Open Enrollment (The Time I Almost Died From Sex)

Hello there, Exotic readers! I’m using the column this month to reach out to you and plead to you. No, I’m not starting a GoFundMe to get my man-tits removed or trying to recruit you into a psychedelic sex cult. I’m pleading with you to sign up for health insurance, if you haven’t got it already. November 1 is the open enrollment starting period of ObamaCare (the Affordable Care Act) and you should absolutely take advantage of it. I’m not one to wax political, but our government is a toilet that wants to flush this plan down the shitter, so get on it. But, this one isn’t all healthcare and no funny! Did you guys think I’d leave you with just some unfunny, preachy bullshit? That’s not how I roll. So, let’s talk about how ObamaCare saved my life and prevented me from having an embarrassing death from a sex mishap.

Back in the day, I did a whole lot of drugs. I was a friend of many illicit substances, but my true mistress was the white queen: cocaine. It was not uncommon for me to go out on a weekend and snort my way through an 8-ball of the devil’s snow, before wandering around a park at 5am and passing out next to city critters. Shit, sometimes that was a slow Wednesday. Now, if you aren’t aware of what cocaine does to you, I’ll give you the quick and dirty of it: your heart rate goes up, you get an energized euphoria and you feel invincible. You also get really horny sometimes. Now, cocaine is an asshole, because it makes your blood pressure spike with that euphoria— making your junk a deflated balloon in the process. Getting super horny on coke is akin to getting really hungry without a mouth. It is a cruel goddamn trick. You get the picture of what cocaine does to you, though, so that’s all that matters. That brings me to one fateful night that almost killed my ass.

At the time, I was dating a woman that also loved cocaine. For some women, the white stuff makes the downstairs really dry. But, for some women, like my ex-girlfriend, it turns the basement into an infinity pool. We went out one night, got really drunk and did his-and-her 8-balls before going home in a jittery, coked-out haze. We get home and she is as horny as ever. This woman wants to get gorilla fucked six ways from Sunday and I’m sitting here with a windsock of a dick—ready to retire for the evening. It’s at this point that I’ll tell you that telling a coked-out, horny woman "no" is a terrible idea—you’ll lose that argument one-hundred percent of the time. She demanded dick and I told her of his untimely retirement. She brushed this aside, took my dick out and attempted necromancy. She was gonna get this motherfucker to rise from the dead, if it was the last thing she did. To her credit, she awoke the sleeping snake and it was fuck time. Now, when your dick does work on coke, the sex is fucking great. It feels incredible. So, we fuck and fuck and fuck, and it takes longer than usual to finish, which isn’t abnormal on coke. And then it happens...the most thunderous orgasm I’ve had in my entire life. Unfortunately, it was followed by the worst pain I’d had in my entire life.

Let’s pause here for a second, shall we? Painful things happen during sex pretty often. Hell, pain is the only way some of you rascals can even cum. Whether it is a cramp, twisting a weird way, slipping, partner squats on your dick weird, the guy is too big...sex is a rough game and things happen. Here’s the thing, though: this was different. What had happened was, I came (very hard) and laid there for about thirty seconds, before my head felt like my skull was going to split in half. I’d gotten migraines before, but those were bitch shit compared to this. It felt like my brain was giving birth. It was the most intense pain I’d ever felt in my head and I was sure I was going to have a stroke. My skin was hot and I could barely breathe. Sufficed to say, I was terrified. I probably shit a little, I definitely peed a drop or two and I was thinking that this could be the end. And then it stopped, out of nowhere. It was like a Charlie horse inside my skull. I immediately ate a banana and drank water, assuming it was Charlie horse adjacent at least (I was full of cocaine and whiskey, shut up). So, the sex nightmare was done and I went to sleep. The issue is, that for the next two weeks, this sex migraine would happen after EVERY orgasm! I was now officially afraid to cum!!!

I went to the doctor and got myself checked out. I didn’t tell him about all the coke use—just some. I told him about what had happened and how it had happened. He didn’t care how big my orgasm was, just so you know—apparently, that was unnecessary information. But, I got checked out, and apparently, I’m lucky to be alive. My blood vessels were essentially trying to burst when I had an orgasm, because of all the stress my tubby ass was putting on my heart with the cocaine. There was a substantial chance that one of those nuts could have killed me had I not gotten checked out. I’m better now, though, because I’m sober and because I went and got checked out. You know why I got checked out? It sure as fuck wasn’t because I could have shot a death load on my girlfriend at any given moment...it was because I was insured and I knew it wouldn’t destroy me financially. So, the moral of the story is, get insurance and go get checked out—so you don’t cum to death.