A friend of mine was on a stag night in Liverpool. Crowd of lads in a bar.
My friend is quite an attractive chap.
This very drunk Liverpudlian lass (you’ve got to try and imagine the accent) approached him and the following exchange took place:
“Have you got a big cock?”
“Err… why?”
“Because my mate fancies you but she’s got a fanny like a bucket”
He declined.
(Note: this is clearly the UK meaning of the word “fanny”. I trust no-one needs a translation.)
One time, me and my friend Drew were waiting for the night bus. We were just coming from a party and were looking a little flamey (like this is somehow unusual for me). As we were standing there, this big boom car drove up, and the guy riding shotgun rolled down the window and yelled, “Hey, faggot! Wanna fuck me?”
I was thinking, Why are you trying to assert your heteromasculinity by asking effeminate gay men to anally penetrate you?, and I wanted to share this with him but unfortunately it came out as, “Not even if you told me I could have Rufus Wainwright for seconds would I fuck you!”
There was also the period when I was eighteen or so when this little bird-faced dude I had met at Sky and who usually found himself on my night bus home kept trying to wheedle me into an alley for a blow job. Finally one night I had already turned him down and started walking home from the terminus; he followed me and kept propositioning me. Finally I wheeled on him and stated loudly that no, I wasn’t going to go with him, and he could fuck off. He actually stamped his foot and pouted “You’re mean!”
I guess it was base and crude but not gross, and not entirely unwelcome. During college, there was a party at my friend’s parents’ house. My college girlfriend was there, as was my friend’s girlfriend. Most of the guests headed downstairs to play pool, except for me and my friend’s girlfriend. I was sitting at the piano picking out a song and the girl sat next to me… after a couple minutes she reached between my legs and started rubbing my cock. I looked at her and she smiled and sort of looked in the direction of the bedroom stairs.
She was pretty cute, but (a) I was in love with my girlfriend who was downstairs; (b) anyone could come in the room at any second; and © you don’t fuck the host’s date. Everybody knows that.
For me it would be when I was in New York (this was before they cleaned it up) with my first wife and was walking down the street with my wife and she was holding onto my arm. So it was pretty clear we were together.
This toothless black hooker eating a pretzel, with crumbs falling all over her as she gnaws on this lump of bread comes up to me and asks me if I want a blowjob. I just kept walking and said no thanks. She keeps walking down the street with us asking me again if I want a blowjob. But all I could think of was–you don’t see this woman on my arm? If I wanted a blow job I think I would likely go with her.
Eventually she got the hint and left us and went after another guy. That was one whacked hooker let me tell you.
See, this is the sad truth: when do DO think of a reasonably good line, it’s utterly wasted. I am fairly confident his buddies weren’t sitting in the car saying, “Hey, Rufus Wainwright – good one! He really zinged you!” If they were thinking at all, it was something along the lines of, “Seconds for the what, now?”
In college I got dragged to a gay bar/club one night as part of a large group. At one point, as I tried to make my way through a huge, dense crowd of dancing men to get to the bar, someone began rubbing my crotch from behind. I wasn’t particularly bothered, and even if I had been it’s not like I’d be justified in getting angry with him given the setting. I just ignored it and continued on my way.
Of course, this was probably more akin to a handshake than a proposition, but it’s the only story I’ve got that comes close.
How about if it wags itself? Would that work better?
My story.
Back when I was in college I’d go to a McD’s several times a week mostly for the cashier that I’d developed a flirty relationship with.
One slow day when I got there she was the only person in earshot so I ordered the special. “The special?” Yes, furburger and thighs.
She got that look that people get when the mental gears have locked up because of something unexpected. Then she turned bright red and laughed. Said thanks, but her boyfriend would probably think that was a bad idea. (Note: she had never mentioned boyfriend before.)
I continued going there and we resumed the previous level of conversation. I’d still occasionally try to order the special and she’d still laugh. A few months later she began showing as being pregnant. I kept going there until she finally took off for maternity leave. Never saw her again.
I have a couple more, though they were only sort-of come-ons.
When I was an undergrad I rode the bus everyone. From my place in South Memphis to the university I attended, I had to take two buses, transferring at the intersection of Winchester & Airways. I’m so specific about that because, at the time, that intersection was notable for being the location of strip clubs/whorehouses all owned by the same gentleman. One day I got off the first bus very early in the morning. The clubs had just closed, and it was raining very hard, and I noticed there was only one car in the lot. The presumptive owner of this large sedan was a small woman, and judging by her attire she was employed in the talent sectio of the enterprises rather than, say accounting. Her car had a flat, and she was struggling with the jack.
I had no desire to help, as it was raining and I am very lazy. But I could hear my father’s ghost* telling me to man up and help the girl. After a little internal debate I did. The girl was frankly astonished that I would stop to help her (evidently, her co-workers had left her to twist in the wind) and offered to blow me in payment. I told her I’d just take a ride to school, thanks.
The second story happened around the period of my life as the first. I was selling furniture in a department store at the time, and one woman came in repeatedly to look at a fairly expensive bedroom set she frankly could not afford. One evening she offered to sleep with me if I’d knock 20 percent off the price.
*Odd in itself, as my dad was no more dead then than he is now
A friend of mine who fancies himself sort of a ladies man was at a party last year with friends. A gay guy he sort of knows decided it was the night to try and get my friend into bed. All night, whenever they ran into each other, he’d try. “Can I blow you? Do you want to fuck me? How about a handjob?” My buddy thought it was pretty funny, because he’s secure in himself, didn’t feel in any danger, and was otherwise occupied in getting into a girl’s pants anyway.
So, finally, as things were winding down, my friend, two girls, and the gay guy all wound up in a living room together. The gay dude picks up the head from an Easter Bunny costume that’s sitting on the couch and says to my friend:
“Okay, last chance. You put on this head so you can’t see out. Me and these two girls are going to go in the bathroom, then one of us is going to come out and suck your dick, and you have to guess which one.”
My friend, of course, declined. All parted laughing, my buddy got laid by the girl he was after, good night all around. But since he told us that story, “me and two girls are going to go in the bathroom, then one of us is going to come out and X your Z - guess who” has become a catch phrase of sorts.
I’m actually not, for a multitude of reasons. I think a lot of women just expect that if they offer, it will be taken. Also, I still think it’s perceived as more rare for women to do it, whether it is rarer or not, - which is why guys remember them. I only remember the ones that stick out in my head the most - I know there’s more but they blur together and I kind of ignore them.
I don’t think it went past the “Wha…?” stage to be honest.
Are you a man or a woman? And where did she shove this finger? Up your butt??? And how did it get to that point at all? I mean I would have stopped a man well before his hand got anywhere near there, and that’s providing I wasn’t wearing a belt or something that would have stopped him anyway.
Or in your ear? Up your nose? Please help, I am envisioning too many things.
Projammer and Scumpup both made me laugh.
I always liked this exchange from Gail Parent’s “Shelia Levine is Dead and Living in New York”:
Him: I’d like to fuck you.
Shelia: For how many minutes?
Him: Is that a nice question?
Him: Yours was nice?
“I want to lick your pussy.”
This was said to me by a 40-year-old, married friend of the family who had a two-year-old boy. He was really drunk, and we both happened to be sitting alone outside of a restaurant while my mother and his wife talked inside the building. I wouldn’t even have been sitting alone with him, as he kind of gave me the creeps, except that his little boy was outside with us. I knew that if I left, the kid would go wandering off into the parking lot and probably get hit by a car. On the ride home, he kept rubbing his hand on my leg while I sat stock still and tried not to vomit.
This happened three or four years ago, and I never told anyone what happened. From then on, however, I flat out refused to be in the same house alone with him. Thankfully, he’s no longer a friend of the family for various reasons.
Man: the very uncomfortable place alluded to in Mallrats (located in the rear, but thankfully protected by clothing for this encounter, which did not prevent a mega mega mega wedgie.) Drunk people often embrace each other even if they don’t know each other: they don’t often stick their fingers suddenly in places they dont normally stick them in public and it’s only a foot or so away from a normal drunk embrace (which I wasn’t particularly looking forward to one way or another anyway even though I thought I knew what was coming since she was so obviously drunk and acting out but I’m not going to push a woman away for either.)
Okay, here’s one that will really horrify the folks on this board, just as much as it did me:
I was a bank teller, working the drive up window. One Friday night after sunset (customers could see me, but I couldn’t see them), a guy - I guess - put his deposit slip and check in the drawer. When I pulled them out, there was also a note: “Lest [sic] have sex”.
I stuck the note and the deposit slip into my teller machine and validated both of them, as if the note were a receipt, and returned it to him.
Teller #40: a real cold bitch.
This may be the single most depressing thread I’ve ever read on the SDMB.
Knead
The exception to the OP’s assertion that “We’ve all heard pick-up lines”
I was at a bar with two male friends (I’m female, btw), and a very creepy looking guy had been walking past our table pretty often. When one of my friends wanders away somewhere, creepy guy comes up to my other friend and says “I’ll give you 20$ if you let me kiss her”.
We were both pretty dumbfounded, and I don’t even remember what we said. We left pretty soon after, though I think that was mostly because the bar sucked.
Wasted, nothing. Have you any idea how much mileage I’ve gotten out of recounting that incident?
I was working at a nightclub/steakhouse as the asst. chef. The boss hired a new waitress that was really hot, and right from the start she was really flirty with me. After a couple of days I asked a waitress who I was close friends with what she thought about the new girl. She said, “Don’t fuck her even with a borrowed dick”. So I was somewhat forewarned.
That night after the grill was all wrapped up I punched out and did my twelve step program (which was how far it was from the punch-clock to the bar). As soon as I sat down she was on the stool next to me. At first she just made small-talk, but in a lull in the conversation she blurted, “I give great blow-jobs”.
All I could say was, “Really?”
She said, proudly, “Yeah! My grandfather taught me how when I was nine!”, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to say.
After staring tongue-tied for some time, I excused myself to go to the restroom, where I stayed until I could get my eyebrows back down to their normal positions (a long time). When I got back to the bar she was gone, and she never came back to work again.
One of the bartenders overheard the whole exchange and by halfway through the next shift everyone knew the story. They ribbed me about it relentlessly for months.
Oh BLECH!!!
I vote you as the winner of this thread. That’s just…EEEEUUUUWWWW
A guy in a bar wanted me to go home with him and give him my undies.
He would give me a pair of his sister’s undies (which he had access to because he lived in a trailer in her back yard) in exchange so I wouldn’t have to go home commando.
Can you believe I walked away (read: ran away screaming) from a prize like him?