Free Bare Bones by Bobby Bones Page B

while having sex.
    On the big night, I implemented some of my learning and was, as they say, going down on Farah when all of a sudden, I tasted blood. That brought things to an abrupt halt, as you might imagine.
    â€œBobby, your nose is bleeding!” she said.
    For my entire life, I always got nosebleeds when I was in warm situations. I remember waking up as a kid with blood all over my pillow if it was too humid. But to have a nosebleed during my first sexual act when already I had no idea what I was doing? I was so embarrassed. I had thought it was her. But it wasn’t; it was me .
    I have had no shortage of mortifying experiences in my life, but this was hands-down the worst, even worse than the wrestling boner. I was every word for embarrassed that you can think of. I mean, even writing about it now makes me feel sorry for me. I was so embarrassed that I could have easily left and never talked to Farah again. Luckily for me, Farah was way more mature and refused to let that be our last moment together. Still, I couldn’t fool around with her for a long time for fear that I’d mess it up again. Eventually, somehow she convinced me to relax, and at the age of twenty-two (you read that right!) I finally lost my virginity. I could make some joke about it “being the best six seconds of her life,” but that would be too easy. And probably not much of a joke at all.
    Farah and I didn’t last. (But why? you’re thinking. You were such a stud!) The truth is that I didn’t want to commit, which, as you will read, is the story of my life. She went on to become the successful professional and incredible mom I knew she would. And me? Well . .  . I’m still single.
    I wish I could say that I got better with more experience when it came to women, but my next girlfriend inspired another lackluster performance on my part. Samantha (fake name alert #2), a teacher who was a few years older than me, lived in the same apartment complex that I did my senior year of college. A tall brunette with an athletic build, she came from an affluent family and had graduated from one of the rich-kid high schools near mine. She was really pretty and had money—all of it was way too good for me. Samantha was completely out of my league, but I wore her down over months and months and months and months.
    Farah did improve my confidence, in that I learned that if I could just get a girl to pay attention to me, I could get her to like me. The trick is getting them to pay attention, because when I walk into a bar, girls aren’t bowled over by my good looks. The only thing that I have is a combination of wit and self-deprecating charm.
    So after months of badgering her with my amazing wit, Samantha finally agreed to go out with me and eventually became Bobby Estell’s second official girlfriend. But after dating for a while, she wound up moving back to her hometown, which was an hour and fifteen minutes away. Now, when you’re a twenty-two-year-old college student, an hour and fifteen minutes might as well be South Korea.
    There didn’t seem any other answer than to break up, which we did. But after a few weeks of being apart, I decided I had made a mistake. I wanted Samantha back and knew exactly how to do it: the grand romantic gesture. I didn’t have money for jewelry (heck, I barely had money for gas), so I did the next best thing and wrote her a song. Although I can’t remember the words now, I spent a good few hours on the song, which I called “Let’s Get Back Together.” Subtle.
    I put my guitar in the car and took off for her house on a Thursday, thinking that if she took me back we’d go out on Friday night. When I got into her driveway, I was excited to perform my love song. I knocked on her door, my guitar in one hand and a rose in the other. Perfect.
    Samantha, who had no idea it was me outside, opened the door. And when she did I was the one taken off guard,