Sex with her was great, but the rest of the relationship kinda sucked. Not being able to communicate is cute at first, but gets real annoying when you just want to stay in and watch The Sopranos but your TV doesn’t have subtitles and the deaf girl gets bored.
One instance made it clear we had to break up. We were in my apartment having sex, and it was a particularly intense session, when all of a sudden there was a loud knock on the door. I got dressed and opened the door to find a cop standing there:
Cop “Sir please step back, we could hear the screaming and have reason to believe there is criminal activity going on here.”
The naked deaf girl in my bedroom was all it took to send the cops out of my apartment in tears from laughing so hard.
The Chili Pepper Hook-Up Incident
Where and how I met this girl is not important. Why I hooked up with her, and what happened the next morning is not even worthy of a story. What she looks like is immaterial (if you care, she looks a lot like the red-head daughter in Six Feet Under). All you need to know for this story are three things:
1. I was at a house party in Chicago that was catered by a Mexican restaurant.
2. I was very, very drunk at this party, and at one point, I ate several of these super-hot jalapeño peppers that Mexican restaurants like to serve, the kind that aren’t cut up and pickled.
3. It was at this party that I met the girl who eventually came back to my place with me.
Once at my place, we eventually got down to business. I started playing with her vagina, fingering her and whatnot when all of the sudden she abruptly stopped me, pulled my hand away from her crotch, and asked:
Girl “Did you eat any of those hot peppers tonight?”
Tucker “Yeah, I had a few.”
Girl “Oh no…oh no, Oh my GOD! Holy shit, holy shit—IT’S BURNING!!”
She jumped out of my bed, ran into my bathroom and immediately got into the shower.
I was still very drunk, so this confused me. I walked to the door and yelled through it,
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
She yelled back over the din of the water, “Did you wash your hands after you ate those peppers?”
At this I figured out what the problem was, and immediately erupted into hysterical laughter. I was laughing so hard I could hardly breathe. Then I remember what it was like to have my crotch on fire from capsaicin (remember “The Foxfield Weekend” story?), and calmed down a bit, though I was still laughing.
She yelled through the door, “Shut up! This isn’t funny, you jerk! This better not show up in a book!”
Friendly Fire
Karma being the bitch that she is, my activities always eventually catch up to me. The summer before I started law school, I was seeing a girl in Miami named “Courtney.” She was incredibly hot—one of those girls you have a physical reaction to as soon as you see her.
One time we were fucking doggy style, incredible sex, and right as I was about to cum I pulled back too far and my dick came out. I didn’t realize it, and as I thrust forward again, instead of going back into her vagina my dick stuck in her ass crack (NOT into her asshole, but her crack, between her butt cheeks, like a hot dog in a bun…sort of).
I was leaning over her, my face directly above the back of her head, and I looked down at my dick right as I hit climax…and shot nut INTO MY OWN EYE.
A direct hit, right into my wide-open eye. I didn’t even see it coming…literally.
Almost immediately, I developed a personal appreciation for how much cum stings. That shit BURNED. It took me a minute to wash it out, but the sting, and the redness, stayed for a good four or five hours.
Fuck you, karma.
TUCKER HAS A MOMENT OF REFLECTION; ENDS POORLY
Occurred—April 2003
Written—July 2004
One random Friday I was sitting in my Chicago apartment drinking a beer and watching TV. Around 7pm, my phone rang. It was “Karen,” one of my booty calls at the time. It was early so I was kinda confused; we normally never called each other until at least midnight, even on weekdays:
Tucker “You drunk already?”
Karen “Hehe. No baby. What are you up to right now?”
Tucker “Nothing. Watching Morimoto make some crazy mushroom crème brûlée. Battle Porcini on Iron Chef.”
Karen “Uhhh, OK. Well… I am going on some silly blind date tonight that my friend set me up on…but I was wondering if I could swing by your place and get a protein shake first.”
Very nice. Karen is obviously making an attempt to move up from Irregular Booty Call to Head Dick Sucker.
Tucker “Yeah, sure. Just come on by. I’ll be here.”
Karen “Cool. I’ll see you soon.”
Tucker “Hey baby—bring some beer.”
Not even ten minutes later, she rolled into my place…with a 12-pack of Miller Lite. Karen’s going to have to learn the difference between good beer and watered down horse piss if she wants to move up in my Ho Hierarchy.
She got right down to business because her date started in less than 30 minutes. I kept watching the Iron Chef, because come on, Morimoto is a genius. Plus, I’ve already seen the show Karen was putting on. It’s really good, but it’s been in syndication for months; you don’t really need to pay attention until the ending.
I wasn’t supposed to meet my friends until 10, so when she left around 8 I just kept drinking at my place. I started thinking about how fucking cool it was that I had a girl coming over to suck me off before she went out on a date. I may not be Hugh Hefner, but I doubt many guys pull something like that off on a regular basis.
Then I started feeling bad for her date. This poor schmuck had no idea that the girl whose chair he was pulling out and buying dinner for and being nice to had her lips wrapped around my cock not even an hour earlier. God forbid if this poor dude kisses her goodnight. I wonder if it’ll cross his mind that even with beer breath, her mouth shouldn’t taste that salty.
But in a way, I didn’t feel that bad for him. You can’t make a ho into a housewife, and when you take one out on a date, you aren’t helping your chances. I guess some guys never learn.
Of course, he had no idea what she was like; after all, that was the whole point of the date. I guess it just goes to show, you never really can tell… OH SHIT!!
HOW MANY GIRLS HAVE DONE THIS TO ME??
I shot up from the couch in shock, spilling beer all over myself.
Has this ever happened to me? Have I ever been the sucker that took a girl out after she bought beer for another guy and then blew him?
Oh.My.God—it has to have happened to me. HAS TO. I’ve been out with so many women, there is just about no way that this hasn’t happened to me. And considering the moral turpitude of many of the girls I’ve hooked up with—suspect at best, wretched prostitute at worst—it is damn near certain that I’ve been That Guy at least once.
I mean, if Karen does this for me, why not for other guys too? I am pretty fucking cool, but there are other cool guys in the world besides me (or so my friends tell me). Plus, it’s not like I’ve always known what I now know about women. I could have easily been the sucker many times in the past.
And why stop at dick-sucking? How many girls have I slept with that were with other guys the same day as me? Or went from another guy right to me? Without even cleaning up? I wouldn’t even know, would I? HOW? HOW THE FUCK WOULD I KNOW? There is no way I could tell, short of smelling the semen on her breath. Would I even smell it? Smell it—WHAT ABOUT TASTE IT?
Oh dear merciful God…please tell me that I haven’t tasted it. I need to go vomit.
My entire worldview was immediately and permanently altered. It was like the first time you turn on a black light in a hotel room and see cum stains covering every surface: For better or worse, your world is never the same.
I stomped around my apartment for two hours until I met my friends out. I explained the whole situation to them and they laughed, made fun of me,
and told me to get over it. I wasn’t having it:
Tucker “How can you be so cavalier about this? I can’t be hooking up with seconds THE SAME DAY. That’s for losers and douchebags, NOT Tucker Max!”
Friend “Apparently not, Sloppy Joe.”
Tucker “Aren’t you the comedian.”
Friend “Tucker, haven’t you done this to girls before? You know, fucked one in the morning, then gone out and picked up another and fucked her?”
Tucker “SO WHAT? IT’S DIFFERENT!”
Friend “How?”
Tucker “BECAUSE IT’S ME!”
Friend “Wait—didn’t you just get YOUR dick sucked tonight? And now you’re out trying to get laid?”
Tucker “FUCK YOU!!”
Friend “Dude, it’s happened to all of us, and we’ve all done it to others. Women are women, men are men. This happens to everyone.”
Tucker “FUCK THAT. I AM TUCKER MAX. I AM BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU. THIS SHIT DOES NOT HAPPEN TO ME!”
Friend “Oh man; is it going to be one of those nights?”
I drank, and drank, and drank, yet I was still unable to drown the thought that I’d been totally played by multiple women, and I didn’t even know which ones had done it to me.
That might have been the worst part—not knowing. Well, that and the prospect that I have at some point kissed a girl who still had semen caked to her teeth from 45 minutes ago. I know of at least one ex-girlfriend that cheated on me, but we were long distance, and I fucked more than Caligula when I was dating her, so I wasn’t pissed about that. But what about all those girls I thought were all wrapped up in me? How many of them fucked other people behind my back?
What also fucked me up was that women were doing the same thing to me that I was doing to them, except I didn’t even know they were doing it. For the entirety of my life up to that point I thought I had the upper hand, that I was the player and not the playee when in fact, I was possibly just another chump. The illusion of control was shattered. Needless to say, this little revelation colored my perspective for the rest of the night. If by “colored my perspective,” I mean “totally and irreversibly fucked me up beyond all repair.”
Sometimes, too much to drink is still not enough. I needed therapy to bury my anxiety, and alcohol was going to be my counselor. Yes friends, this was going to be one of “those” nights.
At the first bar, I went around quizzing girls about how often this sort of thing happens:
Tucker “Let me ask you a question: Have you ever sucked off one guy, then went on a date with another guy right after? Like that same night? Or fucked another guy right after you blew a different guy, but without telling the second one?”
Girl “EXCUSE ME?”
Tucker “Don’t play coy with me.”
As you can imagine, this made me very popular with the ladies.
At bar two, I ordered at least three rounds of shots in the first ten minutes. I kept making toasts like this one:
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The bitch gave me head,
And some other guy too.”
My toasts to cuckoldry got the attention of a group of girls, and they came over to talk to us. My friends, who had not yet consigned all the women of earth to a fiery death and eternal damnation, made up a story to explain my behavior. They told the girls that I had just broken up with my girlfriend who I was in love with and to not pay attention to anything I said. It was my first night out, and I was bitter and mean. I helped enforce this lie with the toast I gave to the next round of shots:
“This shot feels so good, this shot feels so right,
I can’t believe she blew me and another guy tonight.
To drown my pain, I bought this drink at the store,
Because let’s face it: All women are whores.”
Greased by the bullshit story that I had been dumped, the girls actually thought that I was funny. One of them tried to console me by switching the subject to music. I told her I was a country music fan, which is not even remotely true.
Girl “Really! I like to make up my own lyrics to country music songs. Like, you know that one song, ‘Let’s Get Drunk and Screw?’ I like to pretend the lyrics are ‘Let’s Wait in Line for Shoes.’”
Tucker [I stare blankly at her for a good ten seconds]
Girl [still trying to be cheery] “Isn’t that funny?”
Tucker “You are making me stupider.”
Girl “What!?!?”
Tucker [wait for it…wait for it…] “I bet you’ve sucked miles of dick.”
She immediately turned away, and as she walked off she stuttered, “You’re, you’re…a JERK!”
Tucker “Have another shot? DON’T MIND IF I DO!”
That pretty much sealed our fate at bar two. Bar three presented some ample targets, but I was still too head-fucked to do anything, so my friends planted me at a table and went looking for girls on their own.
After about three seconds, I got bored and started wandering around. I snatched some pink drink off the bar as the girl who owned it looked the other way, took a sip, and immediately spit it out. A girl on the other side of me used this to initiate conversation:
Girl “Gross?”
Tucker “Yeah, it tastes like ass.”
Girl “I like ass.”
Tucker “What’s your name?”
Had it been any other night, I would have turned this little gem into a ‘tongue up my ass’ crack. Not tonight. Tonight, it was only a matter of time before I fucked it up.
Tucker “But be honest—would you ever eat out one guy’s ass and then kiss another guy the same day?”
And I’m spent.
My friends were doing well with this one group of girls and looked to be on the way to hook-up victory…until I decided that I wanted to hear the sound of breaking glass, and we all got kicked out.
We ended up going to a late night club. When we got there, I was so drunk the bouncer almost didn’t let me in. My last clear memory is my friend grabbing me at the bar after I ordered a double something, and trying to calm me down:
Friend “Dude, you’ve had too much. This is bordering on dangerous.”
Tucker “The only dangerous amount is none!”
Friend “How many drinks did you have at the last place?”
Tucker “You’re counting MY drinks? If you want to act like my liver accountant then you can pay the fucking bill too!”
Friend “I PAY YOUR BAR TABS ANYWAY!”
Tucker “I’M FAMOUS—WOMEN CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!”
They sat me in a corner and went back out on the prowl. One or two more drinks later, I decided that I was going to dance. Completely immersed in my indignant self-pity on the dance floor, I found my savior.
In the corner of the club, dancing alone, I found the person that I could trust. I found my one. My soul mate. The person who would never betray me and who would love me forever and never fuck anyone else behind my back without telling me.
This was the most gorgeous person I had ever seen. Piercing blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Great body. A deep, penetrating stare that revealed a wisdom and understanding beyond the average person’s. Great charisma. Someone who would hold me. And we had immediate chemistry.
We danced for an hour, exchanging seductive looks, coyly flirting, seductively whispering sweet nothings at each other. Every smile was met with a smile, every caress with an equal response.
I finally found someone to fall in love with.
I was too drunk to realize this at the time, but my friends were watching me the whole time…and all they saw was me dancing in front of a huge mirror.
By myself.
No one else within ten feet of me.
Let me emphasize: I was so drunk, I was dancing WITH MYSELF in the mirror. For AN HOUR. NO ONE was near me.
Not only did I never once realize it, the only thing I remembered the next morning from that club was thinking that I’d fallen in love. For real, it
took several of them to convince me that I was dancing alone, and not with the most amazing girl I’d ever met.
My friends also told me that later when the lights came on indicating closing time, I staggered out of the club onto the street, ran away from them, and their last sight was of me careening down the street, bouncing off storefronts and parked cars, yelling:
“IF YOU WANT TO GO OUT ON A DATE WITH ME, YOU CANNOT FELLATE ANYONE ELSE FOR AT LEAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS BEFOREHAND! DO YOU HEAR ME?? AND I WANT YOU TO SHOWER TOO! I HAVE STANDARDS!! YOU HAVE TO DOUCHE!! IF THE GLOVE FITS, THE GIRL IS A WHORE!!!”
Now THAT is Tucker Max Drunk.
But unfortunately, Tucker Max Drunk is not free. At some point the bill comes due. How expensive is it? Let’s tally the total:
You know it’s been a hard night when you wake up dehydrated and still dizzy.
You know it’s been a really hard night when you wake up dehydrated and dizzy and don’t know where you are and have no memory of how you got there.
But it is only when waking from a truly Tucker Max Drunk night that you are completely dehydrated, too dizzy to stand, and though you don’t know your exact location or how you got there, you do realize that you have just woken up OUTSIDE, in a PUBLIC PARK, with a stray dog LICKING YOUR FACE.