UTB After Dark: Pennetration, Edition 9

After a two year hiatus, UTB After Dark is proud and scandalized to present the grand, salacious return of our notorious anonymous sex diary, Pennetration. Once an infamous weekly feature in 2010, the column made a comeback in 2012. Caught up, underclassmen? Tonight, the ninth edition makes its debut – this time courtesy of a man. Names are changed to protect identity, as they always will be...were you to spill your sauciest anecdotes to contact@underthebutton.com.

I met "Bernadette" at church, obviously. Cincinnati's finest indie rock band was playing a show at First Unitarian, and I had neglected to buy a ticket. The show was sold out, but I decided to flex my formidable scalping skills and go anyway.

While casing the line for potential losers whose friends had bailed and left them with extra tickets, I spotted an attractive girl looking lonely and half-heartedly calling out for unwanted tickets. Seizing on this obvious sexual opportunity, I swooped in. My game was in rare form that night—in just a few minutes, I learned that her prominent and illegible forearm tattoos were written in Icelandic, why she was looking for tickets and what her phone number was.

Turns out she and a friend had driven to Philly from “Central PA” to see this show. Why they did that without having secured tickets beforehand is one of the great mysteries of my life. Feeling inexplicably bold, I cavalierly pointed out two men in line that I thought looked like they would have tickets to spare. In a stroke of luck, those guys actually did have extras, both of which I gamely surrendered to my indie princess in despair.

I felt cool as fuck, and I think Bernie felt it, too. I ended up talking my way into the show.

Later that night, we met up after the concert, by which I mean she got plastered and drove her friend’s car from North Philly to my apartment. Her level of intoxication made me uncomfortable, as did her weird New Age fantasies of starting a pot farm and living off the land in Iceland. Nothing happened.

Then, out of the blue three weeks later, I started getting some straight-up raunchy SMS erotica from an unknown number. Apparently I hadn't saved her digits, but a quick Wikipedia search of the area code confirmed a “Central PA” provenance. Between wildly imaginative missives, Bernie invited me to “come see some more of what Pennsylvania had to offer.” Fall break was approaching, and I had nothing else planned, so I agreed.

The next weekend, I hopped the Megabus to State College.

As promised, Bernie picked me up and drove me a half hour out of town to her apartment, a shag-carpeted one-bedroom above a hardware store. Once there, we proceeded to do nothing but have sex. That night, we went three rounds. To be completely honest, that was enough for even my raging 19-year-old libido. The next morning, we went three more times, for a grand total of six (6) ejaculations in under 24 hours.

I was exhausted and sore, and I caught the bus home a day early.

The sixth round is the only one I can clearly resolve in my memory, for reasons that will soon become clear. In the light of the late morning, I saw that Bernie was far more heavily tattooed than I had initially thought. Flowers, skeletons and cryptic proverbs written in heavy metal fonts comprised the majority of her generally tasteful ink...

But while engaging in surprisingly un-awkward doggy-style, I made a discovery that haunts me to this day. There, emblazoned on her left shoulder blade in burnt orange ink, was the smirking face of none other than John C. Reilly, complete with his Adult Swim catchphrase “FOR YOUR HEALTH.” I stopped, horrified and confused.

As if expecting this, Bernie mumbled, “I'll tell you later,” and I closed my eyes and finished.