FortNinety
Member
I have a friend who's in Oregon right now doing some 3D animation at production company and she's somewhat perpetually bored. So I've gotten in the habit of sending her various stories from my past. Last night I passed along the following story, which I told many times to friends, and has always been rather popular, so I figured I might as well pass it along here...
During my freshman year of college, I met a girl in my school's writing resource center (it's a place for students to write papers, and seek assistance if they needed it, which was primarily for foreign students). She was super tall (easily around 6'5), looked like a super model, and just arrived from Russia to study photography (or something). Even though she could speak English well enough, her ability to write the language was pretty shakey. The girl had a paper to write but was having a really rough time; she was there to see a tutor, but this person wasn't there, so the girl was having a meltdown of sorts. So I stepped in and offered to lend a hand. After a few hours, I helped finish some art history report that was due the very next morning, and she was very much grateful. Considering how shy I was with the opposite sex at that point (hell, I still am), I'm surprised that I found the courage to ask her out to dinner, but I did, and was totally ecstatic that she said yes. Her name was Larisa.
The next night, or the one after that, we met and had a very romantic dinner at Wendy's (hey, it was here choice; she LOVED American fast food). Then we had drinks at a local dive joint. Once both of us were nice and drunk, we ended up at her place, which was this super tiny studio on 3rd Ave. Making out was fun, if a bit awkward considering the difference in height, but I certainly didn't mind.
Things got pretty hot and heavy, and she turned out to be the rough type. She liked to bite. Hard. So hard in fact that she bit down on my right nipple and tore off half of the top layer of skin. IT HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. I screamed as you might imagine, and not one of those "I'm in ecstasy!" kind of screams, but a "Holy fuck, I've been shot!" kind of yelp. And man did I bleed like a wounded animal, and I started breathing like one too. But the thing was... I kinda liked it.
Just so you know, I'm not an S&M freak, but I guess I just went with the flow and we really didn't stop (she sure as hell didn't look surprised or apologetic with what she has just did). Soon after we went straight for the sex, which was pretty messy as you might imagine. Not only did I really not stop bleeding, but any contact with the exposed area was excruciating. But still the sex was good. What happened afterwards though wasn't.
No sooner than about 20 seconds after I had "finished", she threw me off, ran into her bathroom, and locked the door. Then I could hear very loud sobs. I was totally confused and wondered if I had done anything to hurt her. I went to the door to console her, but she was murmuring mostly in Russian. When I asked what was wrong, she answered half if English, half in Russian, that she had just cheated on her boyfriend and she felt like something in Russian.
After about 15 minutes, I figured it was maybe best to leave, so I washed up in her kitchen sink the best I could, got dressed, and went home. I took the subway home and everyone on the train looked at me funny. I looked down and there was a huge red splotch on my shirt, almost like I had been shot! Once back at my dorm apartment, I put some ointment and a band-aid, and assumed it would heal up just fine.
But it didn't. Granted the bleeding had stopped, but instead, my nipple was constantly oozing yellow puss. It would cover my nipple and form a thin crystalline layer, which would eventually harden and start to crack, then flake off. No matter what I did, skin would simply not grow back. I would always wear bandages, and after a while, it seemed totally okay and I stopped. But then, at the end of the day or two, I would notice a yellow spot on my shirt and that it was sticking to the skin. Pulling it off meant the thin layer of puss/skin getting ripped off as well and the cycle would continue. Some good shirts were ruined by this.
After awhile, the band-aids themselves were causing problems. Since the same spot was constantly getting covered by the sticky part, as well as having it removed, a rash began to develop in that area. Plus my nipple was starting to change colors; instead of pink, it was getting brown. With yellow puss on top, of course.
So here I had this one brownish nipple that oozed yellow gunk, with a perfect rectangle rash surrounding it. I was in hell.
I don't know why I didn't think about seeing a doctor, or at the very least, the school nurse (my reluctance in seeking medical help is a running theme in many of my stories), but thank God one friend at least made the suggestion about two and a half months into such ridiculousness. So I went to the nurse, who immediately gave me a special cream, and instantly made me feel 100% I pondered why everyone thought she was such an idiot. But every-time I went to see her again over the years, no matter what the ailment, she constantly asked, "How's that nipple?" or called me "Nipple Boy" and eventually began to despise her like everyone else.
So anyway, after a while, the nipple began to heal and new layer of skin began to grow back. But it was a while before it retunred to it's original color (I'm talking years here) which was pretty embarrassing. As was the whole story behind it, but I found it at least humorous, hence why I shared it with all my friends. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by all the requests to see the wound, but I only did so sparingly, and only for members of the opposite sex, and even then it was more of a "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours" type of thing (you laugh, but trust me, it actually worked).
Eight years later and my right nipple has enjoyed looking like the left one for about four years now. But it's still VERY sensitive. So what's the moral of the story kids? Learn your English.
BTW, if you wanna read more stories of me getting in dumb situations, the other stories I wrote to my friend can be found here.
During my freshman year of college, I met a girl in my school's writing resource center (it's a place for students to write papers, and seek assistance if they needed it, which was primarily for foreign students). She was super tall (easily around 6'5), looked like a super model, and just arrived from Russia to study photography (or something). Even though she could speak English well enough, her ability to write the language was pretty shakey. The girl had a paper to write but was having a really rough time; she was there to see a tutor, but this person wasn't there, so the girl was having a meltdown of sorts. So I stepped in and offered to lend a hand. After a few hours, I helped finish some art history report that was due the very next morning, and she was very much grateful. Considering how shy I was with the opposite sex at that point (hell, I still am), I'm surprised that I found the courage to ask her out to dinner, but I did, and was totally ecstatic that she said yes. Her name was Larisa.
The next night, or the one after that, we met and had a very romantic dinner at Wendy's (hey, it was here choice; she LOVED American fast food). Then we had drinks at a local dive joint. Once both of us were nice and drunk, we ended up at her place, which was this super tiny studio on 3rd Ave. Making out was fun, if a bit awkward considering the difference in height, but I certainly didn't mind.
Things got pretty hot and heavy, and she turned out to be the rough type. She liked to bite. Hard. So hard in fact that she bit down on my right nipple and tore off half of the top layer of skin. IT HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. I screamed as you might imagine, and not one of those "I'm in ecstasy!" kind of screams, but a "Holy fuck, I've been shot!" kind of yelp. And man did I bleed like a wounded animal, and I started breathing like one too. But the thing was... I kinda liked it.
Just so you know, I'm not an S&M freak, but I guess I just went with the flow and we really didn't stop (she sure as hell didn't look surprised or apologetic with what she has just did). Soon after we went straight for the sex, which was pretty messy as you might imagine. Not only did I really not stop bleeding, but any contact with the exposed area was excruciating. But still the sex was good. What happened afterwards though wasn't.
No sooner than about 20 seconds after I had "finished", she threw me off, ran into her bathroom, and locked the door. Then I could hear very loud sobs. I was totally confused and wondered if I had done anything to hurt her. I went to the door to console her, but she was murmuring mostly in Russian. When I asked what was wrong, she answered half if English, half in Russian, that she had just cheated on her boyfriend and she felt like something in Russian.
After about 15 minutes, I figured it was maybe best to leave, so I washed up in her kitchen sink the best I could, got dressed, and went home. I took the subway home and everyone on the train looked at me funny. I looked down and there was a huge red splotch on my shirt, almost like I had been shot! Once back at my dorm apartment, I put some ointment and a band-aid, and assumed it would heal up just fine.
But it didn't. Granted the bleeding had stopped, but instead, my nipple was constantly oozing yellow puss. It would cover my nipple and form a thin crystalline layer, which would eventually harden and start to crack, then flake off. No matter what I did, skin would simply not grow back. I would always wear bandages, and after a while, it seemed totally okay and I stopped. But then, at the end of the day or two, I would notice a yellow spot on my shirt and that it was sticking to the skin. Pulling it off meant the thin layer of puss/skin getting ripped off as well and the cycle would continue. Some good shirts were ruined by this.
After awhile, the band-aids themselves were causing problems. Since the same spot was constantly getting covered by the sticky part, as well as having it removed, a rash began to develop in that area. Plus my nipple was starting to change colors; instead of pink, it was getting brown. With yellow puss on top, of course.
So here I had this one brownish nipple that oozed yellow gunk, with a perfect rectangle rash surrounding it. I was in hell.
I don't know why I didn't think about seeing a doctor, or at the very least, the school nurse (my reluctance in seeking medical help is a running theme in many of my stories), but thank God one friend at least made the suggestion about two and a half months into such ridiculousness. So I went to the nurse, who immediately gave me a special cream, and instantly made me feel 100% I pondered why everyone thought she was such an idiot. But every-time I went to see her again over the years, no matter what the ailment, she constantly asked, "How's that nipple?" or called me "Nipple Boy" and eventually began to despise her like everyone else.
So anyway, after a while, the nipple began to heal and new layer of skin began to grow back. But it was a while before it retunred to it's original color (I'm talking years here) which was pretty embarrassing. As was the whole story behind it, but I found it at least humorous, hence why I shared it with all my friends. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by all the requests to see the wound, but I only did so sparingly, and only for members of the opposite sex, and even then it was more of a "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours" type of thing (you laugh, but trust me, it actually worked).
Eight years later and my right nipple has enjoyed looking like the left one for about four years now. But it's still VERY sensitive. So what's the moral of the story kids? Learn your English.
BTW, if you wanna read more stories of me getting in dumb situations, the other stories I wrote to my friend can be found here.
