Lesbian Sex And The City: The Sex Fail That Taught Me A *Pivotal* Life Lesson

And more embarrassing sex tales!

Hello lovers. Today is a scary day for New Yorkers, so I hope that I can comfort you with a tale of utter humiliation. Journey back in time with Carrie Lezshaw, if you will:

I’m at a party. I see a girl that I have been interested in for a while, but was always too shy to talk to.  We make eye contact. More specifically, we eye f*ck. Without words, we fall into each other’s bodies and start dancing. She grabs my face and kisses me. “Let’s get out of here,” she says. We go back to her place. We have incredible sex. We stay up for hours, talking about our hopes, fears, dreams, the whole nine yards. We have more incredible sex. She spoons me. We fall asleep. How could life be so perfect? The next morning, something jolts me awake—a sound. I, Carrie Lezshaw, fart so loud that I manage to wake myself out of a dead sleep.

I have to go kill myself, immediately. I eject myself out of her bed, haphazardly throwing my clothes on. She starts to stir, so I book it out of there. I leave her apartment without half of my stuff (RIP to my favorite thong). The walk of shame x100 — I’m sprinting through snow in the shorts I wore to the bar the night before, sans stockings. I run past a college tour guide and a group of horrified high schoolers and their parents. I dodge through groups of students, cradling their Starbucks, cigarettes, and books. I lose a track of hair extensions as I’m running and don’t turn back for it. I come back to my room, freezing, sobbing, drowning in shame.

“What’s wrong?!” my kind, straight, red-haired roommate asks.

“I,” SOB. “f-f-” SOB. I can’t get the words out. “I…..FARTED SO LOUD I WOKE MYSELF UP OUT OF A DEAD SLEEP,” I explode into more tears, uncontrollable now. My hysterical crying is matched with her hysterical laughter.

End scene.

Put yourself in my shoes (thigh-high boots). To have had such a euphoric night, and then to be traumatized first thing in the morning.

Being the neurotic, obsessive babe I am, I formulated endless plans. Sending a text would be over-the-top and weird. And plus, I’d have to type the word ‘fart’ to a girl that gave me multiple orgasms. Sending a text playing it cool would be too obvious that I was avoiding talking about it. I mean, I did run out of her apartment like I was on fire. Not contacting her would mean I wasn’t interested, which I was.

Just like that famous episode of “Sex and The City” when Carrie farted in front of Big, I became obsessed. I’d be in class discussing Judith Butler’s “Gender Trouble,” and I’d hear the fart ring out in my brain. I’d be dancing at a frat party, and be transported back to the light peeking through her blinds, being so perfectly cuddled in bed– then the moment that ruined my life. I’d be tossing back tequila shots and tell the story to anyone in arm’s length of me. “so loud that I WOKkkkkEeeeE MYSELLLFffFF UP. I physically woKE MYSELfffF UPPP,” I’d slur.

How did my life change after this horror story, other than my new irrational addiction to Gas X before a date? I learned something very valuable that day from my straight roommate. After she composed herself from laughing so hard, “so what?” she asked.

I had been secretly judging her for months. I would revel in my queerness when she’d fight with her boyfriend because he wouldn’t let her wear a mini skirt or something. Straight people are insane, I’d think. I’d brag about how lesbians were never subject to the ridiculous standards and pressures of heterosexual dating culture. When my friends would wallow over if they should f*ck on a first date, or talk about the men that criticized them for not shaving or something, I’d get a more and more smug. We don’t have to worry about any of that. And yet, a fart sent me spiraling en route to the psych ward.

Lesbians might be winning in sex and communication, shedding unfair standards/roles, but farting is still hella embarrassing.

My straight roommate became the sensible, wise one. “Seriously Dayna? You tell everyone the story of how you cheated in the physically challenged olympics. You told our whole building when you were going for an STD test. You wore a yoga pant leg as a tube dress. Are you really embarrassed by a fart?” She had me shook. I learned from her to stop being such a little lez snob, and to not act like one fart would ruin my life.

After a few days, the girl I farted in front of texted me, inviting me to a pregame. I thought maybe she didn’t hear the fart. I thought maybe my luck was turning around. I chased my shots with Gas X and made sure not to eat. Aside from my stomach growling, no embarrassing sounds exited my body. After we dated for a few months, we were sitting around drinking beers with her brother. He asked about how we met. “We slept with each other the first time we talked,” she said. At the end of the day, I am the queen of TMI, and I can never resist drunkenly performing a funny story. “And then something terrible happened,” I added.  “I,” LAUGH. “f-f-f” LAUGH. Again, I couldn’t get the words out. “I farted so loud I woke myself up out of a dead sleep.” We were all hysterical at this point. “Honestly, I thought that was me and I wanted to kill myself,” she said. We laughed even harder.

See? We are all just on this crazy ride through life, terrified of farting in front of the person we’re f*cking, together. No matter our orientation, hotness level, gender, or religion, we can find common humanity in farting being really f*cking embarrassing. I think that’s kind of beautiful.

Wanting to continue with my revelation about our unifying force being the embarrassing things we’ve done in front of people we want to find us attractive, I reached out to my gorgeous GO readers for your most embarrassing sex stories. You did not disappoint.

1) “I was laying down on a white comforter and a girl was giving me head. I was really into into it and wriggling and things were very wet down there. When I got up there was a brown spot, undoubtedly I hadn’t been thorough enough cleaning my asshole. I tried to play it off as blood but she wasn’t having it. My spirit left my body that day.”

2) “I was in college, and it was my first real casual encounter. He had a mohawk and a tongue ring, and the only thing I knew about him was his adoration of Donnie Darko (red flag). However, I needed to live up to my college millennial stereotype and have a casual fuck. After experiencing the worst sex ever, he gets up, looks at me, and says: “Hey babe, wanna see something sexy?” Given my unexperienced state, I wasn’t sure what a cool slutty girl would say, so I said yes. Without breaking eye contact, he stood at the edge of my bed and began ass clapping. I mean full on “baby make that ahh clap” round of applause clapping. While wearing lacrosse knee sock things and nothing else. I was so horrified I couldn’t even make a fist. I didn’t know how to respond other than awkwardly saying an elongated “very nice” and somehow sounded like I was from Staten Island. This went on for a solid three minutes which doesn’t sound like a long time but when someone is just strenuously ass clapping in silence, it is a lifetime. He was drip sweating by the end of it, as was I, but out of sheer discomfort. We never spoke after that, but the image of his buttcheeks is what I see when I have sleep paralysis.”

3) “I turned around, excited for my girlfriend to f*ck me from behind with a strap on. As soon as I got into the position, I farted in her face. It was one of those farts that totally takes you by surprise. There was nothing I could do.”

We are all united in how downright humiliating moments in our lives can be. And the best thing we can do is laugh about them. After today’s explosion, I hope you’ll remember to be a little kinder to a stranger. For we all, at our cores, have the same goals.

So, dear lez, if you ever find yourself the morning after a glorious hook-up awoken to the sound of your ass, do not despair. Think of how connected to humanity you are in that moment. Then get the f*ck out of there, but don’t forget your favorite thong.