A Shitty Date. Literally.

BY BUMBLE BUTT

When it comes to mortifying dating fails, there is no one else out there who is as unashamedly open about them as Bumble Butt.

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16 JUN - 2018

When she first told me about this story, she literally turned my ugly crying frown upside down and made my bladder lose control.

If you're going through some rough shit in your life, you'll be glad to know that you at least didn't experience this God awful sexcapade.
I guess the story starts at about 9pm on a Friday night after I escaped from my English suitor to ‘visit my friend in hospital’ because a) he said not-so-charming things like “you’re really fit and then when you turned around I thought damn” b) his DAD AND BROTHER WERE THERE on our first date?! c) he was as arrogant as he was underwhelming… supremely.
Despite this man’s utter failure in wooing me, I was not disheartened. As the fiercely sensual modern woman that I am, I made the bold decision to redeem this tragedy of a night and have my sexual needs satiated - elsewhere. Drunk girl logic, amiright?

In retrospect, it was just one of those nights where I really should’ve stayed home (and fully cured the food poisoning that I had been nursing for the last couple of days) instead of roaming the streets in search of a wild sexcapade. All I can say is that life is full of mistakes and part of the journey is to learn from said mistakes to avoid further existential shame and embarrassment.
My subtle phone use became more obvious throughout the course of the evening, and while chatting to his dad and brother - no, I’m not kidding - I organised to get the hell out of there and meet contestant number two at a bar closer to the middle of town.
But of course, on a trailblaze of Murphy’s law, my phone dies. When I get there, he’s leaning on the shorter side of my physical preferences, but one should not assume the size of the goods by the height of its possessor.
Turns out a teacher from my intermediate school is playing in the band which, unfortunately, didn’t seem to put me off my game. I wish it did. Yet again, sparks flew because I’m a sexual goddess and men find me undeniably attractive - one thing led to another and we arrived at ‘his’ house. Note the bold italics because in fact, we weren’t at his house.
I was freshly back in the dating game and was on a course of wanting to dabble in the experimental phase of post-relationship promiscuity. Trying is learning, they say, and I was open to anything and everything (within reason - not about to fuck a goat in a field on a whim).
We were both rather inebriated and his handling, albeit rough, was enjoyable at the time - well, kind of. I awoke to a split lip from his aggressive involvement in my oral performance, weeping tears on the underside of my hefty AF breastesses (I’m a G cup btw - it’s not a size you can imagine) and the wretched smell of bodily excrements that I couldn’t quite put my finger on (but he clearly did).
Gradually gaining consciousness and my senses, I think to myself, “The fuck is that awful smell?... The fuck is that mark on the sheets? The fuck is that on THE WALL?!” As previously mentioned, I was recovering from a mild case of food poisoning. If you put two and two together…

There you have it, my shit was smeared on the linen and architectural structure of - not his home - his friend’s home. All because he didn’t learn to wash his hands.
I am known to have little-to-no-shame and as you’ve experienced, an over-sharer of sorts, but I can definitely say that I was absolutely mortified of this entire shit-smeared situation. When he went to the bathroom, I tore the sheets off the bed and bundled them on the floor and gapped it, for him to deal with the mess he made.
He drops me home, I rush into the shower to try and rid myself of the experience when my broken boobs sting like a motherfucker and I yelp in pain. He even found a way to ruin my well-deserved shame-shower.

Anyway, I was about to block this son of a bitch but thought it might be interesting to gauge his reaction when I told him he ripped my boobs from my body. All I got was a blasé excuse - not even an apology for his awful contribution to my sexual history. And now, I shall be forever tainted as ‘The Shit Girl’ if ever I should bump into him or his friends in this fish bowl of a city that is Auckland. It was not worth it.
If you’re having a bad day, you are welcome. Take it from me, if the world is telling you to stay home and recuperate, listen to it. Or your life may take a turn for the worse because you went out in search of a face to sit on… only to end up waking to your shit smeared all over a stranger’s home.

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"There you have it, my shit was smeared on the linen and architectural structure of - not his home - his friend’s home."

I was freshly back in the dating game and was on a course of wanting to dabble in the experimental phase of post-relationship promiscuity. Trying is learning, they say, and I was open to anything and everything (within reason - not about to fuck a goat in a field on a whim).

We were both rather inebriated and his handling, albeit rough, was enjoyable at the time - well, kind of. I awoke to a split lip from his aggressive involvement in my oral performance, weeping tears on the underside of my hefty AF breastesses (I’m a G cup btw - it’s not a size you can imagine) and the wretched smell of bodily excrements that I couldn’t quite put my finger on (but he clearly did).

Gradually gaining consciousness and my senses, I think to myself, “The fuck is that awful smell?... The fuck is that mark on the sheets? The fuck is that on THE WALL?!” As previously mentioned, I was recovering from a mild case of food poisoning. If you put two and two together…

There you have it, my shit was smeared on the linen and architectural structure of - not his home - his friend’s home. All because he didn’t learn to wash his hands.

I am known to have little-to-no-shame and as you’ve experienced, an over-sharer of sorts, but I can definitely say that I was absolutely mortified of this entire shit-smeared situation. When he went to the bathroom, I tore the sheets off the bed and bundled them on the floor and gapped it, for him to deal with the mess he made.
He drops me home, I rush into the shower to try and rid myself of the experience when my broken boobs sting like a motherfucker and I yelp in pain. He even found a way to ruin my well-deserved shame-shower.

Anyway, I was about to block this son of a bitch but thought it might be interesting to gauge his reaction when I told him he ripped my boobs from my body. All I got was a blasé excuse - not even an apology for his awful contribution to my sexual history. And now, I shall be forever tainted as ‘The Shit Girl’ if ever I should bump into him or his friends in this fish bowl of a city that is Auckland. It was not worth it.

If you’re having a bad day, you are welcome. Take it from me, if the world is telling you to stay home and recuperate, listen to it. Or your life may take a turn for the worse because you went out in search of a face to sit on… only to end up waking to your shit smeared all over a stranger’s home.

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