Sally Eastman

When it comes to sex, everyone has fears. Fears that last well after the first-time awkwardness passes. Even the well-trained and highly practiced pros have fears. Fears of size, performance, noises, tendencies and the always incredibly scary fear of "how do I look naked?" For many of us the fear of appearing fat sets in just as the first layer of clothing starts to come off. For me, reality hit like a ton of bricks--or a porcelain sink. It was a costume party and I was dressed as a skeleton, decked out in bones and lifeless-looking makeup. The drinking began, and I did more than my share. The party continued and I spotted him, my crush of several months. We talked, and it must have gone well because things progressed quickly. Since bedrooms were either locked or occupied, we did the next best thing and took to the bathroom.

How romantic.

A look around the tiny bathroom, and I did some quick thinking. Attempting to be sexy and seductive, I hopped up onto the sink, and we began again. Minutes later I felt my body sliding off the sink that was now tilted at an angle, and my feet hit the floor. The sink had actually become detached from the wall, pipes were exposed and water was now shooting out from the wall. My crush, now freaking out, and yelling at me, held the sink in both hands to prevent the whole thing from crashing to the floor, his pants at his ankles. I have never felt fatter in my entire life.

There I stood in all my glory, half-skeleton costume, the once black-and-white zombie makeup that had now run together resulting in a smear of grey covering my face, and a ceramic sink that I managed to rip out of the wall with my own body weight. It was my job to get help. I squeezed between his body and the sink. I could not bring myself to admit to the catastrophe that had just occurred. I downed another drink, or five, and rejoined the party. By the time I awoke the next morning everyone had cleared out. The sink had been propped up by a stepladder and all of the water in the apartment had been shut off. Still unwilling to fess up to the incident, I pretended to act as shocked as my friends as we gathered around the bathroom to assess the damage.

Questions of my night's escapades began to arise, and as my friends pressed further into what had happened between the crush and I, we simultaneously saw the empty condom wrapper on the bathroom floor. All eyes turned to me, then the sink, then back to me. I had been found out. The worst was trying to explain to the landlord what had happened, and why my ass was sitting on the sink in the first place.

He then lectured me on how a sink is not made to hold weight of such proportion.

(2007-02-06)

Also by Sally Eastman

about Newcitychicago | about Newcity magazine | advertising | privacy policy | FAQ | employment