Toenails, Pubes in the Soap, and How to Handle Your Filthy Boyfriend.

Men are, by nature, incredibly lazy beings.  So to say that you're in a relationship with a "lazy man" simply means that he must be really, really fucking lazy.

I was once in a relationship with a "lazy man."

Matthew and I lived in a beautiful apartment together that he insisted on trashing.  He left his dishes piling up on the counter, his socks on the floor, and toothpaste in the sink.  I tried every possible approach to get him to pull his weight:

"Matthew, if you do the dishes, I'll wash the floor."

"Matthew, if you walk the dog, I'll cook your favorite dinner tonight."

"Matthew, if you dust in the living room, I'll let you go up my ass."

Nothing worked.  And then one day, things hit a breaking point.

I woke up from a blissful night of sleep and slowly rolled over in bed, rubbing my eyes.  I was immediately confronted by the longest toenail clipping I had ever seen.  I knew for damn certain it wasn't mine.  It was big and brown and had Matthew's name written all over it.

"MATTHEW????  Why is one of your toenail clippings in our bed???"

"I'm soooo, so, so sorry baby.  I clipped my toenails in bed while you were still sleeping."  Precious.  "I think one got in your hair, too.  So you might want to check."

After fishing my boyfriend's toenail chunk out of my hair, I walked into the bathroom.  While I was washing my hands, I noticed what looked like little ants taking over the counter and sink.  "Damnit, Matthew.  If you hid your Taco Bell in the bathroom again instead of throwing it out..." I thought.

But upon closer inspection, I realized that they weren't ants at all.  They were hairs.  Tiny, black hairs.  "MATTHEW!" I screamed.  "Why is our bathroom counter sprouting hairs???"

"I'm sooooo, so, so sorry baby.  I cut my ear hairs this morning."  Did I hear him correctly?  "And I borrowed you trimmer too."

I cleaned his hairs out of the sink and turned on the shower.  I was going to get at least ten minutes of uninterrupted alone time without Matthew's ear hairs and toenail clippings.  I was determined.

So I stepped into the shower and grabbed the bar of soap.  MY bar of soap.  I knew better at this point than to share one with my inadequate boyfriend, so we each had our own.

I was busying cleansing and caressing every inch of my smooth and flawless body.  I ran it up and down my toned legs and gently glided it over my perfect, flat stomach.  I closed my eyes, brought it up to my face, and breathed in the heavenly aroma, soaping off my forehead and cheeks.

And when I opened my eyes, I saw the biggest, blackest pube I have EVER seen stuck in the bar of soap.

Fucking MY fucking bar of fucking soap.

That was it.  The gloves were off.

I didn't even say anything to Matthew, but he was about to get a dose of his own medicine.

The next morning, Matthew rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom, per usual.  An audible "UGH!" immediately came after.

"Cori?"

"Yes Matthew."

"Why is there a dirty pad stuck to the mirror?"

"Oh my gosh, honey.  I guess I forgot to throw it away.  I'm soooo, so, so sorry!"  Of course, he left the dirty pad there, where it remains to this very day.

I heard the shower turn on and Matthew step inside.  I went about my business making the bed until I heard a shrieking scream come from the bathroom.

"Cori!"

"Yes Matthew."

"What the fuck is wrong with my razor??!?!!"

"Oh.  Nothing's wrong with it.  I just used it to shave my vagina.  It had been awhile.  Sorryyyy!"  Matthew opened the shower curtain to glare at me.  I simply shrugged my shoulders, giggled, and skipped out of the room.

Minutes later, he walked into the kitchen with a towel around his neck.  "You know, there's a reason we each have our own razor."

"I know, sweetheart.  It's just that I feel SO close to you...that I can't bare to use a different razor."  He rolled his eyes and opened the fridge.

"Do we have any yogurt left?"

"Of course, baby.  You know I'd never let you run out."  He pulled out a small container.

"This it?"

"Uh...yeah.  Pretty sure!"  Matthew washed off some strawberries and grapes, mixed them in with his yogurt, and sat at the table.

"What are your plans today?" he asked.

"I need to go to the pharmacy."

"Hm."  Matthew took a big bite of his yogurt and almost immediately spit it out.  "FUCK, man!  What the fuck is this shit?????"  I took a curious sniff and pretended I didn't know what was going on.

"Well I'll be!  There's my Vagisil!"

"What the fuck is your Vagisil doing in the refrigerator?!!?!?!"

"Well I don't know Matthew!  I guess that means your yogurt is under the sink in the bathroom..."  He looked at me unbelieving, probably unsure of whether he should laugh, cry, or kill me.

Moral of the story?  Clean up after yourselves, you fucking slobs. <3

Dave the Gorilla

Dave. Dave. Dave...When I saw him, I knew I was either going to imagine a steamy, sex-filled night full of biting and licking and touching and rubbing and cumming and breathing hard and humping and sweating and scratching and queefing and whatever else makes a steamy, sex-filled night steamy and sex-filled...or I was actually going to do these things with him in real life.

I was fine with either but I got one better. We started seeing each other after I approached him while I was high and told him that I would like permission to stalk him and fantasize about him while I masturbated. What can I say? I have charm. And he might have thought I was joking. It was his smile that got me; he had the same smile as the closeted Christian boy I lost my virginity to and while I was in a big city, he reeked of small town farm boy. Yum!

He had scruff on his face, hair poking out of a trucker hat, faded jeans and a flannel on when we met and his style didn't change much, except when he stopped wearing the sexy trucker hats and showed up one day wearing a headband. I'm sorry--are we 8-year-old girls orrr...

I wasn't looking for anything serious. Then again, I'm not usually EVER looking for anything serious and he made it pretty clear he wasn't either, so we mutually agreed that while our first date consisted of a romantic day in the city, laughing and flirting and eventually making out a little bit for a couple of hours, our second date would take place in his bedroom.

Or rather, his bed. The 'bedroom' was more like a storage room since he was 'staying' (or maybe 'squatting' is more the word I'm looking for) in the 'spare room' of his buddy's basement. Guess that band he told me about that was 'getting so big' wasn't as big as he thought.

Nonetheless, I was there for one thing and one thing only. Once we were naked, he couldn't shut up about how sexy I was and I wish I could have said the same. I might have mumbled something to keep the mood going but mostly I kinda just wished he would have fucked me public style with his clothes on.

Now, I love hair on a man. I love the chest hair and the happy trail and the sexy T-shape it makes around his pecs...but this guy had carpet attached to his torso. It was like wall-to-wall shag carpeting top to bottom. I thought to myself, "Okay, whatever. He's not fat so he'll do. It'll just be a little....warmer." I could deal. So we start getting it on. He's on top and I'm a nail digger so my hands go straight to his back...more carpeting. Come on...T-shape chest hair, sexy. Happy trail, sexy. A fucking area rug covering the entire top of your body? It's called laser hair removal, friend.

And by this point I was afraid to see what was under his pants. I suppose this is what I get for telling him he had a nice HEAD of hair--which I later noticed once the hats came off that he was balding right smack dab in the middle of his head. This poor gorilla couldn't win in the hair department.

Turns out his junk was okay and he did manscape. I ended up learning that he usually kept his hairy chest trimmed and his hairy back shaved which I had to appreciate, but like any healthy lawn, there would always be stubble or peach fuzz to remind you that it's there. I wasn't impressed with his short and stout, uncircumcised penis either, so needless to say, the sexcapdes didn't last long.

Plus, he told me that he ONLY liked me for sex and that really the only thing he was interested in was my looks. Verbatim. I get that we're friends with benefits but can you at LEAST pretend you're interested in my mind, you furry twit?

Look buddy, you want me for everything I've got: my looks, my brains, my street smarts, everything. I'M the only one that can want YOU for sex. What a prick. I could tell that he thought I was falling in love with him or something and ended up giving me a long spiel about how I'm a 'sweet and caring girl' but that all he wants is a fuck buddy, to which I replied:

"I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

And that's the end of that! I need to start auditioning these clowns.