I was having enough success that I didn't have to think about getting serious with any of them. So one night I hooked up with this girl from China named Tanya. It was probably only five minutes of deliberation, in stoner time. One more completely unnecessary bowl for the road, and I'm on my way. What if it's a dominatrix costume, and she wanted to tie me to a chair? What if she has, like, an Adolf Hitler fetish or something? A full, head-to-toe, detailed, costume-contest contender of a ladybug outfit.
She had a very sweet face and big boobs she flaunted as if literally she judged every shirt or dress on its ability to assault you with her cleavage. And so, after a long and harrowing journey, I pull up to her apartment and past the oblivious doorman. People are into some weird-*ss crap when it comes to sex. I'm talking black leggings and fluttery big giant red-with-black-polka-dots body wings. She just kind of fluttered around the room and over into the bedroom, out of sight.
Why even be on here, if you're so afraid to talk?
She was a little shallow, and we weren't all that into each other. And I enter the elevator, just about tripping from smoking too much, with the reveal right around the corner, I suddenly start to panic. Her trademark cleavage spilling out the front and two springy ping-pong-ball antennae sprouting out the top of her head. I don't know if I could have done it, stone cold sober. It was just too weird, and hard not to get distracted by her wings flapping up on each down stroke, and those antenna balls bouncing around on her head, which was smushed down into the bed.
It was just kind of a casual relationship, an excuse to have good sex on a regular basis, with a couple of dull dates here and there to make it all feel legit. An Intriguing Offer Anyway, I'm sitting in my NYC apartment one day in the middle of the afternoon, smoking a bong by myself because I was that kind of driven and motivated, when Tanya called me up. I plopped down on the couch and pulled my snacks in tight, and started binge-watching. I paused the show and blew another bowl to think this through. She was giving me this impossibly sultry look, and I'm just as high as a kite, and thinking, like OK, wow, this is not what I was expecting, but yeah, I think I could be into this. But high, this was a pretty interesting proposition. But for her it was different — this was her thing, apparently — and she had a sheets-clawing, screaming-into-the-pillow orgasm.
I could tell she was pretty horny, but I wasn't feeling it. There were ramifications if I decided to leave; it would mean finding pants, and sunglasses, and braving the outside world for a subway trip uptown. Once you realize this is gonna make for an incredible sex story, you've gotta go through with it, right? And so I take off my clothes and peel down her tights and underwear to her knees, and climb aboard like I think a male ladybug might do it, and we ... I tried to talk a little afterward, break the ice, but she shook her head — still no, still in character, curled up on the bed — and after a little while I got the hint and left. We never talked about it later and never repeated the episode.
I had a big "me" day planned: I had just opened a bag of Fritos, pulled up So I start making excuses, and I'm a little high so I'm probably talking too much instead of just hanging up, but she gets the picture. So I follow her into the bedroom, where she had settled, or landed, or whatever, on the edge of the bed, face down, presenting her ass in the air, in see-through black spandex over white underwear. We had like a couple more dates but the summer was almost over and soon we were both off to other people.