Senior Psychopath

My first candidate for Worst Sex Ever (WSE) would have to be Senior Psychopath. Obviously not his real name, I felt it was better to call him Senior Psychopath instead of his real name of Michael Lyndon to protect his anonymity. Wouldn't you agree? (Oh shut up…you didn't sleep with him…he deserves this title).

I met Senior Psychopath (SP) while I was still in college. All theater majors are required to work on the technical staff of the theater each semester, and that current semester I was working as a stage manager for a one act play. SP was a stage manager for the second one act play that followed mine, so we both had to work together quite often scheduling rehearsal spaces, lighting hangings, production meetings…etc.

It was during this time that I learned that SP didn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. He still lived in the dorms and because the dormitory cafeterias closed on the holiday, it was likely going to be a microwave burrito dinner for the poor guy. It was for this reason, and this reason only, that I invited him to my house for a Thanksgiving dinner. I will officially say I never planned to have sex with him. Even when I was buying the 2 bottles of white wine I would serve with dinner, I never planed on having sex with him. I still didn't plan to have sex with him as I was showering, shaving, and putting on cologne during the hour before he arrived. I wasn't even planning on having sex with him as I changed my bed sheets. Seriously.

When he arrived, I served a nice meal of a bottle of wine, and some random foods including a stir fry consisting of sautéed onions, broccoli, and this cooked stuffed cabbage. The wine flowed, the tongues loosened and poor SP nearly turned me completely off with his comment that he "loved the taste of hot sperm." (What? As opposed to cold sperm?) Now…I'm sorry…but this phrase is a complete turn-off. But after a bottle of wine, I can choose to not hear those things. Add a second bottle and I don't even care.

Second bottle polished off, we sit on the couch where one touch leads to a tongue and suddenly the hands are a groping. This in itself is not a bad thing, but unfortunately for SP…I have a family curse. A curse that sautéed onions, broccoli, and cooked cabbage can bring out. The kind of curse that can be silent…but deadly. The kind of curse that says while providing oral sex, poor SP looked up at me with eyes watering from the noxious flatulent fumes that have plagued many in my family.

Shut up! I curse you all!

So things happened between us and we had the morning after awkwardness. I asked if he wanted coffee, he asked if he could move in…I freaked and made coffee. And this was when the psychopathic tendencies came out in SP. We got back to the campus on Monday, and had our first production meeting with the Technical Director and Dept Chair of the theater department. In this meeting, I was on one side of the table, and SP was at the other, with our head professor between us.

SP looked at the technical director and said," Bob…will you tell Patrick that I need an extra 1 minute of music for set arrangement? I'd tell him…but he hates me since we made love."

Bob…while looking at me with an evil smile, said. "Patrick…will you give him an extra minute. He would have told you, but you supposedly hate him since you copulated."

While red in the face, I looked at him and said "He can have his minute, as it's all he really needs anyway. And I do hate him now."

The theater department is a wild rumor mill…one that can be truly evil at times. In my class, my professor told us to never dip the wick in company oil (don't sleep with a classmate). In December, immediately after my final was over in his class, our department chair gave me a small box as a Christmas gift. Inside the box was a little card that once again said to "Never have sex with a classmate" and with the card was a bottle of Gas-X..

The Doyle family curse lives on.