Old Journal: 10-26-08

Note: I'm running on two hours of sleep, so if this is disjointed... well, it's going to be disjointed. Cope somehow.

This journal entry is going to start off with a few needed pieces of information about me.

1. I'm very well known for having no-holds barred conversations about any topic imaginable.

2. I do my best to speak my mind and communciate in a clear, straight forward, and honest manner at all times.

3. I enjoy the menfolk a little too much. Well, not too much for me, but too much for most people.

So, last night was a friend's Halloween party. I went with no agenda, other than to get my flirt on (I love flirting and witty banter rife with innuendo) and catch up with some old friends.

Things were going as planned, when this guy showed up around 130AM.

I earmark men in my head. I fold down little mental corners and attached notes to them for future reference. This particular man (whose name I did not yet know) was someone I had earmarked for "jump bones if at all possible" a few years ago.

I don't actually pursue my earmarked guys actively, but if something comes up, things look like they could swing that way, I grab on and ride.

And things looked like they were going to swing that way around 230AM, so as it came barreling towards me, I leapt for it.

It was funny, in its own way. I love guys who just want a one-night stand but aren't willing to actually say it. They have to do the whole "I'm a classy gentleman, I've loved and hurt, I'm running solo, I've had a rough life, but I'm good and noble" monologue. I've heard it many, many times and have become quite adept at picking through the words to find what I'm most curious about.

He could have meant exactly what he was saying to me, everything could have bee 100% sincere. But my instincts screamed no, that it was a practiced dialogue (almost monologue, really) and while it might have been sincere at one time, the words no longer meant anything other than a means to an end.

So I asked him, interrupted him actually, to tell me something horrible about himself. Something completely unredeemable.

And he did.

But, being very well practiced at this, he still managed to turn it around to make himself look so wonderful.

So I'm sitting at the base of the stairs at my friend's apartment, listening, wanting to say to him, "Look, I know these lines. I know that even if you get my number, you'll never call me after tonight. That's okay." But in the off-chance that he actually was sincere, I did not want to offend him.

And guys get so damn odd about aggressive girls sometimes.

Eventually, we wing up at his place. After general chatting and curling up in his bed to watch some Dexter (which I still haven't seen, thank you), things heat up.

I still find it funny, "You don't want to drive all the way home tonight, do you? Want to come over and watch a movie?"

Why can't he just say, "Hey, I want to bone you. Want to drive over to my place so we can grind away the evening?"

I'd respect that, and him, a lot more.

Anyhow, we're going at it, and I have to say, oh my god, his torso should be at a museum, he's so freaking gorgeous. Like most men seem to, he's neglected his legs just to build up the chest and arms (though his ass was fairly solid). I ran my tongue down his chest and six-pack just to feel the contours, it was so smooth and chiseled... you can't not lick it.

And, luck of the evening, he's hung. Not enough to be painful, but enough to go "oh thank you, thank you, fucking thank you for the meal we're about to eat, amen". Well, along those lines. You know what I mean.

It was nice. He was so smooth and muscled all over, a little rough and dominant, making me arch my back under him by pulling my hair beneath me. And he was so freaking beautiful, eyes like the villan from Red Eye (see also: the Scarecrow from Batman Begins).

In the morning... well, it was morning when I got there, continued to be morning when I left, a walk to my car and a hug goodbye. I didn't tell him to feel free to call me (though he did end up with my number), I didn't say "next time you feel like boning, let me know", or "hey, let's go out for coffee sometime". No, just left him with a "have a nice day" and drove back home, rocking out to Depeche Mode.

It seems to boggle most men when I just don't care. I'm female- I'm supposed to get my emotions tied up with sex. I'm supposed to make you concerned that if we have sex, I'm going to want a date or something (of equal or lesser value). I'm supposed to make you feel needed, like I fell for your lines and you seduced me into your bed.

Well, sir, chances are I already decided that I wanted you the day I saw you. That could have been five minutes ago or five years ago.

It doesn't mean I"m going to pursue it- I'm a big believer in boundaries and personal space- but it does mean that I'm open to it and, chances are, you don't even need to say a word.

I'm not a slut. I'm not looking for emotional satisfaction or some sort of value-based gratification. I don't sleep with everyone I meet or everyone I want. I'm young, I'm enjoying my body and the bodies of others immensely. Yes, I'd prefer to have a constant casual lover, but until I find someone suitable, who is willing to be more than a one-night stand and less than a boyfriend, I'm willing to explore my options

... ... ... ...

Since then:

~Blond and Studly called me several times after that for the random one-night hook-ups before getting back together with his off-again-on-again girlfriend. I'm sure that when they break up (again), that he'll be calling me (again). Lovely.

~I discovered that night went down in the history of that social group as "The Night V Crawled Across the Length of the Coffee Table to Lick and Suck on the Host's Finger". It seemed like a good idea at the time.