For those of you who don't know who this particular comedian is, please Google him before you read any further so you can grasp the exact severity of this situation.
Fortunately, I know where the basis of this dream came from. Actually, the whole thing is kinda my fault. Before going to sleep, I had been catching up on the latest couple episodes of Louie. While doing so, I had the same thought that crossed my mind every time I watched his show: "You know what? I would totally sleep with him."
Now before you judge me, let's get a few things straight. First, my sporadically occurring crush on Louie C.K. is not so much based on looks as it is on our mutual outlook on life, which is roughly somewhere along the lines of, "I'm sorry, what?!"
The second factor of my attraction has to do with the fact that anyone who knows me knows that if a guy was born in the 70's and has a face overgrown with facial hair, I automatically dig him. In fact, I nearly gave a friend of mine a heart attack when I told him that I had been hanging out with a guy who was under the age of 30.
But all of this still doesn't give Louie the right to gallop into my dream and tell me I'm bad in bed. Let me just lay the whole scene out for you:
I was sitting on a chair in, no bullshit, a dark room with the exception of a single hanging light bulb, and to my left was this guy that I had apparently just slept with. I recognized the kid as someone I knew, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you who it was. He's sitting there and, I assumed, talking to me, but as he said "Yeah, you're not that great.", I noticed he was looking somewhere past me. So I turn to my right and there he is, in all his red-headed glory and that damn brown suede jacket that he wears in every episode of his show, sitting on a chair to my right, nodding in agreement.
"Yeah, she's pretty bad, huh?" Louie the Traitor said while nodding emphatically.
"What??" I interjected, shocked at the blasphemy that was being force fed to me via my own subconscious.
Louie then turned to me and spoke, half towards me, half towards the other kid that had apparently just had the awful, terrible misfortune of adding me to their list.
"Yeah," he said, "I've been meaning to tell you actually. Like, I knew you were going to be bad before anything even happened, I just didn't know how bad."
As I sat there, glancing back and forth between the two men with a look of total shock and 'what the fuck' on my face, I woke up. And I then had to go through an entire day with Louie C.K.'s matter-of-fact face pounding in my head all day.
So here's my question that arose after this whole debacle: How do we honestly know if we're good or bad in bed if no one tells us?
I mean, I've been in some situations where I would have loved to just stand up and scream, "What is wrong with you?? Please don't ever put another human being through what you just made me endure! For the love of god, what you see in porn is not what girls want in real life!!!"
But of course, it's simple sex-etiquette (sexiquette?) to keep your mouth shut and try and rectify the situation by taking control and making sure your moves overpower the culprit's moves. On the other hand, I wonder just how satisfying or soul-crushing it would be if after two people slept with each other, they sat there and gave a verbal report card. I mean, you know you're lying if you don't lay there sometimes and wish you knew what other people thought of your talents (or lack thereof). Are you exciting? Boring? Sensual? A dead fish? Is it better if we never know and just wait until we find our soulmate who has been waiting their whole life for a partner to act like a deceased underwater sea creature in bed?
Perhaps this is just one of those situations where no news is good news. Or not. Actually, probably not. Let's all just assume that if they come back for seconds, you're in good shape.
And just to save any hope for me getting a date in the future, Louie C.K. doesn't know what he's talking about.
1 comment:
I'm sure you're great in bed?, screw Louis C.K.!
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