My Horrible Experience Trying Viagra

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My Horrible Experience With Viagra

It started, as most things do, with a pint of Canadian Mist, a predictable string of bad decisions, and truly abhorrent levels of overconfidence. I was 17, two months from my first semester of college, and though I probably had never continuously fucked for more than two minutes, graduation swagger and Canada’s 9th finest whiskey coursed through me like tiger blood. At least what I imagine Charlie Sheen meant by that.

Anyway, it was summer and Kaylie’s parents had left a night early for their cottage, leaving 6,000 square feet of potential debauchery, and their two daughters behind. While I will never understand why parents do this, I just want to personally thank all that have and continue to do so. Kaylie was one of the two or three hottest girls in our grade, but essentially married to a friend of mine, and some lines you just don’t cross. Her sister Rachael, however, just a week home from her sophomore year in college, was newly single, and a legit 10.

I had tried to make a move with her before, and by “move” I mean I liked a couple profile pics and hoped for a message back. No dice. I knew it was a pipe dream, as I was in high school with a 12:30 curfew and still thought cunnilingus was a rare type of fungi. Things were different now, I thought — I’m not in high school. I’m in fucking college. Sort of. As the night progressed, I faded further into the abyss of the mist. A cigarette consumed my virgin lungs (I know you remember how hard a drunk cig used to hit) and my buzz was to the point of near blackout. If I was going to do it, it had to be now. I came inside after choking down the last of the Marlboro, and saw her in the kitchen.

Now I could embarrass myself here and discuss how I mangled this opportunity horribly, but this encounter is not the point of this story, nor is it anywhere near the most humiliating detail I masochistically am about to share with you for the pittance this site compensates me with. In summary, I acted like a douchebag and probably deserved a hard rejection, but through some kind of divine intervention, we end up making out and I’m getting a little under the shirt action. This is a big high school move you might remember. She tells me we can’t go upstairs and frankly, I’m a bit relieved. I don’t have a condom and I’m still young enough to think I’ll actually use one, plus I hadn’t “prepped” (couple hour pre-sex jerk) for this. Could have given her the most mediocre 19 seconds of her life, though.

She tells me she’ll instead come over later to “go swimming if she feels like it,” which to my drunk and needlessly pompous ears actually meant: okay I’m going to bang this girl later in my pool. I head downstairs in a frenzy to immediately discuss this with my friend (and future pledge brother/roommate) as if I’d discovered the fountain of youth. “You won’t believe what just fucking happened. I seriously think I’m going to fuck Rachael.” After explaining to him the plan, he was skeptical, but acknowledged I had a shot. “You’re so fucked though, you better enjoy this because she’ll think of you like the Holocaust after: never again” “What? Why” I responded puzzled as to how someone could question my imagined sexual prowess. “Because she’s been in college for two years getting fucked by a bunch of 23-year-olds that can do shit you don’t even know about. You’ll blow a load in like five seconds and then probably cry.”

He was an asshole, but he was right. I started to get extremely nervous, naturally leading to more drinking and outwardly promoting my own confidence. When Rachael texted me saying she “wanted to see the hot tub,” I nearly had a Ted Cruz’s wife level meltdown and similarly found myself wandering down a road in the middle of the night with no idea how to handle what was about to happen.

I got home with about 40 minutes to spare. Rachael had to clear everybody out of the house and wait for her sister to go up to bed with Max. As I waited, I smoked another cig by the pool and listened to my iPhone 1 on shuffle, trying to relax. Kanye came on. I picked my phone up to switch to the next track and realized the title: Barry Bonds. Then it hit me. I just needed a boost. I was an all-star in the bedroom already, but I could become a hall-of-famer. I could be the best. All I needed was some help. And I knew where to find it.

I tiptoed into the back storage room and opened my father’s old piece of shit Nike golf bag. After rummaging through old scorecards and decaying gloves, I found it: a tester packet of Viagra. I knew it was a risk, but I figured totally eliminating the possibility of whiskey dick and turning my frock into a pulsating rod of pleasure could only help my confidence, and hopefully guarantee a summer of consistent tier 1 level collegiate sex before my first day on campus. I popped a capsule and waited for my beanstalk to explode to the sky.

As fate would have it, just as I had reached oak tree status, Rachael texted me. Her parents were coming back unexpectedly; her cousin got in a car accident and was in the ICU. Ultimate cock block. So here I am with a hammer but no nail. It was already 2 a.m. and getting a high school slam over randomly this late was about as likely as a 76ers NBA Finals run. I also sort of suspected a much wiser friend had talked her out of this, or maybe sobriety, and I was getting ghosted worse than a 3-star recruit by Jim Harbaugh.

I had a literal pole in my pants, though, preventing me from sleep or generally functioning. Naturally, I pulled up the Hub and went to work, but something just wasn’t right. As I kept trying I lost more and more feeling between my legs until the entire thing fell asleep. The tingling gave way to general numbness. I was like Helen Keller with my own dick.

Almost an hour had passed and it still refused to budge, though now it was turning purple and I was ready to panic. I convinced myself my heart was racing. I couldn’t stand up. I called the hotline. “Hi I’m sorry but I took some Viagra tonight and I can’t, I mean it says on the box after four hours but it’s been like two and I feel very oddly and-” the operator cut me off: “Okay sir, relax, this happens all the time. How many milligrams did you take?” I had no fucking idea. It was a trial pack my dad hid in his golf bag, not exactly my own prescription. “Just one capsule, correct? Read for me the nine digit number on the back of the packaging” he said. “998129339.” “Okay sir, you’ve taken a 100 mg extended release tablet.” “Is that bad? That’s not bad, right? 100 mg is only a tenth of a gram,” I said trying to convince myself I was okay. “Sir, I’m sorry but is this prescription not for you? This is actually our strongest current dosage.”

My heart stopped I think. I came clean, told him the whole story. “It’s okay, how old are you and are you in good health?” he asked. “I’m 17” “17!” He then blurted out, “Jesus why are you taking this at 17? Nobody could have recommended it. Okay shit,” he actually swore on the phone. At this point, I figured I was A.) best case going to have a minor stroke, or B) worst case just fucking die. “Listen,” he said, “you need to get this to go down right now, or you need to go to the hospital. I’m serious this is dangerous and you could do permanent damage to the reproductive system and your heart.” “Okay, please just tell me what do and I’ll do it.”

This was my last gasp, last hope to avoid waking up mom and dad with a hard-on needing an insurance card and maybe and ambulance. I sat in the main floor bathroom with ice cubes rubbing my bare balls as I flicked the tip like I wanted to decapitate it. I pulled out all my usual “I’m about to be in front of the class I can’t be hard” tricks, thought of Lena Dunham nude eating mayonnaise and cream cheese off of her fingertips, diseased relatives, even my own death. Nothing was working. I sat there working harder than a tiny Filipino in a bukkake scene and legitimately prayed. Finally, it started to hunch over. My nightmare was ending.

In the course of two hours, I had gone from greatest conquest of my young life to freezer burn on my wrinkled sack. An even bigger letdown than The Life of Pablo. Though I did close the following weekend, giving her undoubtedly one of her best Friday nights of June 2012.

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