I used to fuck this guy who was 25 years older than me.

He looked like Bob Dylan in the Positively 4th Street era and he was in a sixties revival band (of course). We spent most of our time shacked up in his house in our underwear. And when I say "house" what I really mean is his bachelor style apartment. For those of you who are unfamiliar with "bachelor" style apartments, I can tell you, it's the lowest on the totem pole of living arrangements. Actually no, lowest on the totem pole would be a card board box, followed by residential hotel, then a bachelor apartment...Basically a bachelor apartment means that you live in one room then you have a tiny little bathroom. You may have a "kitchenette" which is actually just a hot plate on top of a microwave on top of a mini fridge. You then keep your one plate, one fork and one bowl probably in the bathroom sink. You only drink out of things that come in a can or bottle. Speaking of bathrooms, his didn't have a door. So the only thing that kept me from essentially taking a shit in the middle of the living room/bedroom was one of those Mexican blankets you buy at the swap meet nailed into the door frame. At one point, his toilet had broke so I had to take my "post-sex piss" in the street in front of his place in the dark crouched behind the wheel of a car. Needless to say, we got pretty close in the short time we spent together. He also had an old fashion heater right next to his bed, on the side which I slept, so I would wake up periodically in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. I was also paranoid that I would roll over into it in my sleep and burn my flesh off.
Our main activity was lying in bed, in our underwear of course, and he would play the guitar for me for hours and it got to be so annoying that most of the time I would pretend to be asleep. One night in particular he decided to shake things up a bit by trying to get me to smoke heroin...out of a bong. I mean, is that possible? Can you indeed take a "bong rip" of heroin? I don't know about you, but if I'm going to smoke heroin I would want it to be a classier experience. It's gotta be like a Brassai photograph...smoking out of a gold pipe or something. In Paris...in the 1930's.  It was not going to be in some shitty bachelor apartment in my "burger and fry" printed undies wrapped in a bed sheet. However, he made up for the annoying behavior and the holding me captive in his sub-par opium den by fucking me like a mad man. He would give me bladder infections and I didn't even care. I remember numerous times walking all funny back to my place and having to ice my crotch the next day. I guess a 45 year old man has something to prove to a 20 year old girl. Yeah baby, still got it.....

I once fucked this guy who stole my underwear

He looked exactly like Pete Doherty, which drove my initial attraction. I love Pete Doherty. I'd probably let Pete Doherty burn me with a crack pipe. Kinda like Rick James and Tina Marie. Anyway,  he was big and tall and stupid as hell with lots of bad tattoos (it's always interesting to get a heavily tattooed guy naked to find in the mess of everything he's got a flaming "Taz" tattoo or something like that).  Our actual date was pretty substandard. Because he was such a fucking idiot (something I realized within the first 20 minutes) I decided to get really drunk so at least I could make fun of him to his face and he'd just think it was cute and blame the booze.  The highlight of the actual date was making out in one of the booths at my local neighborhood peep show with the dancers cheering us on...one of my earrings fell out and since I was standing in what essentially was a jack shack, I decided to leave it.
We went back to my place and I think I ended up putting on a Pete Doherty record, which he didn't recognize so it ruined it for me a bit. We fucked on my couch and he was the only guy in my life who ever dined and dashed on me because I woke up in the morning alone. As I was trying to pull myself together I realized very quickly that he had stolen the pair of underwear I had been wearing. They were nothing special, just an ugly pair of purple cotton boy shorts with the Eiffel Tower in rhinestones on the ass that said "Paris". I didn't get them in Paris nor have I ever been to Paris, so really, no loss. It was the fact that he took them that was really ridiculous. I imagine him having a pair of undies from every girl he's banged nailed to the wall of his closet, kinda like the stuffed heads of moose and deer in a game room.  He shows his buddies when they come over. "These are my kills"
It's also funny to note that about two weeks later I was vacuuming and I found his fucking underwear wedged in my couch. So wait, did he take mine and wear them home on accident? I mean, we were pretty drunk. And he was a total moron. I displayed them on the living room floor for my roommate to see when she came home. I also believe that I kept them in my underwear drawer for a while. "My kill".
Also funny to note I've seen him on the street riding his bike twice since this happened. Each time I've yelled at him from my car "I want my underwear back".