27 March 2011

Sexy Sex

First and foremost, I would like to apologize for the crappiness of the title of this post. My brain yielded no better title after an hour of intense thought and, after another two hours of incredibly competitive and bloody online scrabble and checkers, well, it had shut down completely. However, the title is effective in its bluntness; it leaves no room for misinterpretation. The time between August 2009 and October 2009 were, and still remain, the sexiest span of days of my young life. Let me explain.
It was May, my high school graduation just around the corner, my skin so dry from nervousness that had I been touched, I would have snap, crackle, pop’d like the cataclysmic event of milk being introduced into a bowl of Rice Krispies. I was in a relationship with a guy named Chain-Whipped and was very happy. I would visit him at his apartment every day after school; we would have mediocre sex which, at the time, I thought was amazing and fulfilling; I would run to McDonalds afterward and ‘accidentally’ screw up his order when I was really saving myself from enduring honey-mustard kisses the rest of the night; it was great.
When I discovered that he and his ex were having a fling, well, naturally, I threw a fit and dumped him. Being someone I, at the time, thought I was in love with, I slipped and fell into a ditch of depression and got throat-fucked by anxiety and a little something the doctor called Epstein-Barr. Consequently, I lost a lot of weight… But I looked awesome for graduation.
A couple of months later, while on Facebook, having recovered at least a little bit of the weight and sanity I had lost, I received an email from an attractive older man. He was a friend of a friend and an overflowing well of masculine attention that I so desperately craved. We sent each other emails that were unforgivably long, our conversations a colorful mosaic of debates and shared truths. Sounds cheesy, I know, but it was the best brain sex I’ve ever had. I learned that he had just recently moved to the Seattle area after a bad end of a 3-year relationship. He learned that I was just starting to recover from my break-up. We decided to meet at the mall and catch a movie.
I wasn’t even nervous. We met, we had some invigorating and thought-provoking conversations, we saw (500) Days of Summer, which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the best choice at the time. We were feeling pretty down by the end of the movie, so we got in his car and went to the beach (at midnight) and cuddled on a bench. I performed the yawn-arm-around-shoulders technique which made him chuckle, and we lightly made out.
Not wanting it to get too serious, he drove me back to my car at the mall ten minutes later. I wasn’t having it, though – I wanted it to go further. A lot further. Here was an intelligent, charming man, eleven years my senior, an over-abundance of male energy I was starving for; I’d be damned if I didn’t leave an impression. In a split second, I cast away every single one of my petty inhibitions, pinned his back against the side of my car, and gave him the most passionate, desperate kiss I could muster. I must have got my message across because after I pulled away, he immediately wrestled me against the concrete wall of the parking garage and started exploring my neck with his mouth. He moaned softly as I pulled him up by his hair so I could kiss him again. Our hands roughly discovered each other’s bodies as we waged sultry tongue wars in our mouths. His stubbly chin rubbed my face raw, but I loved every second of it grinding against my flesh. I had just removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants when mall security showed up and told us to move on. We both grinned sheepishly and told him we would.
So we went our separate ways, only to reunite again at his house a couple days later. It was late in the afternoon, and I was determined to impress him with my culinary prowess. I brought over a few live lobsters I had bought that day from Pike Place Market and made him lobster rolls – Connecticut style. I had never heard anyone moan so loudly in absolute pleasure about their food, and I hadn’t even begun to show him what true pleasure was. I know, big words for someone that had pretty much just become active, but, what can I say, I have a gift. I whipped out some ice cream and Oktoberfest and he popped in The Big Lebowski and it wasn’t long before we were feeding each other and swapping beer. It’s funny that beer tastes so much better when it’s being poured into my mouth by another mouth.
But anyway, we started making out heavily. I pulled him closer by his shoulders and he held the back of my head. I pulled him into my lap, never breaking contact, pressed his hips against my pelvis, and started grinding into him. Gotta love foreplay. I undid his pants, and, at long last, gripped his rock-solid erection. A few experimental pumps of my hand and I had him reduced to a man desperately clawing at my back, hopelessly moaning against my lips. My knuckles were coated with his precum within seconds. I tortured him with soft kisses to his earlobes and neck while my hand worked below his belt until he was shivering with the need for release. By then my pants were off, and his jeans were pulled far enough down so that the naked skin of his smooth butt rubbed against my exposed erection.
To make a long, steamy story short (and honestly, I’m afraid that I might get in trouble for posting such a racy story… And I’m starting to get embarrassed), we both got off, and it was exceptionally fulfilling and every other good adjective you can use to describe great sex despite having to pause every so often to pick each other’s body hair out of our mouths. The pleasure was boosted to an extreme amount because of the connection we had. The next time I went over to his house (and it being only the fifth time I had ever had sex), I used his shirt to tie his hands behind his back. That was really fun. We had to have met up 12 different times, each time being as good (if not better) than the last. But I digress; relationships like this aren’t meant to last.
If I was to be completely honest with myself, he was my rebound guy, and I was his. I think the relationship we had worked so well because of our understanding of this unspoken fact. But, me being young and naïve, I screwed the entire thing up by dramatically expressing my love for him. There were tears, there were choking sobs, all coming from me… Emails bursting with proclamations of love… And he didn’t feel the same way. He was still getting over his 3-year relationship. In an effort to redeem myself, I know now that I was only infatuated with him, and to press my so-called ‘love’ on him at such a confusing and heart-breaking moment of his life was selfish and cruel. Also, I feel the need to state that I’ve grown up since then and have moved past the ‘crying over rejection’ phase. But, him being the great guy he is, he said he understood and still wanted to be friends. I told him I needed time to ‘heal’, and that we may be able to salvage something of our friendship later on.
I emailed him about a month ago, after more than a year of no communication. I apologized for the way I had acted and asked him if he wanted to get some coffee, just to talk. He didn’t much seem interested, so I left it alone. If anything, I miss our great conversations, but there is that side of me that wants to get back into the fling we had all that time ago. Perhaps it’s best that we remain out of touch.
Point of the conversation: Never fall for your rebounds.
-Zac

1 comment:

  1. Only after removing yourself from the present situation can you realize what you are doing to ultimately ruin something good for the moment. Silly reference but I was watching "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" last night on Bravo!. Despite the hilarity of the premise, isn't it true? We do these . . . things because we think we have found a connection regardless of the contact-origin (Craigslist, Manhunt, fetish bar) or situational-origin (rebound, low self-esteem) and think we can battle the odds. Sad reality - which you pointed out - is we are most likely filling a void until we face the truth. Just my dime-store psychology.

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