On That Drunken Night

dfs

She’s just gone to pop into her room and you’ve stumbled into me, and your hands are in my hair, your lips on mine. My arms knot around your neck, and we sway from side to side.

“Christ,” She mutters, just loud enough for us to hear, “Can’t leave you guys alone for two seconds, can I?”

No, she can’t. Because we’re at this point in our lives where we can’t be trusted to be alone, with booze, and single.

We stumble into my room, and even though you’re drunk, you’re in control. It’s like a high, whenever we do this. You know exactly where to touch, where to kiss, where to be firm, where to be soft.

But I don’t want to fuck you. I don’t want to fuck you when you’re this drunk. It’s held me back before, and it’s holding me back now. I couldn’t put it into words. I could never talk to you, not about this. We never actually talked about anything remotely serious, nothing about ‘us,’ not that there ever really was an ‘us.’ There was just this, when you got drunk enough to find me at or after parties, and I let you every time.

But in the morning, you’re sober, and even though all I want to do is ask you to fuck me, I say nothing when you say you’ve got to get home. I say nothing when you stay for another two hours, talking about books, movies, the friends that have disappointed you. I’m sprawled on the bed in a tank that just barely covers me, hoping you’ll kiss me and from there…from there I could take you to where I want to.

But you don’t. You eventually realize the time. And it’s okay. The night was enough. It was fun. A part of me knows that it will probably be the last time it happens, we’re just in two different places now. So you give me a hug, and walk out the door.

Three years later, and we’re sitting with tea, and once again talking about all the books and movies. You read more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s so nice, the way we flow into these conversations. It’s natural, and easy and light.

Which is why I don’t even try to bring up the questions that I’ve wanted to ask you for so very long.

You briefly mention your girlfriend, and I’ve seen her in pictures. She’s pretty, and you brighten when you mention her. I’m so happy for you.

You say goodbye, and give me another hug. We make the perfunctory statements of keeping in touch, but I know we won’t.

I wish we would, because you’re smart, and funny, and someone I want to be friends with.

The first night you took me back to your place, I was so young, and I was scared. I asked if it could be private. I still haven’t decided if I either shouldn’t have said that, or should have told you why. I had reasons, but they would’ve swayed you away even more. Who wants to get into that deep of shit when they first try to fuck someone?

I feel like it set the tone of everything after that. These are the things I’ve thought about since. I doubt you have.

I want you to be happy. I want you to successful, and to find whatever it is you’re looking for.

After you left, I ordered another pot of tea, and finished a book.

You really wouldn’t have liked it.

On Dirty Minds

fcfd687a63f90d020dac746ce732517d

My friend just sent me a message.

“Hey babe are you a fitted sheet?
Because you’re complicated and hard to manage but I definitely want you on this mattress.
And I don’t mind having to wrestle for it ;)”
-“Ahhh. Omg. I love it.”
“That last bit I made up especially for you!”

There’s an old stereotype that men think about sex every 7-8 seconds.
That would be 8,000 times a day.

Why do we continually think that men are more sexual beings than women? Because

  1. They’re not.
  2. They’re not.
  3. They’re really not.(But, 50 Shades is some bad shit, David)

I’m so grateful to shows like Grace and Frankie which have unapologetically put women’s sexual desires front and center – saying to the world yeah, our libido doesn’t die. We may have to make adjustments based on health and age, but, yeah, this is real and we can be open and honest about it.

My friend and I – same one from above – are both cis women, who, while we fail spectacularly in the ‘getting a guy to actually go home with us’ department, do pretty well in coming up with creative lines that might get them there (I use ‘might’ loosely.) To the point that we recently spent an afternoon coming up with (mostly nerd inspired) pick up lines.

Gems included.

“Daredevil’s not the only one who can perform well with a blindfold on.”

“…Yeah I don’t know if I can handle that Iron Fist.”

“Can I introduce you to Jessica Jones? She’s smart, sassy, super strong, and can really take a pounding.”

(In context of conversation of turn ons….)
“Seriously, can you turn off this faucet?”
“Washington’s not the only swamp that needs draining.”
“I thought you’d be running like a well oiled machine by now.”

My point, beyond revealing just how much we are not going to get laid in the near future, is to say that girls talk about sex all the damn time.
This has nothing to do with pleasing cis, hetero guys, making you want to like us, that you and you alone are making us explode with never before seen cock greed, or that we’re these weird hybrid alien creatures of hormone induced lust.

We are human beings and therefore capable of desire.

Cool? Cool.

 

 

On Bottoming

Why dinosaurs became extinct: 'Okay, I'm on top...now what?'

He was a rebound. He did not know this.

He was cute, one of the few cute guys in our friend group. He did know this.

He was hooking up with somewhere between 2-5 other girls when we were seeing each other (non-exclusively). I don’t know if he knew that I knew this.

He was tall, shaggy hair, and had a more dominant demeanor. He had such a thick accent, which helped.

This didn’t really translate to the sex.

See the problem was that neither of us liked to be on top.

There was one night, after we saw a show, he came up behind me, his arm pinned to my chest, he started to kiss down my neck, pulling my hair to the side.
“That gave me some ideas,” He whispered, and it sent shivers down my spine.

I asked him if he could do that again, the next time, or at least try that same demeanor, and…
Nothing.

God bless him, he would try. I tried, not as much, but would try. But we both just weren’t into it.

A few months in, and I knew he liked me, and I fully admit that I would’ve been more into it, had this not been a big problem.

And I fully admit I was a bit of an asshole about it.

His roommate had recently been broken up with, and he said she’d seen it coming, and so could he.
“The guy started cancelling plans, started drifting away,” It wasn’t a pointed comment, but I was in the beginning stages of doing the exact same thing.

He turned into a monogamist after that. With someone who stated that the sex with him was fan-fucking-tastic.

I understand people who are all about that virgin-til-married life. It’s a scary world out there. To each their own.

But seriously guys, you gotta figure out compatibility. Because that is some real shit that can make or break you.