It was Kentucky Derby day and I was dressed like a colorful moron. To my dismay, I was not celebrating the sport of kings at Churchill Downs this particular year but settled for the next best thing: the bar within a few minutes from my place.

 

We sat at the bar, drank beer, checked out waitresses, and listened to a Doors cover band that played so loud I think the horses all the way in Kentucky may have heard it. To this day I can still hear the guy shouting “Break on through to the other side!

 

After losing my bet on a wildcard horse, I headed to a friend’s apartment over in West Midtown to watch the Mayweather-Pacquiao fight that everyone was shelling out $100 to see. My plan for the evening was to relax with a couple beers and watch two men beat the shit out of each other along with the rest of the free world. However, a girl I had been interested in for a while started texting me. I was particularly aroused by the cougarish age difference between the two of us. I was 24 and she was 33. When you’re in your early-mid 20s, you’re all about sowing those wild oats and achieving new sex goals. At that point in my life, with a nine-year age difference, she would have been my oldest. I did the math and realized she was a senior in college when I was a freshman in high school. When she was graduating and stepping off the college cock carousel, I was a 14-year old virgin and the closest thing I had to a sex life was Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. I decided I would forego the boxing match and meet up with her instead.

 

I told her to meet me at my apartment building at 9. I was worried because every bar in Atlanta seemed to be reserving their tables only for groups who would pay $100 to make a reservation to watch the Mayweather-Pacquiao fight. After calling around, I managed to find the one place nearby that didn’t, an Irish pub. Strange, considering I thought the Irish liked to box.

 

She text me and let me know that she was at my building. I walked around a bit on saw her on the street corner wearing a blue summer dress. “Easy access” is always my first thought when I see a date wearing a dress or a skirt. Jeans are a nuisance. We made the quick walk to the bar, sat on the rooftop patio, and I began my standard first date rambling and first date questions. She was a little more monotone and lower energy than I expected from her pictures but still wasn’t too hard to talk to. It was Saturday night and I had already been socializing and drinking with friends all day so I had plenty of energy to balance the two of us out.

 

She happily agreed to come back to my place for “one more drink” and to watch a TV show that I told her she just had to see. We head towards my place and I start making my way towards the elevator. I’m ready to use my “Know what I love doing in elevators?” line to go for the first kiss but soon found out that the elevator was out of order that night. After an annoyed walk up five flights of stairs, we go inside and start watching TV. I pour her a glass of Trader Joe’s finest and join her on the couch.

 

After sitting and chatting for a few minutes I just went for it. Took my curled index finger and tilted her chin up towards me. She got the idea. We made out on the couch a bit and moved to the bedroom. We fooled around in bed for awhile but she made a few comments expressing that we weren’t going to have sex because she “didn’t even know me”. I sincerely agreed and told her that we wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do. She was happy to continue fooling around and we did, with ever so slight and steady escalation, until she evidently got turned on to the point of “Oh, fuck it”.

 

In all my years, I’ve never come across a screamer quite like this one. I’ve had some loud moaners, but this was a different league entirely. She was literally screaming. She gave The Doors cover band from earlier in the day a run for their money. I’m certain that my neighbors above me, below me, and on both sides of me heard it. I couldn’t help but start laughing right in the middle of her riding me.
She spent the night with me but ended up leaving at 6:30 in the morning. Perfect. I’m awkward in the mornings. Especially after a sex scream-a-thon. She moved away to another state the following week and I haven’t heard much from her since. I guess I was her last ATL bang. I try to make plans with her when she comes to visit but she doesn’t seem too interested. She could at least make the time to send me a text, give me a call, or just scream from wherever she’s living now. I’m sure I’d be able to hear it.

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