One such person was Chris Querello. Or Quarello. Honestly I don't care enough to get it right, I'm only putting it on here because the older I get, the more I like to flex on my impending Alzheimer's with callbacks to useless information from two plus decades ago. I can't tell you why Chris liked me (that's a lie, he liked my boobs), but he liked me (my boobs) for some of middle school, and all of high school (my boobs). He even wrote me (my boobs) letters that my friend Amber would read me (read my boobs) when she called me after I moved.
The first time I visited Florida after moving to Vegas, I had changed a lot. My dad didn't give a shit how I dressed, or what I did/who I did it with, I had freedom, and I fucking blossomed in it. If blossoming is code for started doing drugs and drinking and dressing the way I wanted to which was, admittedly Modern Harlot. I felt more relaxed because I wasn't on a billion medications anymore (the jury is forever out on how beneficial that actually was), I was just way more comfortable and happy. Amber and I went to Denny's to have some lunch...dinner...breakfast? Who knows, but we went to Denny's. This fellow comes over that I didn't immediately recognize, says hi to Amber and then a longer hi to me, and I realized that it was Chris, and he was kinda hot and sexy, despite the fact that there's a threshold of hot and sexy anybody can be at fucking DENNY'S. It isn't a big one, either. Chris chatted with me for a minute, I told him I was staying with my friend Kristen, I gave him the number he could reach me at and the address, and we set up a date.
Sidebar: I am listening to the music I was really into circa 2001 to get back in that head space. The Cranberries, Lit, Oasis, and most notably, Stone Temple Pilots and Our Lady Peace.
Chris came and got me later that night, and I think we went to a bonfire. NO, I lied. We drove around Las Olas and Chris showed me architectural marvels that his dad had a hand in building or something, and told me his favorite movie was BackDraft and I laughed at him a lot, and then we went to the beach and made out for HOURS because we were teenagers and that's what teenagers do. Chris told me a lot about how he'd been pining after me since like, 7th grade, and I told him how I had a crush on his friend Jason Krentz (suck on THAT, Alzheimer's!) and thought Chris was the human equivalent of a soggy diaper filled with dog shit. He used to come up to me and Amber and say just really gross things about porn he had watched, or something he'd heard on Loveline, and he'd ask us inappropriate questions, and I fucking dreaded him walking toward us all the time. In drastic contrast to this, I also obliged him his request to see my tits in 8th grade, so I mean...I am also kind of a soggy diaper. I did it to shut him up, and that REALLY backfired. Seeing two fresh titties wasn't enough. He wanted to grope them, I told him never, and the joke was on me because he groped them a LOT on that beach a few years later. And I wanted him to. Chris took me back to Kristen's, and I was elated. I was surprised to have had a relatively decent time with him that night, and my tummy kinda had some butterflies flittering about, getting ready to storm that mother fucker.
We went out the next day, took. We went to Publix and got subs because fucking DUH that's what you do at Publix, and we took them to Markham Park and walked some trails and ate our sandwiches and Chris obliged me when I went apeshit over swinging on the swings. Instead of making out with me in the swampy seclusion of Markham Park, he sat on the swings with me while I asked him absolutely fucking INSANE questions. I really wish I remember what I asked him, but I can't. I think I actually asked him how he'd react if I tried to shoot him? I'm really fucking smooth and unique and interesting, what can I say. That wasn't even the most bonkers thing I asked and I know it, because at one point, Chris stopped swinging and looked at me like I was an absolute maniac and said he needed the questions to stop. I'm sure I LOOKED like a maniac, too. I do love few things more than swings, and I try to go as high as I can, and swings make me laugh on the way down so I'm sure I was wild eyed, with my long, wild hair billowing insanely in my swing air, laughing like a despot, and asking questions of my date that insinuated I had a penchant for, if not murder, then striking fear in unsuspecting people. Chris must have REALLY liked me, because we left the swing area, went to another area and dissolved into some serious heavy petting, and after he dropped me off that night, he agreed to pick me up the next day.
Four days in a row I ditched my friends to hang out with Chris. Hashtag squad goals. I didn't think much of it, I'd be doing the same shit if I lived there. On the fifth day, Kristen put her foot down and said no, I was going to hang out with her FIRST. Between being with Chris, Amber, and the one or two dates I had gone on with Kristen's pool boy Adamo (who was just....everything a pool boy should be. Hot, fit, Italian with an accent, and interested in me. Also an INSANELY good kisser, and ballsy. He shot his shot on the job. I admire that in a man that I want that attention from), I hadn't spent a lot of time with Kristen, the saint that was putting me up. So I pushed Chris off for later in the afternoon. A fair compromise. Kristen worked at Publix (but wouldn't pony up that sweet sweet employee discount so I could die the way nature intended: buried in Publix subs), so we went and met her work friends. We met up with some stackers, some stockers, and then we met up with her two friends that worked the meat counter. I loved them, they loved me, and when I became elated by the stickers that said HOT ITALIAN SAUSAGE, they gave me a few to take home. I laughed and laughed over them, because PENISES HA HA HA HA PENISES YOU GUYS PENISES. HOT ITALIAN SAUSAGE COULD BE PENIS. In case that wasn't obvious.
I hung out with Kristen for a couple more hours, flirted wildly with everybody I could, got asked out by one of Kristen's co-workers that looked like, and I cannot believe I am capable of this call back, the lead singer of the rightfully ignored one hit wonder band Default.
He doesn't look like that anymore, but he looked like that then, and...fuckin' Mother May I? Yes. Kristen didn't want me to, though. She was MAD that I kept going after all of these dudes, and in hindsight, I kind of wonder if maybe she had liked that dude, too. I think his name was Josh or James or...Jimmy? Jambo? Jorp? I have no idea. I didn't end up going out with him, Kristen threw a really big fit about it and guilted me into flaking out. The travesty of that trip.
Chris picked me up in the last afternoon, and I really cannot remember what we did, but I know it culminated in us parked in a really remote area and necking. Chris was a lot more aggressive this time, though. Much like our brief titty tenure behind the portables, it wasn't enough. I hadn't slept with Chris, I hadn't done more than just furiously paw at his general penile area. I had not gone through my sexual renaissance yet, so while I was interested in doing more than fumbling around his genitals, and my body was in a general state of GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO, I couldn't not bring myself to GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO. I couldn't even bring myself to Go. So when Chris started unzipping his pants and getting kinda cranky for a handy, I was terrified and titillated and terrified. I acquiesced to the handy, but that greedy dude couldn't just let that be, either. Two seconds of a dry, awkward handjob had to accelerate into blowjob central, and honest to god, that was probably more self defense than anything else. That handjob was probably BRUTAL. I have gotten better at handjobs over years of practice, but I am not, nor have I ever been, what you would call good at them. I'm barely adequate. I took the approach of "if you can do it better than I can, I'm not even going to bother". So I never bothered to have a man teach me how to give dynamic and outstanding handies.
I didn't want to blow him, though. I hadn't really done that yet, and the prospect of being bad was terrifying. I didn't want to be bad, this was sex stuff and I didn't want to seem inexperienced, but I was also kinda put off that Chris just ASSUMED I'd put my mouth on his dick after a few dates. I wasn't always into one night stands and being super sexually forward, I did go through a phase where I wanted that shit to be...maybe not special, but certainly not in an Escapade parked in the middle of nowhere with some dude I flashed my tits to in middle school behind a dusty ass portable. I vocalized dissent. I didn't wanna, and I am sure I kept just yoinking away at his poor, dry penis to distract him, as surely that was as good as a blowjob.
It was not.
He started to whine for me to suck his dick. Literally whine. I said no, and he kept pushing. Again, literally. Pushing my head closer and closer to his dick, and I was angry and I had fucking had it because he wasn't hearing me say no. So I did what any girl in my situation would do:
I grabbed the HOT ITALIAN SAUSAGE sticker from my pocket, peeled it, and buried the top third in the nest of his pubic hair and wrapped the other two thirds around his dick and gripped for dear life, making sure that sticker fucking STUCK.
Chris panicked. And I mean he panicked GOOD. He called me a crazy bitch a few times, and true to form, I was sitting back in my seat, cackling with glee and the reaction unfolding before me. He asked me what the fuck I would do a thing like that for, and I said he had a hot Italian sausage, and now it would be as obvious to everyone as it was to me. The sticker was not small. Check it:
It didn't used to be a rectangle, it used to be a circle. a REALLY big one. With gold. Very fancy, for a sticker.
After the cursing stopped, the crying started. Chris couldn't get it off. I tried getting it off, and I couldn't help, either. I ended up scratching his tender dick skin sheath sleeve with my long nails, and he cried more and told me to stop helping. I was worried we would have to go to the hospital and I'd get into trouble for putting a stick on a young man's penis without his consent or something. After twenty minutes of fumbling, with Chris's dick still hard because it just couldn't do anything else, he gave up, sniffled while he put his dick into his pants as tenderly as possible, and he drove me back to Kristen's.
I did not hear from him for two days. And when we eventually talked, he, as anyone would, rescinded the invitations he had extended to me for a party and some other social gathering. It had taken him HOURS to get the sticker off. Hours, Ondrea, it took hours.
Did I feel bad? Not in the least. But I DID feel slighted and bitter that he dropped me JUST BECAUSE I put a sticker on his dick. He definitely deserved it, nobody should try and force somebody to suck their dick if they're not ready. Or willing. I was just discussing this with Amber, as she said it's one of her favorite stories. She wondered to me if Chris had done anything like that after that, and I mused that he more than likely did, because men like that, in my experience, will write me off as a one time crazy bitch, and every other woman wants him to behave in that forceful way.
I hope that everyone who sucks dick recreationally starts carrying meat entendre stickers so we can start squashing that rumor.
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