Love, Heartbreak

Dating Disaster: A Guy, A Girl, Her Gas

woman holding her stomach

I met Philip while out recruiting contestants for Blind Date. Once he told me he went to Vassar, I knew he'd never do the show. Instead, I kept him for myself. I looked extra cute and Philip seemed really into me. It was perfect. 

Well, almost.

I really needed to fart. This is not unusual for me. I usually need to fart. Everything makes my butt erupt. I can usually tell what will set me off. Coffee, dairy, yoga. And I can usually gauge the stink and audible level based on what I've eaten. But this fart was different. This fart was sneaky. 7 Things You Must Do Before A First Date

That morning, I had accidentally eaten some bad pineapple. Having never dealt with bad fruit toots, I didn't know what to expect from my Hawaiian friend. Looking at me you'd have never guessed the turmoil I was experiencing.

"Want to get out of here?" he whispered in my ear.

His apartment was just a few short blocks from the bar. A gorgeous Weimaraner greeted us as we entered his apartment.

"This is Bella," he said.

I love dogs, I really do. They are furry slices of heaven. But the way Bella mouth raped Philip when he bent down to pet her told me that she was definitely the woman of the house. In her eyes, I was just another two bit whore. She dutifully sniffed my crotch, and passing her test—for now—nestled into her dog bed on the floor. Pet Jealousy And How To Deal With It

I excused myself to his bathroom while he fixed us drinks. The greatest thing about California bathrooms is that most of them have fans. While most likely installed to ventilate air, I like to think they were specifically put in to cover up the sound of me farting.

I searched for the switch and, horror of horrors, no vent. I could have run the water, but that was too obvious. Instead, I quickly snooped in his cabinet for any medications that might give me pause to share fluids with this man, and, seeing nothing alarming, went back out to Philip, now splayed on his bed. 5 Surefire Ways To Say No To Sex

"Care for a massage?" he asked.

What a gentleman, I noted, as I lay face down on his bed. He straddled me and slowly started caressing my shoulders. He rubbed, tickled, nibbled, and did all those wonderfully erotic things that would make my knees quiver if I didn't have to fart so badly. I was clenching so tight I could feel my butt crack sweating.

Normally, I'd just suck it back up, but his body weight pressing down on my lower back made that impossible. Who was I kidding? I couldn't have sex in my condition. He was going to find out sooner rather than later. He seemed like a keeper, too. Poor guy. Think Your Way To Better Sex

"Lemme get some lotion."

He rolled off me and disappeared into the bathroom. I saw my window to slowly squeak out my festering toot, but not knowing whether or not this rogue fart would stink, I wasn't taking any chances. I glanced at Bella, happily lazing in her bed. I wondered if she could feel my pain.

Philip came back and assumed his position, only this time he scooted a little lower down. He massaged my lower back and starting rimming my ruffled skirt with his thumbs. Layer by layer, he lifted my skirt, revealing my adorable boy short panties I had recently purchased from Target. How To Tackle Money Matters In Relationships

"La Perla. I like."

"Thank you." I'd heard the name La Perla on Sex and The City and I knew they were like, two hundred dollar drawers. Mine cost $7.99. This guy was quickly becoming out of my league. I had better stay charming.

He worked his hands under my skirt and started kneading my butt through my imposter panties. It felt fantastic. My butt is my favorite spot to be massaged. It's where I carry all my tension. I especially love a good elbow rammed in to the cheeks. Tips To Get Men More Into Foreplay

I let out a little moan.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" Philip asked, leaning in a little closer.

"Yeah, that feels good." I buried my head in the pillow and let out a muffled sigh.

"Maybe you'll like this then," he whispered into my crack, and, before I knew it, plunged down full-force upon my tushie with knuckled fists.

And though I tried with all my might to stop it, I farted right in his mouth.

A big, thundering, horsey-sounding toot right down his esophagus.

From his perspective I bet my ruffled skirt billowed in the wind. I jumped up so fast I bucked him to the floor.

"I am so sorry!" I shrieked.

Stunned from the fall, he didn't speak right away. I hoped he'd gotten brain damage so he wouldn't remember what just happened. He looked slowly around the room, etching what just occurred firmly into his mind and said slowly, "That's OK, my dog does that all the time."

My eyes locked with Bella's piercing blue eyes. She just stared at me in disgust. I knew he was lying. No dog with such a glossy coat and regal posture would fart as I had just farted.

"I ate some bad pineapple. I was really backed up. I hope it didn't smell too bad. Usually ice cream is what really gets me," I blathered on and on.

At least one orifice was no longer constipated.

He humored me for about five more minutes and then said he had an early day. Yeah, I bet, an early, gloriously fart-free day. He walked me to the door, gave me a tepid one-armed hug and quickly shut the door.

Finding respite in my car, I hit the gas pedal and with it came a booming fart. I looked down at my overactive bathing suit area. C**k blocked yet again by my own digestive wasteland. What To Eat After A Bad Date

"Ya done?"

Philip was. He never called me again. I ran into him at a bar a few weeks later but he avoided me. And it looked like he was clearly standing downwind. Wise move. To this day I wonder how he tells the story.

I bet he doesn't blame it on the dog.

This article was originally published at . Reprinted with permission from the author.