AnonymousCoworker

Before I start this post, I must remark that I can’t believe I haven’t posted this story before. I feel like I posted it before, but I couldn’t find it in the archives, and it may just seem familiar because of how frequently I’ve told it. It’s one of my favorite stories of all time, and it’s also been published by Cosmo in one of those Cosmo Confessions sections. Of course, they removed all of the funny and interesting bits, which I have restored painstakingly here.

It was December 2001, and it was the first time ACWF had ever met my family. We were at my aunt and uncle’s house, and we were celebrating Christmas early for the benefit of my cousin’s kid, who lives in West Virginia. My uncle had made a big pot of chili for dinner, and everyone had finished eating by the time we arrived. It was probably about 6:30 or so.

This was the first time ACWF had met my extended family, and because I’m a horrible person, it was also her first time meeting my immediate family as well. What can I say? I’m a douchebag.

Because my dad’s a nice guy, he helped relieve some tension by doing shots of Maker’s Mark and Knob Creek with ACWF and my uncle. After about 30 minutes they were all pretty well lubricated, and ACWF was developing quite a case of the munchies. In fact, I think her exact words were, “Dude! You know what would be good right now? Food!”

My uncle served us some chili, and as a joke he brought over a bottle of Dave’s Insanity Sauce. (At that time, Dave’s Insanity Sauce was the hottest hot sauce on the market. Since then Dave has made 2 or 3 sauces that are even hotter.) ACWF and I are fans of spicy food, but I knew from tales of my uncle how hot this sauce could be, so I approached the matter with great care and concern, and let a few small drops fall from the bottle into the chili. ACWF, drunk as an Irishman on “National Irish Drinking Day” (or Tuesday, as they like to call it) shook the hot sauce on like it was ketchup.

“Uh, that stuff’s pretty hot. I’d be careful with it,” says I.
“Meh. I like hot stuff, and I can’t take it out of the chili now,” slurs she.

We stirred up our chili and took a bite. I waited for the steam to burst from my ears and the fire to shoot from her mouth, but it never came. It wasn’t bad, actually, so we each went back for another bite. Apparently the Insanity sauce has some sort of prankster’s artificial intelligence, because after the second bite we noticed a change in our demeanor. I can’t speak for ACWF, but I can say honestly that I was in such pain from the sauce that stomach actually tried to leap sideways from my body, and I could momentarily see through time.

My uncle was laughing hysterically like some type of maniac leprechaun, “I can’t believe you ate that much hot sauce! I only use one drop for an entire pot of chili!”

Everybody gathered around to offer their ideas for a cure. We ate bread and crackers, tried ice and water, even went so far as to eat huge chunks of cheese. Nothing was working, and 20 minutes later my mouth hurt as much as it did initially. I was contemplating going through life as a sweaty, red-faced freak until I remembered that milk can been used to cool the heat of hot sauce. Something about acids and bases. We each swigged (swug?) a glass of milk and the pain diminished slightly. It was as if the grip of the hot sauce on our tongues and throats had weakened, and suddenly the crackers began to work as well. Crackers & cheese were our only companions for the next hour or so, unless you also count pain, loss of vision, vertigo, lactating nipples, and hallucinations.

After a while the party began to wrap up, the pain had subsided considerably, and we could taste some basic flavors again. We decided to head back to ACWF’s house. When we got there we brushed our teeth to get rid of any lingering traces of hot sauce, and then made a run to the liquor store in order to numb what pain remained. It was probably about 10pm.

We got back to ACWF’s house and broke into the beers. We settled into comfortable positions and whiled away the time watching bad horror movies and cartoons. After the beers were gone we were both feeling “romantically inclined” so we started fooling around. ACWF, never one to disappoint, started with some oral sex, and everything was again right with the world. Sort of. After a few moments something didn’t feel right, so I suggested that we just switch to regular old intercourse.

After a few minutes of that ACWF looked at me and said, “This feels weird.” Typically if a woman said that, I’d be insulted. Up until that point I had pleased hundreds of thousands of women (or, two) and I’d never had any complaints of thing feeling weird. However, this time I agreed. We stopped for a moment while trying to figure out what could be the issue when the burning suddenly became so intense that I felt like my wang was being plasma-welded to her hoohah. I leaped from her bed and made a dash to the bathroom.

It was while I was rinsing my dangly bits in the sink that the pain cleared my drunken fog, and I realized that my current schlong-frying experiencing was quite similar to the pain I’d had on my tongue a few hours before.

I dashed from the bathroom and grabbed a wash cloth on my way out. I stopped in the kitchen long enough to pour myself a cup of milk, and then I went back downstairs to ACWF’s room. I soaked her wash cloth in the milk, handed it to her, and then dunked my fiery bits into the cool, refreshing liquid. I’ve been told that the wash cloth was quite soothing.

We’ve never had sex after eating hot food since then.

Epilogue: Approximately five hours had passed since we’d eaten the hot sauce, ACWF had brushed her teeth, we had eaten lots of food, and we had drank lots of liquids. Even after all of that, ACWF was still able to burn herself with two degrees of separation from the original hot sauce (sauce to mouth = no separation; mouth to wang= 1 degree separation; wang to hoohah = 2 degrees separation). So be careful out there ladies and gentlemen. You never know when what you have for dinner will crawl into your coochie and start a campfire. A white-hot campfire blazing with the intensity of a thousand suns.

P.S. Tea works incredibly well at reducing the burn of hot foods. Something about the tea helps lift the oil off the tongue and thusly reduce the heat. Try it.

P.P.S. When Cosmo published this story (August 2004, I think), it read like this:

“One time my beau and I were having some spicy chili for dinner. We were so hot for each other that during dinner we couldn’t control ourselves, so we headed straight for the bedroom. I started to go down on him when he yelped and ran to the bathroom. Apparently my mouth was still hot from the chili.”

Yes, this is how they condensed the story I just told you. What the fuck? If there was ever any evidence that the writers and editors at Cosmo are retarded sea-monkeys, you now have your proof.