Ryan O'Connell knows my life.

It is possible to occasionally sleep with your friend without it turning into some big ol’ thing. Why is there such intense debate about this? Why did Hollywood have to poop out two identical movies that explore this STRANGE and TWISTED phenomenon known as, “friends with benefits”? “OMG,” a fearful woman screams. “Is it true? Can you REALLY sleep with someone and not want to have 10,000 of their babies afterwards?” Yes. Friend sex is tricky but it can work on a case by case basis. I would just advise that the person you’re boning not be your best friend and that you only have sex sporadically. There. Bingo. Now you can sleep with most of your friends!

--Ryan O'Connell

Nail. Head. Bang bang bang. (Hahaha all of those are euphemisms for sex.)

The problem comes not with casual sex in and of itself, but with people who engage in casual sex without exercising the prudence that it, just like ANY OTHER behavior, merits.

It becomes clearer that this is a misguided reaction when you realize this: when someone gets burned in dating/love/Relationships, (outside of the idiosyncratic college age bracket,) you are much less likely to hear, “OMG love sucks. You should try sleeping around. That works out A LOT better.” So much less likely!

--Choosing Pancakes

This whole post, really. 

I have decided to stop attempting to involve myself with [name-redacted]

Yes, unfortunately, I am referring to the world-rocking man I've referenced a couple of times recently. It's time to place him in a different category in my head: guy I slept with (past tense) rather than guy I am casually sleeping with. That latter category might have been presumptuous on my part from the beginning, though in my defense he did all but offer me the d on a silver platter.

None of my attempts at bluntness since have been fruitful, though. He usually chalks chalked it up to timing: he goes to sleep absurdly early during the week, and by the time my thesis and show were over, it was final project crunch time for him. That's fine. Having radically different schedules is unfortunate, but what are you going to do? Then I invited him to come to the open bar and dancing part of Houseparties last weekend--before you read into that, I saw this as an opportunity to get a little tipsy, have someone to dance with all night, and then keep the party going back in my room, if you catch my drift. And he agreed to that, but then had to cancel and felt the need to send me a long and detailed explanation of why, along with an invitation to have lunch. "Lunch" is not something included in the kind of arrangement I was trying to craft with him, so I replied that what he needed to do was "more important than drinking and dancing and other things with me. Don't feel the need to explain or make up for it." 

Maybe that was abrasive? He didn't respond, but it didn't really call for a response, so I didn't think twice about it. Then I texted him yesterday afternoon to see if he was going to Senior Pub Night, and if he'd like to come over afterwards...no response. 

And some of you, if you're like KS, are probably wondering what's so egregious about any of this. Nothing, really. He didn't do anything. We haven't interacted in any way besides text for almost a month, besides very briefly running into each other at the student center with a group of mutual friends about three weeks ago.

So what's wrong? I don't like always being the one to try to initiate. It makes me feel kind of like I'm begging for it. I like even less that this is rarely successful. Even if it's all circumstantially unsuccessful, as he has claimed, I think I'm still new enough to this casual thing that I feel like I'm putting a little of myself on the line each time I reach out to him. Even a circumstantial rejection carries a bit of disappointment with it, even in just that I got myself excited about the possibility of something that's not going to happen. It would be different if sometimes he reached out to me, but that hasn't been the case (re-enter begging feeling). Not being responded to at all yesterday made me feel undesirable, and I think that as a general rule of life, I should not try to sustain involvement with anyone who can make me feel that way, even unintentionally.

So I want to be done with whatever I was trying to sustain. Thinking with my head and not my nether regions didn't particularly work to keep me from involving myself with him the first time, though, and I'm unsure that I'd be able to resist if the situation presented itself again, knowing exactly how damn good what I'd be giving up is. Perhaps if I could make myself fully let go of any expectations of repetition, it could happen. #AmIweakwilledorjusthorny? Le sigh.

(KS suggested that I should just get it from somewhere else without giving up on this if I feel like he's not available enough for my needs. #Iwishitwerethateasy. Monogamy on my end is an unfortunate condition of my life, not a circumstance I'm actively working to create.)   

D.O.D. [Updated]

Dick on demand. It's an interesting development to have in one's life, and I seem to be developing it in my own. 

I'm trying to figure out how it works. How do I refer to this? We're friends, I suppose. He is someone I have been friendly, at least, with for a few years. Does that make us friends with benefits? I feel like, ideally, a friend with benefits should be a closer friend than this. Like, a person you would hang out with on an one-on-one level and are also sleeping with. Me sitting here wanting to text him to see if he wants to come over feels more like we're fuck buddies.

...What exactly is the difference? 

UrbanDictionary will tell us!

Friends with benefits: 1) Two friends who have a sexual realtionship without being emotionally involved. Typically two good friends who have casual sex without a monogomous relationship or any kind of commitment. 2) two fairly close, or very close friends have the hots for one another. they do have some sort caring for one another, but it is not one of a romantic couple. 3) Two very good friends that share in sexual acts with eachother with no emotional connection or boyfriend-girlfriend label. Just engaging in the act of sex for fun.

Those all sound well and good except for the "typically two good friends" "fairly close, or very close friends" "very good friends" parts. Let's see what it says for fuck buddy: 

1) A sex partner to whom you have no special attachment. A person you occasionally have sex with who is not your S.O. 2) A person who is not your boyfriend or girlfriend (or farmyard animal), with whom you have sexual relations, on the mutual understanding that you both want sex and nothing more. Strictly, for the term 'fuck buddy' to apply, both people involved have to be single. 3) All the benefits of being in a relationship minus the bullshit like not doing enough for Valentine's Day or her birthday, not spending 3 months salary on a stupid ring, and not spending enough quality time with her. 4) The excellent arrangement of a good friend of the opposite sex (or same sex if you so want) who you can fuck hard and long as long as you both shall want, but without the strings attached so you can go and happily hang out together as friends and have a laugh together (or not see one another for another 4 weeks) rather than go through all the pointless crap of forking out your hard-earned cash for valentine's day or bitching about each other's annoying habits in public or being dragged away from your friends to spend quality time with one another (or do the washing up) or the "I wuv you - I wuv you too!" bullshit.

(Number four included just for the lolz.) 

This is somewhat clarifying, but my soph friends who are currently in the Large Library agree with me that FWBs are people with whom one would hang out as friends. I would like some clarification as to whether this means one with whom you would hang out with INDIVIDUALLY as friends or like, in a group as friends, because that is highly relevant to my situation, but hey. 

The point of this post is that whatever this is, beside yay I'm having good sex...I don't know how it works. So he said that when I want to sleep with him, to bluntly tell him that. When can I do that? What time of the day? Only in the wee hours of the morning? How frequently? Should one or both of us have been drinking before? Are there rules?

Can the rule be try it and see what works? I like that philosophy.

[UPDATE: Wee hours of the morning is not a good look. It wasn't even 1AM when I texted him last night to see if he wanted to come over, and he texted me back at 8AM saying he'd been asleep already. Soooooo, that's not gonna work, haha. I'm mad I sat around waiting for it to feel "late enough" and missed my chance. My best friend from middle school is visiting today/tonight, so now I either have to try again on a school night or wait a whole week! Ugh.] 

Excerpts from post-coital conversation last night

Him: That was amazing...
Me: Why'd you make me wait so long to do this again? I tried to get you to come over last week, and you were all, 'This week has been crazy...'
Him: Oh, that's what you were trying to do? Next time, say, '[name redacted], Come over. Come have sex with me.' I'm not an idiot..."
Me: *laughs* Okay, next time I'll be blunt. 
Him: But I feel kind of weird about it, too. You're a good friend of mine. 
Me, in my head: Under no circumstances would I have called us that, but continue...
Him, uninterrupted: It's like you having sex with [name redacted]
Me: Ew, why did you have to bring him up?
Him: or me having sex with [name redacted].
Me: *laughs hysterically at the idea that this could ever happen*
Him: See what I mean?
Me: *turns to face him, puts serious face on* No. This is what I see. I like having sex. I really like having sex with you. I see no problems.
Him: *pauses for a moment* I like thinking about it like that. I'm being stupid...


 

That time I nearly didn't recognize someone I'd slept with.

So KS and I were walking down Prospect after dinner yesterday as two large athletic-looking White guys walked towards us, presumably on their way to another club for dinner. One of them looked kind of familiar to me, and it wasn't until we'd almost passed each other that I realized he hadn't been in a random precept with me or something, but he was in fact the random White guy I hooked up with in December. I'd never known his last name to begin with, so it shouldn't surprise me that I didn't instantly recognize him for who he was -- in fact, that I might not have recognized him at all had he not been wearing the same sweatshirt he was wearing that night -- but it's still quite strange. I hate that this thought is even in my head, but it's there so I might as well write it: I never thought I'd be "that girl". But here I am. And my only regret is that comparatively speaking to last weekend, hooking up with this guy (whom KS and I have jokingly begun to refer to as "White Jay," which bears no relationship to his actual first name but is just hilarious) wasn't that great.

Daphne Brooks referred to Eartha Kitt as "shamelessly shameless" in class on Monday, and I think that's going to be my new motto.

Passing him and feeling nothing more than "ah, I'm glad I figured out how I know him" is intellectually interesting to me, though. KS was livid that I didn't point out who our sidewalk-mate was until after he'd passed so he couldn't get a good look at him, though my defense--that I hadn't realized who it was until the moment I said something--was pretty unfalsifiable. KS then commented about how we didn't even acknowledge each other, which made me wonder if he'd recognized me, though I suppose look pretty different outside of my Santa hat and club clothes (or, really, with my clothes on at all, because I suppose that the majority of our interaction outside of the darkness of the dance floor involved general nudity and fun-having). It was just a brief wondering, though, and then all of my interest in this non-interaction ceased.

Now I'm wondering if that overwhelming disinterest should come so easily to me, though I can think of no reason to be invested in him whatsoever. 

If KS were reading this, I feel like he'd tell me I treat sex like such a guy sometimes. Which I guess just means I like it and am unafraid to admit or act upon that, and don't need someone whispering sweet nothings into my ear to get off. And I resent that gender normativity. ...But I still wonder if having no real opinion about running into him is healthy. 

Ugh, I can't wait til this thesis business is finished so I can get back to all of my sex-and-sexuality reading. I just bought The Ethical Slut, which will maybe help me with questions like this.

I've never quite felt as physically worshipped as I did this weekend.

I realized Saturday exactly how much I like being complemented on my body. I realize now that that sounds incredibly shallow, but *typical low self-esteem issues* I just got used to accepting it when people tell me I’m “beautiful” or “sexy” pretty recently. It still kind of floors me when people pick individual things, especially little things, to comment on.

 The guy I slept with Saturday (and want to sleep with again as soon as possible--I’m not even gonna front) started off of a good, but common foot with the body compliments—le boobies. They were “even better than [he’d] imagined them.” Sunday morning, we’d been kissing for an eternity when he pulled back all of a sudden and just sort of looked at me. He stroked my right cheek and told me he loves the mole I have there. That made me smile, which prompted him to talk about the gap between my front teeth, and that he thinks it’s beautiful. He asked me in this little teasing voice how I’d gotten it before kissing me again. (Side note: my ex had a thing for my gap too. He used to like to stick his tongue between it. I suppose it’s a cute thing about me? *shrugs*)

Later in the morning he had flipped me over and was kissing his way down my back when he paused and ran his hands up and down my backside, saying that he loves the arch where my ass rises from my lower back. And all night/morning he kept saying how “blessed” I was in the T&A departments.

This guy is a really smooth talker, if you couldn’t tell, but I still really appreciated hearing that.

He also liked more than just my body--the first thing he said upon walking into my room, as I was making excuses for the less than tidy state, was "xkcd? Could you be more perfect?"

*swoon*

And if all of that wasn't enough, let. Me. TELL. you. No one has ever come close to putting it on me like he put it on me. No one has ever made me feel the things he made me feel or say the things he made me say or enjoy the things I enjoyed with him. Everything about all three of our encounters throughout the night/morning felt so natural and right and glorious and freeing. I felt like this was supposed to be happening. I felt like almost every other sexual encounter of my life had been a waste of my time. I'd never known pleasure like this. I felt totally spent, completely satisfied. And none of the problems I usually have were present or relevant at all.

I wasn't trapped in my head. I felt as far out of my head and into my body as I've ever felt. I felt like I knew what I was doing and like I was good at it. I felt so comfortable in his arms, or with him in mine. I wasn't worried about my body (probably not unrelated to all of the aforementioned commentary). I TALKED. We had whole conversations while we were kissing, and I was so open with him. We talked about everything from my sexual orientation and the fact that his (female) ex and I want to hook up with each other to what past guys who've had the privilege of interacting with them have said about my boobs to how neither of us had ever had an experience that wonderful before.

I more than talked. I moaned. More than my usual little "Mmmm"s, the likes of which could come from eating a particularly delicious piece of food or getting a massage or whatever, I MOANED. I said his NAME, which I never thought would be something I was comfortable enough doing. I even talked a little dirty. Expletives were involved, which is also something I've never done before. I told him when I wanted him to be more or less gentle, that I wanted to be spanked, that it was okay to have his hands on my head while I was blowing him but that it was not okay to push my head lower on his dick--I would get there myself. I was assertive and confident and just...I felt so free. I felt like this is how sex is SUPPOSED to be. 

He stayed the night and we cuddled and we held each other and he very pleasantly woke me up the next morning and after kissing for a long time and telling each other how we felt like we could stay in bed doing nothing but this all day, we had a third round that was just as amazing despite our like, 3-ish hours of sleep and then kept making out til he had to go have brunch with his roommates.

I hopped in the shower and immediately began contemplating how long it was appropriate to wait before letting him know I wanted to do it again. All the time.  Legitimately every day til graduation if he was down. 

We'll see what happens.   

Contrary to what I said a few days ago,

sex is evidently NOT the one thing I really wanted for my birthday, because a somewhere-between-acquaintance-and-friend of mine came to celebrate my birthday with me, proceeded to finish the last few shots of a bottle of cake vodka straight from the bottle after he was already drunk because we'd just won two games of three-on-three beirut (which some of you may inaccurately refer to as "beer pong"), walked me home, and then asked if I wanted him to come in, and I sent him home. He's slightly taller than me, not unattractive, and I've known him since I was a freshman. But as soon as he started getting flirty last night, I started repeating a little mantra in my head: 'Do not sleep with ****.' 

The question is, why? 

1. Okay, well, he used to date a friend of mine. And before you say that that obviously hasn't stood in my way before, I mean with a good friend of mine, and it ended badly, rather than with an acquaintance who later became a friend and after a situation that ended at least somewhat harmoniously. And he had a weird interaction with the good friend of mine whom he used to date once last year after getting similarly drunk at an open bar at Quad and from what she told me was kind of harassing her. And he may have been in a relationship then, because he was dating a girl seriously enough to be sharing a car with her when I ran into him on the train like a month later. (Hmm. There may not need to be more reasons after this, but I will continue anyway.)
2. I once hooked up (though only 2 bases worth) with his current roommate, who had also been at my little birthday celebration, but left before he started getting all touchy-feely. But feelings had actually been involved in that hookup, and I wouldn't want the guy I didn't do anything with to brag to the guy I did stuff with, because though we were never anything but friends, guy-I-did-stuff-with matters to me.  Though attractive somewhere-between-friend-and-acquaintance is like, the perfect level of knowing someone to develop a buddy, which is not unappealing to me at this time, I'm just uncomfortable at the idea of becoming involved in any way with roommates, particularly roommates for whom my level-of-caring-about differs so greatly.
3. There was neither pretense of romance or lust. In the past, I have been fine with one or the other leading to sex, but just we're both drunk and we're both single is insufficient reasoning. I'm not necessarily against doing something just because it's there, but...idk. It just didn't feel right in this case (though this was heavily influenced by reasons 1 and 2). Changing the terms of a relationship is a tricky situation, and I felt no need to introduce sex into ours, I suppose. I have learned that I can be physically intimate with people I am emotionally intimate with, either in the course of romantic relationships or friendships that won't be complicated by seeing the person often, and that I can be physically intimate with someone with whom I have no emotional connection at all, but anywhere between these sections of the spectrum is dangerous territory, it seems. In retrospect, it almost seems like he felt entitled to hooking up with me because I have established a capacity for casual sex, and no one is entitled to the wonder that is me but me. Forever fact. 

Anyway, five minutes after I'd sent him home, I was opening YouPorn and preparing for a little private birthday fun with The Conqueror and wondering why I didn't let him stick around to be part of it...but when I put it like this, that wondering ceases and I'm glad I don't lose my ability to be rational and make smart decisions when I've been drinking for hours. Important life skills ftw.

Question for furthering pondering that this analysis prompts: I have firm beliefs about which practices constitute safe sex from a physical standpoint. Should I establish a similar set list of situations/things that constitute safe sex from a personal (or even emotional) standpoint? I conceptualize overall safety in more ways than just physical...thus it seems like I should conceptualize other things for which I have developed specific ways of being safe in terms of more things than just the physical too. Does that make sense? This was a situation in which I was uncomfortable hooking up, and I want to think more about other such situations. To a hypothetical better understanding of safe sex! 

"I guess one shouldn't make one-night stands a habit,"

K said, after I detailed my adventures from last night. 

Adventure summary: 

So, let's start by saying that (after a USPS faux-pas in which my costume, which was supposed to be here by Thursday, and is stuck in purgatory the post office in town) I was wearing my shortest freakum dress (which is luckily partially red, and thus appropriately festive) and four inch studded stiletto pumps; I might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "Fuck me, puh-lease" in flashing red and green letters. And one of my closest gay friends was drunk as shit and after a game of beruit, I started the night off by dancing with him as nastily as I've danced with anyone, while he fondled my breasts through my dress and detailed how he wished I made him hard because I'm so fucking hot and he wishes he could fuck me. And then I went outside with a few other scantily clad girls to ask random passerby if they were feeling naughty or nice, and inviting them to come inside and be naughty with us. So that should give you a good idea of the mood I was in.

Anyway, so I was on the dance floor getting my groove on, minding my own business, trying not to awkward dance near people who are dancing together, and then he came up beside me and did a little like, hip bump, which made me laugh, and quickly turned into us like, backwards grinding, ass to ass for the rest of whatever song was playing. When guys have done that with me before, it has led absolutely nowhere, so I'll admit I was a bit surprised when I turned around and cautiously backed it up, and he was right there ready to actually grind me with. 

So we're grinding or whatever, and I'm pushing back on him and he's leanin up on me and I realize that this is a BIG dude, because I'm a little over 6'1" in those heels and he still had inches on me. And when the first song changes, we blend seamlessly into the next, and the next, and eventually his hands start roaming, sometimes to find mine to hold them while we dance, sometimes to run up and down my thighs/torso/chest. He surprised me with an over-the-dress boob-squeeze, which actually caused me to arch my back and moan audibly. He held my hand and started to raise my arm up, and I caught his drift and moved my hand to the back of his neck, both giving myself more leverage and, according to some blog I read once, exercising the universal dance floor sign for I want you tonight. At some point, he decided to make his move and very delicately kissed the back of my neck. He moved from there to my shoulder, up the side of my neck, and finally started to nibble on my earlobe, and I was done. The safety was off and all hell was officially allowed to break loose: I stopped giving a shit about how high my dress was riding up (my friend Kelsey actually came over and reached her hand between my legs to pull it back down, because evidently I was trying to give the whole room a show) and started bending over to grind on him with my hands around my ankles.

When he starts kissing my neck again, I make my move and turn around to face him so I can kiss him properly, and tentative kisses turn into more ravenous kisses with a quickness. (Remember that at this point, I don't even know dude's name.) We alternate between grinding and making out, and he wins further cool points when the DJ plays Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" and I start rapping and homeboy jumps right in--he knew all the words! (Any White guy that knows 90s rap has gained awesome points in my book. Oh, yeah, did I mention he's White?) As the DJ wound down from the last song, I turned to face him to ask him name and tell him mine. We stayed through Pianoman (as a ritual, my eating club ends every night by singing Billy Joel's Pianoman in a circle) and he knew all the words to Pianoman as well, and had no problem joining the circle. At that point, I had basically decided I was going to take him home with me. (As C said when I told him this later; he was obviously a keeper if he Pianomanned with us that well.)

But I realize that I have no idea how to tell this guy I just met that I want to keep this going past the party. He goes to the bathroom and I run upstairs to get my coat, and I go back downstairs and he's lingering, so I start talking to some friends, and then he makes his way over towards me and sort of nods in my direction and I smile and say bye to my friends and start walking towards the door, making sure he's right behind me. We get out the door and his jacket-less self starts commenting on how cold it is, and I use this insertion of normal conversation to ask a few questions about him: year, major, where he's from. He was with a friend inside, and I'm wondering whether we're waiting for that friend or standing here for no reason when he kisses me again, and we make out for a long time in the cold in front of my club before I decide to accelerate this process, and I grab his hand and start walking. 


On our way down the street, we pass the guy he'd been with earlier, who isn't looking all too hot, and he stops to talk to his friend. He looks like he needs to be taken home, or perhaps even to Health Services, and in my officer-of-an-eating-club's-responisibility-mode, I suggested that we could get him taken care of before we went about our impending business, but he waved us off. [I'm guessing that it's written somewhere in guy code that a true friend never cockblocks, even when he needs help.] So we left him somewhat reluctantly, and M (which is how dude will be referred to for the rest of this post) extends him arm for me to link mine through as we walk. He asks where I live, and I say we're going to Edwards, and we chitchat about our majors and plans for the future and whatnot while we walk. 


We get back to my room and the first comment out of his mouth is about how high my bed is, so I guess there was no mistaking what was about to go down. I take off my coat and shrink out of my heels, and he kicks off his shoes and throws his sweatshirt in the chair, and suddenly we're making out again and he's walking me backwards to my bed. (Shoutout to that awkward moment when he's laying you down and you feel something cool and rubbery under your hand and realize you left your hot pink vibrator out in your bed, and quickly shove it between the wall and the bed, hoping he didn't notice.) I'll gloss over all the details, but despite some technical difficulties in the beginning, I was left incredibly satisfied. It was pretty vanilla, but he was wonderful with his hands, and after I teased him by focusing on myself he gave it to me right. Afterwards I directed him to the bathroom and he called the friend we'd kind of abandoned earlier, to learn that he was basically incoherent and had thrown up a few times, and so after talking about how much of a compelling argument I was providing to stay (even though verbally I was telling him to go play hero), he eventually left many many more kisses to go save his friend. 

So I, uh, went to the online roster of the sport he plays to figure out his last name this morning (shameful, I know) and friend requested him on Facebook. We'll see if anything comes of this...


...but I think the reason I wanted to talk about this, besides the fact that I generally allude or refer directly to my sex life often on le blog, and the fact that K thinks this is particularly interesting because "when do you ever hear about White guys hooking up with Black girls on The Street?" (which I think happens fairly often, but anyway), is that not having known his last name when I fucked him is the only thing I really feel any shame about with regard to this entire situation. Even if nothing happens, and M doesn't accept my friend request or we otherwise never interact again, I'm pretty sure I'll have no regrets. I have none now, because there was absolutely no emotional connection. It was really just I'm horny + you're into me = we can make this work for both of us. 


I like, am wondering whether I'm okay with how comfortable I am with the fact that I slept with a stranger. The sociologist in me is all, No Maya, you've only been socialized by a hating-ass patriarchal society to believe this isn't acceptable behavior, and you should be glad you've embraced yourself as a responsible sexual being, but still, I wonder. Me from as little a six months ago wouldn't recognize me from last night, and would be highly judgmental. But I don't see anything destructive or morally wrong with what I'm doing. It's...interesting, I guess, how your thoughts on things can change with experience. It's also funny how much the name we give something affects our reactions to it: "one-night stand" sounds so foul, whereas "hookup" is perfectly normalized.

The compliment you never quite believe...

but which makes you feel simultaneously slutty and proud, like you've mastered a ridiculously important life skill that only a privileged few should ever know about: 

"that was like, the best blowjob ever." (Y'all don't need to know who said it.)

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

PS: Scratch-resistant lenses prove to be a good investment when you lose your glasses in the heat of the moment, legit can't find them for half an hour after, and eventually discover they're halfway under the minifridge with a smudge or two, but not a scratch on them. #winning  

Surprises from men I know:

So it seems as though the decision I came to late Tuesday night has been negated, and this time it's NOT the result of my chronic inability to make up my mind about anything. He gchatted me this evening and asked if I had a minute, which usually means he wants to have a real conversation (as opposed to a hey-how-are-you-blah-small-talk conversation), and I had a feeling he wanted to talk about this even though he told me to not let him talk about it til the weekend (Thursday is basically the weekend, I guess). But the first thing out of his mouth once I confirmed that I did, indeed, have a minute, was that he wanted to veto the idea. And I was surprised because what man turns down the chance to get laid with no strings attached he seemed down when we were talking the other day, but seemingly before I could even process it, my fingers typed "that's fine". And while in my head I was thinking, 'Man it's gonna be hella awkward when he reads the post where I decided I wanted to,' I was actually the most disappointed by losing this opportunity to start the crazy college days I was supposed to be having for the past three years. I think what I realized as soon as he said that was that I'd come up with a lot of "there's not really any reason not to," and that didn't translate exactly into an I wanted to. I want this threesome that's not going to happen; I wasn't opposed to a consolation prize. And I'm ready for a lot of things, but settling for a delicate situation shouldn't ever be one of them. And I don't know why he vetoed it, and maybe I won't ever know, but while I certainly wouldn't call this a pleasant surprise...I certainly don't feel like I've lost anything either. 

And while I was gchatting with him, my best friend from home whom I've felt very distant from recently called me to ask if he could come over. Having basically accepted the fact that I wasn't going to see him again before I left for campus on Saturday morning, I was so surprised to be hearing from him that I stopped to ask if he was okay. He came over and warned me that he might be smelly from work, but I buried myself into him at the front door like I always do and he came in and sat at my kitchen table and teased my little brother while I made him Grape Kool-Aid (it's his favorite), and everything felt normal again. We talked about how school is scaring me a little this year, his new job, how he's scared he doesn't actually want to do anything with his degree, his family's ongoing move, how he wants to get his own place by December, things we'd done together in the past, things we wish we could do together in the near future, weird/interesting things we've watched recently...there were a few lulls, but he and I have had those since we were 13. My mom used to tease us because we'd sit on the phone "listening to one another breathe." Maybe I was expecting the worst when really he's just been busy and my visit home this time was really bad timing. Maybe we just say these things and that the time between now and the next time we'll see each other is too long to keep up the appearance that we still need each other. Maybe it doesn't matter, as long as we keep saying them.  

He told me to blog about this

so I guess I'll listen. Evidently exploring sexuality is like a main theme of this blog or something. Who knew?

After they had a conversation I wish I could have been an e-fly on the virtual wall for, a female friend of mine approached me about having a threesome with a male friend of ours. I'm not even gonna front, I was moist intrigued as hell right away, and I saw no point in pretending otherwise. I trust, respect, and have mad love for each of them. He had previously been on my guy-friends-I'm-pretty-sure-I'd-be-DTF-if-the-opportunity-came-up list (which has never actually been put in action before, mind you), and she...I've wanted her to be the person I explore with if I ever do any actual exploring for a long time now. (She's joked about wanting me, too, but is in this pesky relationship...) Anyway, this sounded like all sorts of perfection, and seriously, threesomes are hard to come by. Even if the situation had been less perfect, it's still so rare I might have agreed just because who knows when I'll get another chance? Down isn't a strong enough word for how excited I was by this prospect. Like, I talked about it to a couple of my closest other friends and all my porn-watching suddenly became MMF excited.

And then yesterday she dropped a bomb on us. Her boyfriend (the aforementioned pesky relationship) had been okay with this idea in the beginning, but recanted. He doesn't want to share her, or wonder whether she's thinking about us when she's with him, all of which I can totally understand--I'm shocked he was ever okay with it, to be honest. But neither he or I can think of another girl to take her spot, and I don't imagine I would be comfortable with someone I'm not close to. She obviously doesn't want to do this without her boyfriend being okay with it, which again he and I totally understand, but all three of us really want this and yet it seems our dreams are dashed.

So then she has an idea: he and I could get it in while she watches. My nose sort of wrinkled at this idea, and he said it seems completely different and like it might be weird. I agreed instantly, but have since been trying to figure out exactly why this is so clearly less ideal besides the fact that I was excited to finally get to explore her. 

Okay, so being watched could be weird, but I'm sure that I would stop thinking about it as soon as things got started. Besides, we've talked about my favorite kind of porn...having an audience might excite me. If I know I'm putting on a show, I have to let go of any inhibitions I might have and make it a good show, right? This could be good sexual growth for me. And she's seen me half-naked and (participated) in some fairly compromising situations before without things getting weird between us, so I'm not really worried about that either. I suppose it could be awkward, but if all three of us fucking wasn't going to be awkward, can this really be much different?

So that leads to the question of whether it being just me and him instead of the three of us is problematic for me. Again, "trust, respect, and mad love"...I've got no problems with him. So that leaves only the 2 v. 3 aspect. And this is where we run into a bit of trouble. Supporting sexual openness and being a sexually liberated woman are very important things to me, but most of that is on a theoretical level. I've never sex outside of a committed relationship before. Granted, after we decided to take our relationship to that level, it didn't seem like as big a deal as I'd been making it out to be for so long. It was fun and I wanted to do it as often as possible (he didn't though--should have been the clearest of any of the signs I missed, smh), but it was also sort of anticlimactic. I have always known about myself that I wanted to be less uptight about sex after my first time, and still believe that. But now it's put up or shut up time. 

Is there really such a difference between sex as a recreational activity with someone who has a "title" in your life and with someone who doesn't? Logically, I don't see why it should be. I see that I'm horny and now that I've had the real deal, my Pink Pleaser isn't really cutting it anymore (making the whole experience seem authentic is just, frankly, quite a bit of work). Will I still respect myself in the morning? Does my unequivocal support of women being able to have sex when and with whom they want to without being deemed immoral (or worse) extend to include myself? If it doesn't, I'm pretty sure I'm doing something wrong. I've been thinking recently that I don't have nearly enough wild crazy college stories, and I want to let loose a little senior year while I still can. Part of why people have this oh-so-annoying/frustrating idea that I'm a "good girl" is because I rarely allow myself to be "bad." I don't think I'm happy with that. 

Let's talk about sexual confidence for a little while. I think it's clear that I'm pretty open, but not highly experienced. And I'm quite positive he's not in that same boat, and that intimidated me a little when I first thought about it. But then I thought about the fling I had the summer between high school and college, with a bi guy who taught me so many things, and I remember that [in my limited experience, but this is presumably a widespread reality] being with guys who know what they're doing is so much better than fumbling around with guys who don't. My mouth starts to water at the thought of sucking a dick, I swallow, I can work them kegels, and I have demonstrated an ability to keep up a decent rhythm on top I can hold my own, and I'm open to suggestions. I'm a fast learner, and hey, it seems like it would be quite exhilarating to tell him that I might be a confident, take-charge, doesn't-take-any-bullshit woman in daily life, but I welcome a little bit of direction in the bedroom. Worst that could happen is something gets awkward, but then we move right along and maybe laugh about it later, right?

And dammit, it's not like I'm beatin dudes off with a stick. I like being made to feel sexy and desirable by guys I think are legit. As long as everything is consensual and everyone is informed and safe (and y'all know I'm a two forms of protection kind of girl), why not act on those feelings if given the chance? It's high time to apply the grown-woman game to my sex game too. 

We're supposed to be putting this conversation to bed (pun very much intended) til the weekend, but uh, #decisionmade.

My Sappiness Disgusts Me.

Until the Fall

When we say goodbye,

you hold me way past polite,

                     even a few seconds past good friends.

I like that                               People notice.

The first time I held your hand

(under the pretenses of temperature and alcohol)

you gasped as I intertwined my fingers with yours.

In that moment, frigidity, the long walk, and my aching feet aside,

       I remembered why Christmastime is beautiful.

The second   you grabbed my hand mid-gesture

       and didn’t let me go. And maybe it was the cheap red,

       or maybe the air of celebration, or the excuse not to pack,

       but I didn’t want you to, not even for a second.

Your other hand had begun to travel the landscape of my legs,

       which had found their way across your lap of their own accord.

I remember wondering why I wasn’t mortified I hadn’t shaved,

       fearing a wince at my decidedly un-ladylike stubble,

       but you were so at ease with my body that I was too.

I don’t know what else to say but that I’m comfortable with you.

I’ll never forget your hands on the small of my back

       or the breath they made me snatch.

Your touch was so tender, so pure,

                                  like the first time should be

                                  like we might never be this bold again,

so we ought to make a beautiful memory.

In the process, you made me feel equally as beautiful.

I’d never been wanted by someone as wonderful as you.

Eventually the wine won, as wine tends to do,

       stealing away a moment for which I’ve pined,

but its curse was a gift, granting me instead the joy

of awaking to your delicious weight on top of me,

and my waist between your arms.

       It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done not to snuggle closer

and sleep deeper.

I hope the hardest thing was also right;

       I was only trying to preserve the beauty of the night,

not to be roped off and labeled Do Not Touch,

       but so that it stays fresh in the cupboards of our minds

       until September, when I’ll be brave enough to take the leap

and hope to fall.

So Here's What I Know, Post Hookup...

                I’m totally and completely full of shit. I try to play the jaded sex-is-just-sex card, which is pretty funny for a virgin with first-time standards, but inside I’m probably one of those people for whom even a kiss will  never be just a kiss.

                In absolutely no way was I expecting that night to end up like that. But I guess that’s why they say Life is what happens when you’re busy making your excuses.

                As he was leaning in, it was kind of like watching a movie of my life happening in front of me, but I was only passive for the first 30 seconds or so.

                I opened my eyes once while we were kissing and saw that his eyes were closed too. I wondered who he was pretending I was, then if that meant I was imagining he was someone else.

                I wanted to tell him that it was okay to be rough, but I instantly wondered what that would make him think of me, and remained silent. Then I got angry at myself for falling into gender roles, and actively worked to take more sexual control over our situation after that.

                What the inside of his mouth tastes like, what the muscles on his stomach feel like, and that he snores.

                When I woke him up to say goodnight, I almost called him baby.

                I used to have a pretty big crush on him last summer/at the beginning of the year. But then I woke up and realized that it didn’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell of actually working, and moved on. He hadn’t even been on my romantic radar anymore. …Now I’m wondering if someone ever really leaves your romantic radar.

                Since this happened, I a) have not gone one whole day without thinking about him, and b) still cannot figure out if it was just a hookup or something more, or which I really want it to be.

                I am torn between feeling like I need to talk to him about it and feeling like the social rules of Princeton dictate that these things just happen and are not talked about. I feel like that can’t be healthy.

                I’m scared of how he feels. I’m scared of how I feel, and of how I’ll feel in relation to how he feels. I’m scared I’ll never find out how he feels. I’m scared of whether we could have a future, and also of the idea that twenty years from now I’ll look back and wonder what we could have been.

                I hope he doesn’t think I do this kind of thing often. I almost want to tell him that it had been slightly more than 22 months since the last time I’d kissed a boy.

                Waking up with his arm around me was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced, and if his roommates hadn’t been sleeping in their respective bedrooms, I would have closed my eyes and gone back to sleep, feeling utterly safe and protected. Here in this big city where I’m utterly alone, and even lonelier than usual, I’d give anything to feel that again.