sex, Shirts/tops on October 23, 2008 by betoma

According to my recent Halloween-themed poll, a significant plurality of you (42%) think that “creative” costumes are the sexiest ones.  Anecdotal evidence corroborates this view.  The other night I was at a bar, and I talked to a gentleman who has a Gumby costume that he wears for his DJ gigs (and other festive occasions).  According to “George,” “when I put the Gumby outfit on, I gotta have a bodyguard,” because “girls wanna fuck Gumby.”

Unfortunately, all his Gumby-related stories fall under the heading of “the clothes that got away.”   He says he’s never sealed the deal while wearing the suit because the women all insisted he keep it on during sex.  This claim strains credulity somewhat.  It appears he kept telling me to trust him, because I have “trust me” written down in my notebook.  If you have a Halloween costume story with more action in it, let me know.

We’ve heard from Ariana before:  In September, she became involved in a drug- and alcohol-fueled ménage-à-trois, which turned into more of a ménage-à-two-and-a-half when the guy “[had] trouble keeping it up.”  Actually, it may not even have been that; it may have just been a big ol’ dyke carpet-munching session.  Nevertheless, her latest adventure involves a red-blooded, pro-America, patriotic heterosexual male, and she was kind enough to send an e-mail about it.

It all started when a fashiony friend of hers, “Coco,” held a vintage clothing sale in her dorm. “They had balloons and a mannequin and a cotton candy machine.”  Coco was selling some amazing thrift-store finds, and Ariana bought a pale green Iris Singer blazer.

Green blazer

Green blazer

(Green Iris Singer jacket for sale here; the blazer pictured above is the wrong brand and color, but looks cool.)

Soon after, “my roommate showed up, bringing her friend — let’s call him Rodney — and his ex-girlfriend. This is where things get weird. I hooked up with Rodney for about a week earlier this semester, at which point he lost interest. Later he declared his love to my roommate (that explains it) and they had sex, after which she told him that she couldn’t date him. And of course there was the ex-girlfriend. This made three-quarters of everyone he had ever slept with in one room. I felt a little sorry for him.”

One attendee of the sale did manage to impress her.  “While my roommate and Rodney’s ex made their purchases — and they did buy some very cute things — Rodney sat down and made conversation with ‘Sigmund,’ who had earlier purchased a very cute tennis jacket I’d been considering.”

“Everyone went down for a smoke. Roommate and company were planning on heading back to the dorm and then going to a club. I was trying to decide. I had plans with a hook-up I’ll call Roland later that night, and going back home seemed like a waste of travel.”  She also didn’t want to deal with awkwardness between her and Rodney.  “Sigmund told me to come back upstairs because he had vodka. That was good enough.”

“We went back to the sale and hung out in the kitchen, where we ate cotton candy and took shots out of mini teacups. It was fun and at some point in all of this Sigmund revealed that he was heterosexual.”  Straight guys who know they seem gay often have very blatant ways that they do this, like they bring up their ex-girlfriend constantly for no apparent reason.  On the other hand, gay guys who know they seem gay will sometimes use the same tactic, so you have to be cautious.  Ariana agrees:  “I didn’t quite believe him. He’d been alternating between a bad French accent and a very gay voice all night. Also, he was at a vintage clothing sale.”  However, “as soon as we had the kitchen to ourselves we started making out.”

“Of course, a drunk chick stumbled in a few seconds later, apologized for catching us, and proceeded to tell us about how her parents love her sister more than her. She was tiny and she’d had six shots of vodka, so this was understandable.”  It was time to leave.  “We said our goodbyes and went to catch the train. While were walking Roland called, and I had to tell him I was too drunk to make it.”  Poor Roland, I suppose, couldn’t compete with this faggy alpha male.*  They went back to her dorm, but the roommate, Rodney and his ex hadn’t left for the club, and were still hanging around.

*Guys, please don’t get mad at me for using an offensive word.  I’m a queer ally, and I meant “faggy” in an affectionate way.  Vote no on Proposition 8!

Ariana passed the time by drinking some beer.  When she went to use the bathroom she encountered her roommate, straightening her hair.

“‘You know he’s gay, right?’ she said.

‘Apparently not,’ I said.

‘Really?'”

Ariana soon found out; “they departed for the club, and me and Sigmund got down to business. After this he fell asleep, which annoyed me because I don’t like sleeping with people. I always feel like there are too many limbs, and college beds are too small.”  Girlfriend, you ain’t just talkin’ trash!  How does anyone put up with college dorms?  They make it so difficult to ever have sex, or lead any sort of civilized life.  Ariana lives in a suite, but often you have to share a bedroom with someone — and the bedroom is also your living room (?!?).  Then there are all kinds of rules against things like using pushpins and boiling water in a hot-pot and hanging tapestries on the walls.  College students love tapestries.  It’s torture.

Anyway, “I hung out in the common room. I drank three bottles of water to ward off the hangover, and heated up some baked beans. In the morning, I gave him directions home, as well as my number. We’ll see how that goes.”  The end… or just the beginning?  Ariana was wearing a pair of “ancient,” flared Lucky jeans and a tight black top from Forever 21.  She threw on her new blazer over the outfit, and when she showed it to her suitemates, “they asked me if it was my favorite thing I’d brought home that night.”

Forever 21 top

Forever 21 top

Lucky jeans

Lucky jeans

“I Asked Him If I Could Eat Some of His Food”

Posted in clothes, Fashion, Outerwear, Sex on September 17, 2008 by betoma

Today I’m presenting you with another story about overcoats and outerwear to get you psyched for the cold weather to come.  That’s what I would claim, at least, if I was aiming for some sort of conceptual unity or overarching rationale between posts.  I do think cold-weather gear is foxier in its way than summer stuff; everyone has to stop wearing fugly nylon athletic shorts, and it’s just so refreshing.  Of course, “Minerva” would never wear such things in the first place; she’s a very a classy lady who got her B.A. at a well-known university in New Hampshire, but is now in graduate school.

Minerva first met Sextus as a college sophomore in 2001, when a friend introduced them in the cafeteria.  He was sitting at a table eating a “huge meal”; she thought he was hot and wanted to flirt with him, “so I asked him if I could eat some of his food.”  He said no!   “I was devastated.”  During that first conversation, she “tried every trick” there was to get his attention, but none of it worked.  She found out later that he had a girlfriend at the time.

They ended up being sort of friends or acquaintances, and when she moved off campus the following year, they became neighbors as well.  The roles got reversed:  He was single, and he tried to holla at her by sending her a “neighborly” e-mail about the shared recycling bins behind the building or some nonsense like that.  This transparent attempt to get her attention didn’t work, because “I was taken.”  The same process may have repeated itself a few times, but in any case, they weren’t both single at the same time until 2003.

Minerva’s college holds a homecoming dance every October.  A what?  We didn’t have that type of thing at the place I went to for undergraduate; we had Drag Ball, Safer Sex Night, and an event called a “bike derby,” in which hundreds of people rode bicycles around in a circle on a big muddy field and tried (successfully) to knock each other over.  Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.  After the dance, Minerva and her friends went to a homecoming-related house party, and she spotted Sextus as soon as she walked in the door.  He saw her too, and they locked eyes.  They both “knew” their night of carnal passion had finally arrived.  (This is Minerva’s account, but she says he agrees with her.)

The carnal passion didn’t start right away, because both of them were involved in talking to friends, and stayed on opposite ends of the room for a long time.  When they finally did walk up to each other, Minverva thinks they said something inane like “wow, it’s taken us a long time to finally talk to each other.”  Literally five minutes after that, the party ended, and people started getting ready to head out to some bar.  Artemis was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but she bundled herself up in a long black peacoat, a scarf and white gloves.  Then they immediately started making out.

See, look how cute that is.  Anyway, having delayed their gratification long enough, they never made it out to that bar.  And they’re still a happy couple today!