Since this is my first blog post, I guess I should start with a disclaimer: much to my friends' dismay (and now to yours if you're reading this) my stories almost never end up with me having sex with a random girl. This one is no exception, so feel free to stop reading now.
Anyway, on to the story. I was at a wedding last weekend, where I met a girl I will refer to as "cookies and sex" (C&S). It all started at the rehearsal dinner, where I sat at a table with nine girls; I've had this happen before (for some reason I've been the lone single guy at a bunch of weddings), and normally the prospect of being surrounded by nine women and free booze is amazing. Unfortunately this table was the exception to that rule. C&S was sitting right next to me, and seemed to take an immediate interest in my unique combination of self-deprecation, borderline intoxication, and recent push towards obesity...you never know what's going to turn a girl on these days. Anyway, over the course of the evening those nine girls probably threw down about fifteen bottles of wine, and maybe due to the wine, or maybe due to the fact that stories about cookies are just that interesting, they all went Pavlov's dogs on me when I told them that earlier in the day I had eaten lunch at this great little sandwich place, and that along with my sandwich I had ordered a little slice of heaven in the form of a mini oatmeal butterscotch cookie. That cookie was so good in fact, that on my way out the door I picked up a bag of 6 more to have sitting in the hotel room for the rest of the weekend. So I've got 9 salivating girls at my table and only 6 cookies to go around...ok 4 cookies...did you really expect me not to eat a couple right when I got home from lunch? My calculator says the answer is .44 cookies each, but these girls only do Machiavellian mathematics, and it quickly becomes very clear that there will be no splitting of the cookies. Even if it requires a Thunderdome style fight to the death (9 girls enter, 1 girl leaves...with cookies), someone is getting all 4. All I know is, now that I've mentioned the cookies, I'm not getting to eat any more of them (read: my weekend is ruined).
So it's off to a local pub after the rehearsal dinner for a couple more drinks, and C&S is insistent that I walk her back to the hotel. Now, I like to fancy myself a gentleman, and under normal circumstances I would have been happy to walk her the mere one block back to the hotel and get her safely home. But as it was only about 10:30, and she didn't seem like she had been overserved (yet), I sniffed out an early run at the cookie stash and convinced her to stay for a while longer. But I'll be honest...at this point I'm starting to get the impression that cookies aren't the only thing on her mind. And while I'm willing to part with the cookies, I am most definitely not willing to part with my chastity for this girl. Ok fine, I don't have any chastity to part with, but I'm still not sleeping with her. So I start to work on extricating myself from the situation by getting her another chaperone home...to no avail.
On to bar #2 where I begin to realize that I have severely underestimated her level of intoxication. Now I feel bad for not recognizing this before and feel obligated to walk her home, which she has continued to insist upon. So I tell the guys I'm hanging out with I'll be back in 5 minutes, which is met by great skepticism. And C&S and I leave the bar. We're walking home...well, I'm walking, she's doing a cross between stumbling and trying to show me the achy breaky heart dance (she wanted to show off her new cowboy boots)...and she says, "I nunno wha you're thingin...I jus wan your cookies....an may' some sex...bu more I jus wanna cookies...ok an' sex". Fortunately, even she saw the humor in all this. That didn't stop her from continuing to press the issue though.
We got back to the hotel and I told her to come up and get the cookies and then I'd get her to bed (hers not mine). So we go into my hotel room, and after I give her the bag of cookies, I tell her to hold on one second before walking her back to her room so I can make a quick bathroom stop and also grab her a couple advil and a glass of water. As I'm in the bathroom, I hear from out in the bedroom this really loud mechanical whooshing sound, and immediately is hits me...oh crap!...there's a whirlpool tub out in my bedroom! (Yeah, that's how I roll...I got the pimp suite at the Motel 6) So I'm thinking, please don't be naked and in the tub already! Please, please!! (Yes, I've got a cute girl in my hotel room and I'm praying that I don't walk out and find her naked...you know the proverbial angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, both whispering in your ear?...well I listen to that stupid angel way too often...anyway, we can discuss this in another post). But when I leave the bathroom, advil and water in hand, she's nowhere to be found. Hello? Hello? And from out by the front door (which she apparently was locking) I hear, "whydju turna wa'r off? Don' you wan take a batha me? Why don' you wan' take a batha me? We cou' get clean an' dirty adda same time [Insert evil drunken hiccup-filled laugh here]. Come oooooon. Just take a batha me." Ummm...as appealing as that sounds, I think I'm going to have to pass this time. Advil...water...ok, let's get you to bed.
Down the hall we go, past the front desk and past the indoor pool, which is completely surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. "Ooooooh", she says like a little kid seeing something shiny, "we should ha' sex inna pool. I's like a fisheses tank. We should defin'y ha' sex inna fishes tank pool an' people can watch." Uhhh...what's your room number again? Finally up to her room and outside her door, where there must have been some kind of explosion in her purse, because every single thing in her purse hit the floor, except for her room key, which she managed to hold onto and let herself in. Not wanting to leave her credit cards, id, and other general junk scattered across the floor outside her room, I gather it all up and bring it in to her. And of course her response is, "soooo I see you deci' da come in. I knew you'd come aroun'. Why don' you jus lie down for a li'l bi' (trying to push me onto the bed). Just lie down (pushing). Ser'sly, it'll feel so gooda jus' lie dowwwwn (more pushing)." I was joking (somewhat) about the obesity before, but at 200lbs she's not having a whole lot of luck with the pushing. That newton guy was no fool...there's a lot of inertia there. She eventually realized this and decided to change tactics. She had on a cute little cocktail dress which tied around the neck, and she took a step back, and with a drunken leer, reached around the back of her neck to untie the dress. Seeing quickly where this was going I got up, walked over to her and reached behind her neck. She of course is excited that I am finally in the game, as evidenced by the "mmmmm" as I reach for the tie in her dress. Much to her dismay, I stepped back again not 10 seconds later. "Huh?". "Wha'ever, I ca' do i' my selfs." And when she reached back again to untie her dress, only to find that I had tied it in a double knot, the gig was finally up. I gave her a hug goodnight (which she not-so-gracefully tried to turn into losing her tongue in my ear), and walked back down the hallway towards my room to the sound of her standing outside her room yelling, "come onnnnn, let's jus' go downa ha' sex inna fishes tank!"
And that my friends is the story of cookies and sex...or more accurately, how I ended up with neither of them.