I met her on the internet. If I had a dollar for every time I said that, I’d have a great many dollars. Hell, if I wrote a blog for every “I met her on the internet” story, I’d have more blogs than you could read in this lifetime. Or at least in the average work week. Regardless, this is the first in what I hope to be a series, assuming I don’t slack. Don’t even ask me when the next bodybuilding or alcoholic installation is coming. I’m a busy man. But I digress.

I don’t recall who emailed who and now, at this juncture, it matters not. What matters is that we started corresponding via email and, shortly thereafter, switched to a more intimate form of communication, the instant messenger. Conversations were had, getting to know each other was done and wittiness was imparted. I am quite dashing and full of quips whilst typing and administering emoticons. Charming the ladies via my keyboard was my forte. So charm her I did. One thing led to another, as was always the case, so we planned a meet and greet. Just prior to this, we had another IM session where, in the midst of chitty chat, I asked her what she was doing that particular evening. She replied that she was making panty patterns. As I had no clue what this meant, I did what any red blooded American male would do…I masturbated. No, wait, that’s a different story. I actually just askd her exactly what that meant. The lady informed me that she typically purchases a particular style of Victoria’s Secret panties that had a small, triangular patch of cloth at the top, where the thong came out of the butt crack. She created iron on designs and customized her panties. I admired her creativity in a way that I thought might get me laid, and said that I thought her pretty cool for doing that. She, in turn, asked me what I might like to see on her ass? Opening the door for some sexual inneundo-ish flirting, I typed quickly, “my face”. Seemed like a logical answer as I would have, in fact, like to have seen my face on her ass. Well, it’s doubtful I would have been able to see it unless I’d been video taping the event, but you get the idea. Apparently, so did she as the response was ROFLMAO, which seemed to mean ‘Right O Frank. Lick my ass ok?” All in all, things appeared to be going swimmingly. I knew she customized her own panties, that she wanted to meet me, and that jokes about tossing her salad went over well. A match made in cyber-heaven. I did leave out one little thing though. Somehow, sometime, she had worked into an IM conversation that she enjoyed anal sex. Done and done.

We meet. It takes place at Yankee Doodle on the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica. She’s there before me, having a drink and playing the electronic trivia game at the bar. We meet. We greet. I take a seat. I do not, however, beat my meat, although that would have made a way better limerick. Then, as most of my internet dates entailed, we drank. Holy mother of the blood of the father did I indulge in the spirits. When I drank I was a fucking LUSH. Runs in the family. My buzz kicks in and so does my bladder control center that tells me to go pee pee or risk public humiliation. Off to the little boys room I go. In the Yankee Doodle bathroom, I reminisce about the time I had sex with a girl in the stall. Good times those. Good times…Anyway, after I pizzle and empty my bizzle, I wash up the fingers, as a good hygenic boy should. Since I’m catching a nice buzz, I take a moment to address the man in the mirror, look him in the eye and say, out loud, “You’re a fucking stud.” To this day I can recall untold numbers of times that drunk BAF spoke to himself in the mirror and told said self all manner of bullshit about his self. A drunken egotistical pep talk. My shame is great. Trust me, I’m embarrassed to be me sometimes. After the mirror motivational speech, I head to the bar again. The girl has her back turned to me and is playing trivia again. As I approach her I notice her thong sticking up out of her jeans. There’s something on it that I can’t make out but I’m curious as to what design she’s chosen for the date. Is she expecting me to see her panties? Is she TRYING to get me to notice them? I believe she is, so I sneak up close for a peek before she catches me.

My face is on her panties.

Repeat. My face is on her panties.

That’s right my friends. This girl I’ve never met in person printed out my picture from the internet on iron-on paper and put it on her underwear. I am dumbfounded. I am flabbergasted. I am stunned, shocked and slightly disturbed.

And I’m getting laid.

100 percent chance. Guaran-fucking-teed. You know it. I knew it. She knew it. We are all very much ‘in the know’ on this one. There’s no “need to know” basis. Once a girl you’ve never met puts your face on her panties for a first date, you KNOW.

I tap her on the shoulder and, as she turns, I simply reach down and tug on the top of her panties. She starts the performance. “Oh my GOD! You didn’t see those did you? I’m so embarrassed. I wasn’t even going to show them to you” etc and so on and so forth. But we don’t believe her, do we? The answer is no, we most certainly do not believe her. Because those panties don’t just tell us something, they scream it.

“YOU SIR, ARE GOING TO PUT IT IN MY BUTT TONIGHT!”

Never let it be said that I don’t listen either. I hear those panties loud and clear. I’m ready to pay tabs, pack it in and head home. Rather I’m ready to head home and pack it in. Wink wink, nudge nudge. But I play it cool. I don’t want to get home and have her protesting too much, as she’d have to at this point. You’ve got to back pedal so you don’t look psycho. I know the drill. I want to get all that out of the way at the bar, so I order another drink. By the time we’d downed this one, it was all laughs and me like, “No seriously, I think it’s awesome that you had the balls to do that.” She laughed, feigned embarrassment and looked very pleased with herself. It was time. Check please. Back to my place for one more drink.

I was going to cut right to the bedroom at this point. But my drunken ridiculousness never ends to let’s touch on one more thing. When we got to my place I took pictures with my digital camera. Pictures of her thong with my face on it. Pictures of it sticking out of her jeans and pictures of it with her pants down. The next day I emailed this pictures to all of my friends, male and female. Needless to say, they were shocked and amused. I also emailed them to my dad. Understand, you only have shit like this happen once in a lifetime, and who is going to be prouder that some random girl put your face on her ass than your pops? Nobody, that’s who. Now that we’ve covered that…the bedroom.

I won’t drag this out too long (pretty much like actual sex with me). We made out, we disrobed, I donned a condom, we started doing it. Two things need to be noted here. One is that the lights were off, so the room was dimly lit by the moonlight coming through the blinds and the light in the hallway that I’d left on. The other is that I am very, VERY drunk at this point. Truth be told, I was drunk when I came out of the Yankee Doodle bathroom so at this point I’m wasted. We do it for a while and then I get the nerve to say, “So, about that anal sex thing…”. Before I even finish she says, “Sure, let’s do it.”. Woo-buttfuckin-Hoo! She flips over and gets on her hands and knees, doggy style. I line up behind her and start to search for the hole. It’s dark, I’m drunk, it’s a tiny hole. Whaddya expect? I find it though and start to slowly work myself in there. It’s anal, you gotta go slow, give her time to relax, let her get her mind right and enjoy it. Suddenly she just lurches her body back and I’m buried balls deep. Um, ok. Granted, I’m um, moderatly sized (translation: small) so it’s not exactly gonna kill her, but still. She obviously has this ass sex thing down so I start going to town. Now I’m feeling super pimp because A) This girl put my face on her panties, B) I’m having sex on a first date and C) I’m having ANAL sex on a first date. That’s some kind of hat trick, I know it. Extra points in booty ball or something. So this continues however long, I have no clue. Time flies when you’re having anal. I was going to write, “time flies when you’re having buns” but that was just too gay even for me, so I didn’t. Eventually, I finish. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Now, I’m balls deep in this girls ass, just finished ejaculating and I’m sort of staggering on my knees. She’s got her face planted in a pillow and is just kind of sitting there. I start to get my bearings, try to focus and pull out. As I do this I look down and see weird shadows on the bed. I realize that there are weird shadows on me too. I’m confused until I reach down and touch something wet and realize it’s not a shadow but something on me, on her and on the bed. I slur out the beginning of this conversation,

Me: Are you on your period?

Her: No, why?

Me: There’s something all over the place.

Her: It’s probably shit.

Me: What?

Her: It’s probably shit. It was anal sex. That happens.

Me: WHAT?

Her: Yeah, it..

Me: WHAT? Your are fucking KIDDING ME.

Me: You SHIT ON ME?

Her: Well…

Me: YOU SHIT ON ME!

I get up and stagger into my bathroom. There is dookie all over my junk and spread from basically my belly button almost to my knees. This is not a little residual fecal matter that one would simply find and think, “icky”. It’s a full on, “I haven’t gone for a week cuz I saved it all for you” shit-fest, dirty ass exploding extravaganza. I stagger back into my room, click on the light and suddenly sober right the fuck up. All over my new white sheets from Bed Bath and Beyond is poo. It’s like God was paying me back for the poor sap who had to clean the stall after the BK Blaster (read the blog). And now that the sex wasn’t clouding my mind, the stench hit me. Commence gagging.

In a drunken haze I had to strip the sheets off of my bed, put them in a plastic garbage bag then take a shower. In the glaring lights of the bathroom I looked down at myself and almost died. I went from her putting my face on her ass to her dumping from her ass everywhere except my face. Needless to say, that was our last date. Although honestly, it was her choice, not mine. Even though the most disgusting thing that ever happened to me, happened, I figured how many chicks were gonna come up with Frank-undies and anal on a first date. Had to be worth something, right? I assumed it was the embarrassment that kept her from making another plan with me. Turns out, it was something totally different. Her boyfriend.

She did keep in touch via email for some time and, every so often, pops up again to say hi. We’ve never discussed the evening and I doubt we ever will. Unless, of course, she wants to come on my show. I’ll be happy to converse about it there. At one point, long after that infamous night, she emailed me and mentioned that she still had the panties. What I wouldn’t give for those things now. They would be the greatest keepsake I could ever ask for but hey, at least I still have the sheets. I bleached them twice and they were good as new. Currently, they reside on my roommates bed. I hope she enjoys them as much as I did.

I shit you not.