Part II: Waking Up From Vegas

First things first- If you haven’t read “Part 1: My Perfect Shit Show,” you’re missing out, darling.

I’m writing this week’s Sexcapades post with a tall glass of red wine and a box of See’s chocolates by my side for comfort.

I’m a little hesitant to share my story, but I think it’s an important one to tell.

Part II: Waking Up From Vegas

Last week I presented the question: In your opinion, what constitutes a perfect one-night stand?

Based on my personal experience, I think a strong level of anonymity, intense sexual attraction, safety (no one wants to worry about any mysterious bumps!), and some degree of spontaneity are essential to a perfect one-night stand.

When I left Vegas, I was amazed at how well I covered all those aspects. Some of my most awkward moments during my undergraduate career resulted from awkward run-ins with a one-night stand. Imagine having late-night practice in a shared room with another group that included a really bad drunken hook-up… for a whole quarter. And by bad drunken hook-up I mean one in which the guy left a scribbled thank you note and a Subway cookie in the morning.

So, my shitty evening started with a simple moment of sheer boredom late one random night when my curiosity got the best of me. I thought back to my amazing freakfest in Vegas and I wanted to indulge in my past experience by trying to find a photo of The Boss. With only a first name and a job occupation, I was able to find a picture of the guy who devoured me like no other (don’t judge – Google works wonders.) The Boss was just as I remembered – tall, tan, toned and very attractive. Mmm. My body started to tingle as moments came flashing back to me. I closed my eyes and a flash of his emerald green eyes and his strong hands caressing my thighs flooded my vision.

I HAD to look him up on Facebook. At the time I just wanted to see more pictures of The Boss. I wasn’t hurting anyone and I was only going to look once.  I typed The Boss’s name and company and added the keyword “Facebook” in Google and hit enter.

There he was.

I took a deep breath, bit my lip and clicked the link.

What happened right after is precisely the moment my “perfect one-night stand” turned into my “nightmare.”

I expected to see a photo of The Boss soaking in all his Photoshopped abs of glory but what I saw couldn’t have been farther from that.

Instead of wanting to satisfy my late-night sexual urges, I was staring at a photo of not only The Boss but also an attractive, blonde woman and not one, but two adorable, angelic-looking babies.

My hand immediately clicked on “info” and my increasing fear became compounded upon confirmation that The Boss was married.





The realization that I had slept with a married man who just had two babies with a picture perfect wife hit me hard like a whip to the face.

At first, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I had slept with a married man.

I was now the other woman.

The dirty wrench.

The slutty Vegas girl.

The home-wrecking whore.

I stared at the Facebook photo and I couldn’t stop myself from looking at the innocent emerald eyes of The Boss’s babies.

My breathing became increasingly uneven and spastic. I leapt out of my bed and sprinted to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of opened wine. As I slowly slid down the cabinets onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor, I started crying.

I wanted to numb my mind and body against the horrifying realization that I did the dirty with a man who is husband to a beautiful wife and father to the most adorable kids imaginable. I didn’t want to think about all those times I judged the “other” woman on TV.

I drank my wine too quickly and started choking. As I spat out warm wine onto an old college shirt I was wearing, I slumped onto the floor into a gross fetal position and continued to cry.

I simply hated life. Was he wearing a ring? Did I not notice a ring? Why didn’t he tell me he was married? Did he tell me that he was married? Why wouldn’t he be married? I drank more wine.

The feeling of the kitchen floor’s cold tile against my body was all too similar to the feeling of the bathroom floor’s cold marble and I became disgusted with nauseating nostalgia. I had to get up.

I finished my bottle of wine and dragged my feet back to my bedroom. As I crawled back into bed and pulled the sheets over my face, I could only see the The Boss’s face of sheer delight as he spread my legs and brought me closer to his body. My body shuddered.

I disgusted myself.


It’s been a few weeks since my unfortunate realization and during the time I realized a few important things.

First of all, I learned to never underestimate the power of the Internet. Finding any information, especially personal information, is all too easy these days. More than once, I’ve only told a person my name and a few other details. A quick Google check on myself revealed more than enough personal info. I suggest you try it yourself if you haven’t already.

Most importantly however, I realized that I had to stop wallowing in self-pity.  The incident was in the past and there was nothing I could do to change it except learn and move forward. Demonizing The Boss and yelling victim would only be giving myself a free pass and that’s certainly not true.

This incident made me realize that I was still acting like a naïve college girl hooking up at a random house party. But I’m in the real world now and while there’s nothing wrong with hooking up with someone (we are after all, human) there is definitely a need to understand the consequences and implications. The sexual script I became accustomed to following as a young woman during my time as an undergraduate simply does not work now.

As a freshman I had to quickly learn how to integrate and act in the college dating/hook-up scene and then after a while, all my actions and decisions became second nature. Now as a recent graduate, I am simply learning the hard way that I need to observe and learn a new sexual script in order to navigate this new “real world” society.

It sucks being a freshman again.

Feel free to email me any questions or comments at knottybella [at]

Till then- kiss kiss!

Knotty Bella


P.S. Follow me on Twitter @KnottyBella

(photo via