What’s Your Range?

Oh, high school. How I miss you and your sexually adventurous ways. The story I am going to tell today happened right after I started having sex. I was 16 and dating a much more “mature” (polite way of saying manwhore) guy who knew his way around the ropes. (what the fuck does that even mean?)

One day we were doing the nasty in his flea-infested bedroom and we started to talk about fantasies. Every couple has that talk at one point or another. It can either end up being all hot and sexy or go very, very wrong. Imagine if they said they wanted you to make goat noises while they eat your butthole or something. That would be sad sauce.

Our talk was somewhere in between. I don’t really remember what I said my big fantasy was, but it probably went something like I want to have lots of sexy sex all over your sexy sex body. Can you tell I didn’t know what I was doing? I was basically Steve Carrell from the 40-year old virgin, except it was normal because I was well… not 40.

The BF said that he was really into squirters. The truth is I had no clue what that meant at the time, but from the name of the word I figured it must mean you squirt…something. He asked me if I thought I could do it for him. I said “of course” because when you’re 16 you think you can do anything. He was so excited that we decided to get right down to business and try it immediately. I don’t know this first hand, but I imagine that trying to squirt is the worst way to actually get yourself to do so. It’s like when you really, really wanna poop, but it’s just not there.

After trying just about everything under the sun to make it happen, I decided I would just fake it. I climbed on top and went to town. When I told him that “OMGGGG this is totally it, it’s going to happen!!!” he told me to back up so he could finish the job with his hand so he could watch.

Uh oh. Exposed.

At that point I was completely SCREWED. How was I going to get this shit over with without disappointing the boy? I couldn’t just be like, “it’s not going to happen”

So I let him have it.

I peed.

Not like ALL over. Just a little bit to make him think that we had succeeded.


Yes, he did know the difference.

No, he was not pleased.

But he never asked me to do it again.

Mission Accomplished.