Bitchlynn In Hangover Land

Diary of a college undergrad with a taste for booze and boys. Basically a sluttier version of a Seinfeld episode. Enjoy.

[inhangoverland]

He Earned His Red Wings

It was late April or May, honestly I spent that summer too drunk to remember every small detail. I had been meeting up with guys from Tinder for a while, taking the “best way to get over someone is to get under someone else” advice a little (hella) too seriously. I met this guy named Jake, and decided to go grab Torchy’s with him. I’m a slut for some tacos. I mean, I’m a slut anyway, but this bitch loves tacos.

Conversation was going well, so when the meal was over and he gave me the option of parting ways or a movie at his place, I opted for the movie. Keep in mind, this was before “Netflix and chill” was a thing. Also, I’m naieve.

So, the movie started, and he was on top of me inhaling my carbon dioxide BEFORE THE END OF THE BEGINNING CREDITS, but that wasn’t before he said some stupid pick up line about how he wished it was Christmas because the mistletoe would’ve given him a good excuse to kiss me (real smooth lmfao). Honestly, I wasn’t into it. He was practically eating my fucking face. I made out with him anyway though.... Until he started trying to unbuckle my pants.

I had just gotten off my period the day before, and had gotten very familiar with the way spotting can sneak back up for a few days. I told him to stop, told him why, and offered a blowie instead. This part I think is where I differ from most girls. I thoroughly ENJOY giving head. It makes me feel powerful to practically have someone coming undone in the palm of my hand. #ThroatGameStrong. Feeling powerful is a fetish of mine. So yeah, by the end of that I was ready to fuckin GO. 

I caved. I figured that I had stopped bleeding yesterday and would be good to go. So I told him that it should be fine, but that I may spot a little. He didn’t waste any time. Before I knew it, this motherfucker was choking me (which I find hot), and asking me questions (which I do not). One minute, I was having to bite his shoulder so I didn’t scream, and the next minute I dried up like the Sahara because this bitch wanted to ask me what his name is.

I choked out a “Jake?” Because honestly I wasn’t sure. 

“And who am I?”

“Uh... the dude I’m fucking right now.”

He gripped my throat tighter and started PLOWING. “No” he heaved, “call me Daddy.”

It took everything in me not to laugh at him. 

He stopped just as quickly as he started though. “Hey, turn on the light, theres something on my hand.” I figured it was just, yanno, vag stuff, but I flicked on the lamp anyway. It was blood. Not a lot, but enough for him to suggest a shower instead. I complied.

I braced my hand on the tile wall as i bent over, because doggie is the only way to pull off sex in the shower, and saw a red stream wash away from my palm. 

WTF.

It was way more blood than I thought. I was embarrassed and immediately turned off. As we got dry, he flicked on his bigger bedroom light so that we could find our clothes to get dressed.

I swear to god it looked like a crime scene. He took me home immediately and we never spoke again.

Until two months later when he told me he had chlamydia (that he hadn’t gotten from me, btw.)

[terrysdiary]

[inhangoverland]

Stalking and Centipedes

I believe it was early to mid March, not quite spring, although the Texas heat would suggest otherwise. As per usual, I had been talking to guys on Tinder and going on dates maybe once every week or two. It was kind of boring, to be honest. After that night with 007, I was kind of disappointed in my lack of thrilling tales of strange dates. That is, until I met “Tom.” 

Tom seemed, well, nice, as I was getting to know him. He was a student at the local university, devout christian, and regularly did volunteer work over seas. Honestly, I thought he was total “settle down” material, but for some reason I agreed to go out with him even though that was the opposite of my goal. I mean, his name was Tom. Boring Tom. He wore khakis and studied bugs. He was about as interesting as a pair of beige curtains. Nonetheless, he was nice. So I agreed.

The time comes for our date, and he asks me what time I’m picking him up. Immediately, I’m annoyed. My car wasn’t drivable at the time, and I thought it was rude for him to assume I’d drive 30-45 minutes to where he stayed at his dorm without even asking me. Anyway, I tell him the situation with my car and suggest that we just hang out some other time.

He wouldn’t have it. This dude seriously suggested that he just walk to my place from where he is, which is like a total of two hours in the heat. Of course, I tell him no, but he persists. So I’m just like “okay whatever, dude.”

He shows up about two hours later, and I greet him with a gatorade because I’m a nice person, but then I realize that I’ve fucked up. There was no way I was going to trek all the way into town with this poor, sweaty bastard, and then sit down in a restaurant to have lunch while I, too, look like a poor, sweaty bastard. Nope. There also wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d invite this person I haven’t met before into the home I was living at with my cousin and her small children. Nope. Nope. Nope. I pull a bitch move and suggest the nature trail near my house.

Sorry not sorry, Tom.

During this entire “date,” all this dude talks about is bugs. He tells me about the difference between a centipede and a millipede, and what the real name for a rollie pollie is with the enthusiasm of a teenage boy who thinks he’s going to get laid. Like ”Oh yes, bugs are so sexy. Take my panties off right now in this forest!” Come on, man. I’m not exaggerating either, this dude really loves his bugs.

Other than his social ineptness, I somehow start to really dig this guy. I mean, he was physically attractive and super polite. So when he leans in to kiss me, I let him, and I’d be lying if I said we didn’t roll around beneath the trees a little bit. However, I did find his eagerness to trek this far a tad creepy, and I didn’t love bugs enough to let it continue any further. After he left, I cut him off.

It probably wasn’t the most polite way to handle it, but it was my way. I just blocked his number, removed him from snapchat and went on about my life as normal without having to do the whole awkward confrontation thing. 

I know, I know.

I’m terrible.

I know.

Anyways, so a week or so passes and I get a message on Tinder. It’s from Tom. He wants to know why I changed my Tinder bio. I was a little creeped out that he felt entitled to creep my profile and then confront me about it, but instead of dealing with the situation I just unmatched him.

Everything went back to normal, for a month or so.

Then, I get a message from him on Facebook. I had never added him or told him my last name, so how he came across me was unknown. This time, he wanted to know how I was doing in the town that I was visiting. I hadn’t told him or posted about it. I simply told him to fuck off, blocked him, and haven’t heard from Bug Boy since.

On a side note, unless you want to queef a sandcastle, don’t have sex outdoors. Especially if there’s dirt nearby. It will find you. I promise.

[inhangoverland]

Street Racing Slut

It was early March, I’d say. I had just moved to South Texas post-breakup that in a way, ruined me. Following advice from my friends, I decided that the best way to get over the whole thing would be to get back out there. I did what any millennial would do. I made a profile on Tinder.

It wasn’t long- a week maybe- until I had met a guy that didn’t completely sketch me out. Let’s call him Cam. We had Skyped for a few days until I felt comfortable to meet in person. He seemed like a genuinely sweet, honest guy. When it came down to deciding what to do for our date, though, this guy proceeds to tell me that he is literally allergic to every food that isn’t lettuce. I’m just sitting there like “???” How did he expect me to go to dinner with him if he literally can’t eat anything? I know that allergies aren’t his fault, but I’d still feel a little awkward pigging out by myself. So we went a little less conventional and decided to go to a party that his friend was throwing instead.

Here’s where I messed up. I failed to mention that I lived two hours away. I just assumed he lived in the same area, considering the fact that we met on Tinder. Wrong.

This poor guy was such a good sport about it though, and he not only drove the distance, but also got pulled over for speeding in the process and still managed to arrive with a bouquet of my favorite flowers. Keeper, right?

We get into his car and immediately I can tell that this thing is not an ordinary “to work and the supermarket” kind of car. This bitch is loud. When I ask about it, Cam proudly tells me that racing is his passion and that he spends all his free time and money on redoing the inner machinery of his car so that it’ll run faster. Impressive to the average person, terrifying as FUCK for me, a girl who suffers from intense anxiety and has a deathly fear of car accidents. I smile anyway, ya know, playing it cool.

The ride surprisingly wasn’t uncomfortable at all while we made our way through residential areas. We made small talk. He laughed at my jokes. However, as soon as we got onto the highway, I could feel my lungs fall out of my accidentally bleached asshole. We were flying.

After the first few seconds of holyshitmotherfuckerwhatthefuckareyoudoingI’mtooyoungtodie, I had to admit it was exhilarating. There’s something about putting your life in someone else’s hands that makes you feel alive. It was beautiful to watch life, lights pass so quickly. That feeling left just as quickly as it arrived when I glanced at the speedometer and read 180 (!!!!) That’s when I asked him to “please slow down so I don’t die or so you don’t get pulled over again.” He complied.

By the time we got all the way back to whatever town he was from, the party was over despite his speeding efforts. We ended up back at his place smoking His and Her joints and watching The Office. Not exactly date material, but he made me feel comfortable and I was having a good time just laughing with him and talking about our lives.

Eventually we start making out and holy fuck. This was the first time I had ever kissed while high, and let me tell you, there are no words to describe how euphoric that shit is. I felt like he was kissing through me. Like we had become one, and we were hovering in outer space about to get it on. Before this, I had never been a hook-up kind of girl, but that bud had me buzzin’ some type of way.

At one point, he rests his hand on my thigh and asks me when the last time I had sex was. I was honest, I said about a month ago. Then he asked me when the last time was that someone made me cum. I couldn’t remember. That’s when he began to slide off my panties and said “you won’t forget this.”

HOLY FUCK.

I still don’t know if it was just the fact that we boned while high or WHAT but this guy sure knew what the hell he was doing. I came like seven times before he even finished ONCE. It was truly magical. This guy had the stamina of a fucking animal. We didn’t stop until the sun came up.

The next day, we wake up and he immediately starts going down on me. Cam was like a fucking pussy linguist. I really, really did not want to leave. By mid-afternoon  though, we decide that it’s be smart to start heading back so that he didn’t have to drive that night when it would be raining. We smoke another J, and I decide to pee before heading out.

That’s when I saw it.

A fucking pink makeup bag on his bathroom counter with a brush lying next to it. I wasn’t sad that he played me, I was sad about all the great sex I would be missing out on after this. On instinct, I pulled the black bobby pins out of my hair and laid them next to the blonde hairs poking up out of her brush. He probably wouldn’t notice, but I knew she would. After just being cheated on myself, I knew it was the right thing to do.

Bitches gotta stick together.

[inhangoverland]

Accidental Asshole Bleaching

It was late February after a terrible breakup. I had just made arrangements to skip town and live with my cousin in South Texas, but that wasn’t enough for me. I couldn’t reside in the same town as him, and I definitely couldn’t look in the mirror at my long, curly ass mermaid hair without thinking of his jewfro. So, in a drunken stupor, I cut it all off.

Okay, not all of it. But it went from being ribcage length to being up to my collar bones. Needless to say, a considerable amount had been chopped off.

With my new look, my sisters got the itch to change theirs too. Typical.

As I’ve mentioned, I’d been drinking a lot. On this particular day, I believe it was rum. Just straight from the bottle because momma didn’t raise no quitter. I wasn’t drunk yet, but I was feeling a little tipsy when my sister came to me with a bleaching kit. “Can you help me like, do the bottom or something?” She asked. Little did she know she was about to destroy my actual butthole.

So, I’m no cosmetologist okay, but I’m doing my best. I’m buzzed and getting high on toxic fumes coming off this lil bitch’s head. I take off my gloves and set a timer for 20-30 minutes so we know when to rinse it out. I go to my room, watch a couple of Youtube videos, and continue to drink by myself until the timer goes off.

When I go back into the bathroom, I notice that the bottle of bleach had exploded. Apparently the chemicals react when they sit for too long, but I, the drunken chemist, did not know that. 

Without thinking, I grab the bottle to toss it in the trash (which probably was not safe either), and begin cleaning the spill with a damp cloth. Keep in mind, I am sloshed by this point so I had not stopped to put on gloves, pass go, or collect $200. 

And then, after a series of mistakes, I made the worst one of all.

I PICKED MY WEDGIE.

My asshole puckered faster than a penis in the snow. It retracted like measuring tape when you pull it out to measure your ego and then let go. Just shut up tighter than the bond between Kanye and Kanye, and let me tell you, It hurt like Hell. Like a slap on a sunburned titty.

I tear off my pants, by booty hole is gasping for air. Straight up contracting and expanding like a fish’s mouth when you take it out of the water like the evil bitch you are. I rush to the bath tub and turn on the faucet, fighting back tears. I get on all fours and lower myself so that the water is directed right onto my asshole. It starts drinking that shit. My ass is so parched. Acting like it just ran to it’s room because it heard my mom come home. It’s gasping for so much air, guzzling down that high quality H2O. It stung for three whole days.

I can’t believe people do that shit on purpose. 

[inhangoverland]

The Nope Chode

It was the third day after my breakup. The third day I spent without sleep, without eating, without crying every thirty damn minutes. Sad intro, I know. But this story isn’t emo. That was just a coincidence. Anyway, I did what every heartbroken girl does after getting fucked over. I got FUCKED UP.

But wait, I gotta backpedal. 

As heartbroken as I was, I knew I had to get out of the house. I had sat in a room alone crying, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s and trying to force feed myself Chinese food (which didn’t work out) for THREE days. I had to get out of there before I became a song by the Smiths. So I called up my best friend. My favorite alcoholic. Let’s call her Lux. She had just gotten her first house, so to celebrate, booze was flowing at all hours of the day. I really do mean ALL hours. Lux don’t play no games, y’all.

I get there, and it’s around the end of February. There’s snow on the ground. It’s cold as shit. This bitch doesn’t know how to operate the thermostat. My nipples are harder than a diamond in an ice storm. Like, those bitches could cut glass. I could impale Predator with these sharp ass nipples, right? It was fucking cold. Lux was drunk already. It was like 3 in the afternoon, but five o’ clock somewhere. Anyway, she couldn’t figure out the damn heat situation. At some point I make a remark about wanting a hot-tub, and that’s when she looks at me with a glimmer of hope in her glazed over, swimming eyes. “Dude.” She said. “We could just make the tub hot.”

It took me a moment to catch on, but I had to admit it was genius. We filled the bathtub up with the hottest water you can imagine. One a scale from one to Hell, it was Mordor. My skin felt like it was going to melt right off of my bones. A truly glorious experience. We sat in there, refilling the tub every time it got anywhere close to lukewarm (because fuck that shit), and throwing back beers as we smoked cigarettes and laughed at how pathetic we must’ve looked. At one point, Lux got out long enough to make macaroni. Do you know what’s better than drunk macaroni in the bathtub? Nothing.

At about six or so, we get out of the tub and our friend *ahem* Jason shows up.

Jason is basically one of those Chuck Bass looking motherfuckers that crack the same jokes every time you see him. Seriously, every time. It doesn’t matter if you saw that ho yesterday. He’s gonna tell you the same damn joke. As ridiculous as he was, I had low key had a crush on him throughout high school. He was the only guy I knew that would sit there and pig out with me and watch Nicholas Sparks movies about white people almost kissing in the rain. Basically, he was the best friend of Lux’s then-boyfriend, so we ended up third wheeling a lot together. 

Back to me, drunk as shit.

We end up drinking upwards of six beers a piece, and then I lost track after another one of her friends showed up to the house with a couple bottles of wine. We drink for a while until Lux falls asleep in the recliner and What’s-His-Nuts decides to leave. 

There weren’t any beds in the house yet. Lux had literally just moved in. It was still unopened boxes new. Also, as you may recall, it was very much cold as shit. Jason and I decide to try and squeeze ourselves on the same couch. It wasn’t a big couch either, my ass was hanging off the edge. After a while, we start making out, as drinking and cuddling often lead to. 

It was then that I realized my three year crush on this dude was a mistake. He had the Chuck Bass lady killing swagger thing going on, but he kissed like a literal fucking snapping turtle. Where were this guy’s lips? I couldn’t say. Drunk me didn’t really care after the first initial shock anyway. So we’re kissing. And then there was awkward boob grabbing. Like 13 year olds hiding behind a bounce house at a birthday party awkward. But I was drunk, I found him attractive, and I was one hundred percent down to bone. 

After a moment, we decide to move this party to the bathroom so that we don’t wake up my friend. There’s already a lawn chair by the bath tub that her sister had sat in when she briefly stopped by. I pushed him into it, and although he nearly ripped down the shower curtain, things were going about as smoothly as two drunk people could manage. 

But then he took off his pants.

I was astounded. I had no idea where the rest of it could have gone. I thought that surely it was flaccid. I began licking it with my tongue in case he was a grower. Nope. All there. All accounted for. All three inches of it.

Seriously, it was like one of those Lil Chub sausages you buy at the gas station. It looked like a thumb of a big hand. Now I knew how he fit in those tiny ass pastel Chinos he wore all the time. His wiener wasn’t hiding. It just didn’t exist. I felt so bad for him.

I eventually climbed on top, but the sex itself was very quick and anticlimactic on my part. Afterwards I made myself a bed on the rug because there was no way in Hell we were ever gonna fit on that couch to begin with, but as soon as I got there the sun was already coming up and her ghetto ass neighbor’s rooster was waking up the whole block.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep. Not a wink for the entire next day. I guess a first hookup can be pretty traumatic for some people.

But I got over that shit pretty fast.

[inhangoverland]

The Birth of Bitchlynn

I wasn’t always Bitchlynn. I didn’t always have these notches on my bedposts and scars on my liver. In fact, there was a time when my idea of a good life was settling down at 21 in a small town and raising a few kids in a quaint house with a yard and blah blah... Ya know, all that bullshit. All that “American Dream” bullshit they talk about in country songs that I hate. It wasn’t until I got fucked over and out of my last relationship that I realized that I don’t need a body with a dick attached to it to dictate my life or to make me feel validated. And why the hell would I want a white picket fence when the world could be my backyard? After all, you only live once. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure as hell not gonna waste it.