The Worst Sexual Experience I’ve Ever Had Was With A Guy Who Thought He Was Great At It

Ironically, the two worst intimate encounters of my life were with guys who had the audacity to brag about how great they were at it before, during, and after. It was awful, but since the first bad encounter with a bragger was back in college (and maybe that’s why he sucked so much), the second one was just this past June with a 34-year-old who honestly should have known better. Spoiler: he didn’t.

  1. He bragged before we even got into bed. How I ever ended up with this guy in my apartment, I’m not sure. I met him, we bonded over Star Wars, and I was intrigued by his Italian accent. He wasn’t particularly attractive, was exceptionally boring, but boy, did he talk himself up. He didn’t just brag about his ability but his size and how he was once a baby genius or something equally unimpressive.
  2. He kissed like he’d never kissed before. When he leaned in to kiss me, it was like kissing dead lips. They didn’t move, just sort of hung there, slightly parted, as if I was supposed to do all the work. I even pulled away and said, “We don’t kiss the same way,” which was my way of politely saying, “You’re the worst kisser I’ve ever encountered and I’ve kissed a lot of horrible kissers and that’s probably why I’m in therapy.” So he tried again, accepting my critique, but did it the same way. But wanting to get laid, I figured I’d let this go a little further to see how it went.
  3. He fumbled too much. In the bedroom, he fumbled a lot. He fumbled to get off my bra, he fumbled to get off my underwear, he fumbled to find my lady parts, he fumbled to find my sweet spot—he just fumbled all over. I considered asking him if he had ever been intimate with someone before, but considering he’d been married and had one kid, it was safe to assume he’d done it at least once. And, based on his performance, it was probably only once.
  4. He just laid there. No joke. He just laid there like a dead fish, expecting me to do all the work. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with such a passive (lazy?) lover, and not wanting to kiss his mouth again, I gave him a hand job, which led to…
  5. He commented on his “large” penis. While I should have known that any guy who brags about their ability is nine times out of 10 going to suck at it, I already knew from past experiences that guys who brag or comment on their “big” equipment were walking around with nothing larger than an average—which is fine! I’m not a size queen, but dude, don’t brag about what you don’t have… especially while I’m giving you a hand job and can see it for myself.
  6. He continued his manhood talk. Because apparently, he must have become a bit insecure about the fact that his manhood wasn’t fully erect, he then told me he was a “grower and not a shower,” as if suggesting that during intercourse my lady parts were going to sprinkle magical water on his parts and it would grow in size. Why, oh, why do these things happen to me?
  7. He told me to get on top. Again, remaining lazy AF, he suggested I get on top because, as he said, “I rise.” What did that mean exactly? Well, with me on top, he would lift his hips. Why? I don’t know. But he said it in such a particular way, as if to suggest that not only was he doing me some sort of favor but that he invented this technique that was supposedly going to blow my mind. Considering how bored I was, it was going to take a lot more than “I rise” to blow my mind.
  8. He really oversold himself. Being on top of him with him “rising” was, I imagine, on par with the same satisfaction I would’ve felt had I chosen to hump a pillow instead. Hell, humping a pillow would’ve been more satisfying. As he looked at me, asking if I could feel his “rising” and telling me how much other women love this technique (yeah, sure), I asked him nicely to stop talking so I could concentrate.
  9. I had to give up and fake it. I don’t believe in faking it at all but in this case, I wanted to get it over with, so I figured that moaning and clenching my vaginal muscles might be enough to put an end to the mess. It was. When he asked me if I “came so hard,” I assured him I did. So hard. 
  10. He actually thought it was great. When I have great love-making, I say it. When I don’t have great love-making I say nothing. This wasn’t great. This was the worst experience of my adult life—again, we’re giving the guy in college a break—and yet he kept going on and on about how his technique always satisfies and what we just “experienced together” was some of the best experiences of his life. If I were a meaner person, I would have laughed in his face. Instead, I rolled over and giggled into the pillow.
  11. He wanted to do it again. During the next 30 minutes, I mentioned several times that I was exhausted and needed to get to sleep and he bragged about how much money he made (which would barely be considered minimum wage in the States). He then suggested we do it again. Nope; no way, no how, not doing it again. I told him I had to work early and he looked surprised that I didn’t want him and his technique again. I ushered him out of my apartment as fast as I could and promised myself that the next time someone bragged about their ability, I’d stop the conversation immediately and just walk away. Anyone who’s really good in bed isn’t going to brag about it.
Amanda is a writer who divides her time between NYC and Paris. She's a regular contributor to Bustle, Glamour, Mic, and Livingly. Other bylines include: Harper's Bazaar, YourTango, The Atlantic, Forbes, YouBeauty, Huffington Post, The Frisky, and BlackBook.