Why There Aren't Porn Site Categories Dedicated to College Boys, I: Slob & Knob

Impulsive I am; it’s quite, quite true. In fact, I don’t know if anything else in this world is truer than that single-word self-description. I've often wondered, is this impulsiveness the culprit responsible for getting me into more trouble than anything else? That has so many times left me asking myself, often on the train home, or two minutes later in the bedroom, “What is wrong with me?” or “How did I wind up here, again?” or simply, “Why?” I've had to come to terms with the fact that, yes. I am an impulsive fool that acts in the moment, despite being blessed with instinct strong enough to counteract this foolhardiness. So pretty much, me on my own can, and does, lead to tragic ends and things that are the opposite of deserving bragging rights. But combine me, with boys, a little alcohol, and bam. We have hit the trifecta, better known as Elena's Theory of Shame. A memorable test of this hypothesis was an impromptu threesome. In fact, it was my first threesome, and it occurred the summer I graduated college, with two male college juniors. None of us went to the same college, but the two of them had gone to high school together, and I grew up with one of them. Clearly, our destinies had aligned, so that on the night of this story the three of us, joined by alcohol, a touch of mary J, and heat-seeking genitalia, would come together (no pun intended.) Then, well, since it is an Elena story after all, it would all go downhill from there. And I mean all the way down, probably as far down as three kids who just complete a menage could go: to the emergency room. Yes. My first threesome, not only completely unplanned, wound up in the emergency room, at 3:30 a.m. The same summer morning I had to be up at 9 a.m. to leave for my first professional music gig, a summer-long musical festival. So clearly the financial investment of a 4-year college had paid off, since I had matured and grown into a sensible adult who had her priorities straight and was totally capable of being responsible and thinking before she acted. Not.

Let us call these two boys “Slob” and “Knob”, which despite being only slightly obnoxiously obvious, and not that funny of a joke, are actually quite fitting aliases. You see, Slob was, well, a slob during the general kissing/foreplay/intercourse, and sweated a lot. So to avoid face time, lip action, or anything except his thankfully very nice dick inside me, I wound up with Knob, mostly, well, slobbing his knob. Names explained, now moving on. It all started out at a neighboring girl’s house, "Ashmo", who actually grew up next door to me, and both of us down the block from Knob. Her house was the usual meeting place for our block's little crew (“WRC” is what we dubbed ourselves), since it was the most central of all our houses, but more for her fully stocked bar and/or her parents being the most lax of all our moms and dads. So this night it was just the four of us, drinking, hanging in her kitchen and acting silly, taking pictures and toasting my sendoff, since I would be leaving for over two months the very next day. The conversation varied, as always, and at one point drifted towards Slob and Knob mentioning something called, “Penis puppets.” Neither I nor Ashmo had any idea what they were talking about, but whereas Ashmo wasn’t interested in exploring this particular topic, I wanted to know more. Not just because of the stupid and provocative name, but also because I generally have a curious and inquisitive nature. You know, like a scientist. But the boys, instead of revealing the secret behind this oh-so-fascinating alliterated pair of words, acted very mysterious and said they would only tell me later, “if I wanted to have some fun.” Ashmo paid them no mind, ignoring everything that was happening and just continued to pour us all drinks as fast as we finished them. But I, known-sufferer of middle child i.e., "don't leave me out" syndrome, can be persistent with the dumbest of things. This was one of those times. So I continued to ask, and they continued to not tell me. Still wanting to know but realizing they really weren’t going to explain it, I begrudgingly dropped my requests that they explain it, and the conversation moved on.

Eventually, the energy of our little foursome died down and Ashmo, around midnight or so, kicked us out so she could go to sleep. The boys left while I was in the other room getting my shoes on. While Ashmo was walking me to the door, I asked where they'd gone and she said to Knob’s house, to smoke. I wasn’t interested in smoking, but I wasn’t tired yet either. So I went to my house to grab a sweater, and then headed over to Knob’s to hang out for a little longer. They were outside when I was walking down the block, and as I approached them, it was clear from the droopiness and redness of their eyes they had just smoked a shit ton of something good. We hung out a little in front of Knob’s house, and I, figuring they would be in more open of a mindset to explain it now, I brought up the Penis Puppets thing. The boys exchanged glances, and Knob said, “Well, if you’re down to have some fun, we can show you.” I had no idea what he was talking about or why a physical demonstration was necessary but, undeterred, I said, “Sure, let’s go,” I said, and off the three of us went into Knob’s house.

We went into his living room, which was a decent sized, rug-lined room, with two couches along two walls and a couple of armchairs. I sat on the couch in front of the windows, and Knob closed all curtains / doors / possible means of entrance into the room. I was starting to feel a real sense of anticipation here, with all this preparation and things happening, like moving the coffee table out of the way. The boys, stoned off their asses, seemed to be collecting themselves for the big moment where all my questions would be apparently get answered. Next thing I know, they were naked, and folding their dicks into a hamburger shape. I guess it was from some "after dark" TV show, where guys would take their dicks and mold them into different things, like a clown does with balloon animals. How interesting. Although, I guess if I had a penis, and was bored on a random Tuesday, it may have been something I would have tried in the course of my lifetime. Anyway, the show was over and even though I hadn’t signed up to be the headliner, somehow I turned into the main event. I forget how it was initiated. But next thing I know I was stripping my own clothes off and lying on the living room floor rug. The two boys were all over my body, devouring me with their kisses. Sounds almost romantic when it’s written that way, doesn’t it? Sadly, it was not a sweet and tender Danielle Steele book come to life as much as it was a semi-drunken, horny grope-fest. No, that’s not fair of me to say. It wasn’t that bad really, all things considered. Both boys were flying high in the erect department. Slob’s dick felt pretty damn good, and it was comfortable and almost fun. I don’t know if they were as surprised as I was that it was happening, but in the moment, I didn’t really think about any of that. It was happening, and honestly, my biggest concern was how to avoid kissing Slob, who was just awful.

Finally, the real big moment was about to "come", so to speak. Slob was getting pretty close, and for some reason, perhaps maybe my annunciation wasn’t that clear with Knob’s dick in my mouth, he apparently thought I told him to take the condom off. Because while Slob WAS wearing a condom the whole time, he, for some reason, thought I told him to remove it at the fast-apporaching moment that condoms are pretty much made for. Okay, a) in what world could that possibly be dirty talk and b) it makes zero sense. I know sex feels better without a condom, but, coming without a condom? Weed is apparently a hell of a drug, because that conclusion would have no place in a sober, logical brain. Lack of good sense long gone, next thing I know, he comes. When I turn around, or rather, peer back from my still-on-all-fours position, I see the condom on the floor. But he was still inside me. So naturally, I freaked the fuck out. This must have set off the paranoia side-effect of the THC in the boys' systems, because then they started freaking out, too. At 3 a.m. In the living room of Knob’s parent’s house. Who were home. This continued for a good five minutes, all three of us simultaneously shouting and trying to figure out what the hell just happened and what to do. Finally, Knob, the voice of reason, cleared the noise in the air by saying the only thing to do now was get the morning-after pill. Unfortunately, nothing around us was open, and we had no idea where to go. So Knob called his twin sister, one of our crew who was away for the weekend, for her advice. She suggested the hospital (of course, naturally), so within ten minutes we had rallied together, piled into Knob’s car, and driving out to the Brooklyn neighborhood of Park Slope, the closest hospital we knew of.

We rolled into that emergency room (which was completely empty, except for two male cracky homeless types talking to each other in one corner) like your token teen movie good kids who know they did something bad, and whose guilty facial expressions give it away. Granted, in our case, we hadn’t simply been drinking or smoking pot, but had also indulged in a 2-hour long threesome in one of our parent’s houses, not used a condom at the most critical moment, and drove to the ER while still intoxicated. You can see why we’d be a little nervous, although at the time I was definitely more nervous at the prospect of having Slob’s lovechild, than anything else. But unwanted babies aside, there was the whole embarrassing prospect of it being completely obvious as to what the three of us had just done. None of us were too thrilled at the idea of the hospital nurses / doctors giving us smirks or headshakes of all-too-knowing understanding. But, sucking up our pride as hard as I had done to Knob less than an hour before, we made our way up to the reception desk to ask for the pill. There was really no subtle way to do that, nor any way to make it sound classy, so we just laid it out flat. We were told to wait until there was a doctor available to see us. Amazing, an empty emergency room and still told to wait. Hospitals are such a fucking scam.

We sat and waited until the throes and masses of people ahead of us, a.k.a. nobody, were seen by the doctors on duty. Our nerves mounting, we were casually trying to shoot the shit and make light of the situation. Finally, we were called in to go see the doctor. She closed the door behind us, and we briefly explained why we were there. She seemed shocked that pregnancy was our main concern here, asking us, “Well what about disease?! When was the last time any of you got tested for STDs? Have any of you EVER been tested?” The three of us looked at each other, and it was like a scene out of a comedy where we all simultaneously read each other’s minds and lied in unison, “Yeah, we’ve been tested.” Myself, it had been about a year so I wasn’t being entirely untruthful but as for the boys, I could tell by their expressions they were telling a lie, a whole lie, and nothing but a lie (so help them god.) We proceeded to get lectured for about a century about STDs and the importance of getting tested, our lovely caring doctor doing everything to terrify us aside from whipping out a Clockwork Orange-style slideshow, with eye-machines to prevent us from blinking. Fear now indelibly etched into our souls and minds, she wrapped up her quarter of an hour long tirade of terror with the question, “So you wanted the pill? You do know there is a 24-hour pharmacy three blocks away, right?” Speechless and dumbfounded by the past 15 minutes we shared in that little room, and that it could’ve been avoided entirely, the three of us mumbled thanks and got the hell out of that fluorescent lit, windowless dungeon of an examination room. Knob said he’d drive over to the pharmacy, pick up the anti-baby maker, and pick us up outside on the way back.

Slob and I decided to wait outside, it being a nice summer night (er, early morning) and the awkward fest continued. First off, Slob, like a gallant prince decided it was the perfect time to ask me about my sexual history. Apparently the doctor's STD speech had made him positive that he was now positive. He started accusing me of having something, and that he must have caught it. He even stood a few feet away from me, since he seemed disgusted by my presence, and because I guess he still believes that girls have cooties. What a jackass. But before I could punch him in the face, Knob pulled up in his car and revealed yet another thickener of the evening’s plotline: the pharmacy wouldn’t sell him the pill because I had to be there. So the three of us got into his car, drove to the pharmacy, and to make everything even better they wouldn’t sell it to me because I didn’t have ID to prove I was over 18. Not bad, considering I was 22. Naturally I had left my wallet at home, I mean, I didn’t think I would need it at all. So we had to drive all the way back to our block. I had to quietly sneak back into my house, Mission Impossible style so as to not wake anyone up, and grab my ID. Then we had to drive all the way back to the pharmacy where finally, my uterine lining and mind could both be put at ease. Slob refused to let me pay and whipped out his own plastic to foot the pill, which didn’t completely erase my current standpoint that he was an asshole. We drove home, either making jokes or in silence, I can't recall. Once again we pulled up onto the block where Slob's neglect to pull out started all this trouble. We exited the car and left to go to our corresponding homes, to pass out and try to forget about the entire experience.

It was about 5 a.m. by the time the whole affair ended and I crept quietly into my house. I crawled into bed and attempted to get four hours of sleep in before I had to be up at 9 a.m. to leave for my first professional music job. Well, if anything could kill stage fright or nerves that I sometimes suffered from, it was the distraction only that last night in Brooklyn could have provided.