by Lauren Ottaviano
It was like our third date. Fourth maybe. And I was bent over pants around my ankles faced away from him in Dave’s bathroom, trying to look sexy as he poked a MDMA-covered fingertip into my ass. Didn’t work, the sexy thing. Pulling off the casually seductive look is hard as fuck when someone’s finger’s up your butt. It was also entirely unnecessary. Johnny was in full focus mode back there, like some kind of anal artisan. The “oh shit, my girlfriend’s gonna let me dose her in her ass!” jubilation of ten minutes previous evaporated the second he realized how difficult his task was.
The getting a finger-full of Molly part was no problem for him. But even though I refused to look back at him, I could tell he was having serious difficulties when it came to getting the powder from his finger to past my o-ring- it kept rubbing off too soon and falling to the floor like copacetic snow. After about 6 attempts he conceded that I probably had enough in me to trip the light fantastic, and I think we were both relieved to leave that bathroom. I felt like I’d just gotten a delinquent enema, I can’t imagine what was going through his head.