So of course after finishing work today I was chomping at the bit to go out. The sun was shining, I had nowhere to be tomorrow, and I hadn't stepped on a dancefloor in over a week... must! do! something! Must! see! boys! Must! get! dirty! And then it hit me - I'm not dying to go out at all. I'm horny. I'm dying to have sex. Somehow (as if I don't know) the two activities have become inextricably linked in my mind.
The idea that I've come to equate drunkeness with sex, though I'm sure fairly common, strikes me as kind of sad. And a little scary. Despite my best intentions, I probably don't make the best decisions while drunk. I'm glad I've had this little epiphany before doing something really stupid (group sex on a first date, anyone?). It's time to start weaning my sex life off the drink. I think I'm fine with, say, a couple glasses of wine to take the nervous edge off and loosen me up a little, but anything beyond that is dangerous ground. I don't mind being loose, but I'd like to be fully aware of it.
I want to get drunk on sex, not have drunk sex. Besides, most of the time drunk sex kind of blows. You think you're doing brilliantly until you realize it's the room spinning and not, in fact, your tongue landing a particularly inspired gymnastic-esque triple axel on your partner. And don't even get me started about the disco dust. Thank god I've decided to lay off that shit for a good long while. I've heard tell that some can perform just fine, but I'm not buying it. Rather like the wine, in my experience a couple lines can provide some enhancement, but finish the bag and you end up sitting there talking profoundly about how amazing sex is while your cock looks like you've just spent six hours swimming with the Inuit.
The other concern I have with drunk sex is being able to tell if you were good or not. I could give the whole "well, I've never had any complaints" spiel, but really, most people aren't going to be so rude as to tell me to my face, now are they? Frankly, I think I'm pretty good, but when the last thing I remember is the act, rather than at what moment, exactly, I passed out, I start to question my judgement.
I'm not too worried about this, though (being good at sex, I mean, not passing out in the middle of it). I clearly remember the group sex of two weeks ago (no, really, I do, though I still think it was stupid) and I was fucking good times. Even drunk, I think I'm good - but there is a line. It can't be an"oh, I'd rather just pass out now" running through your mind. It's gotta be more the "I wouldn't normally be this forward, but, ahhh, fuck it, what the hell, let's go..." kind of vibe.
This is why finding a fuck buddy has been one of the items on my to do list. I like sex, and I'd like to have it on a regular basis, but I'd kind of like to be having sex with the same person. I'm tired of one night stands. In the past nine months or so, I've had amazing ones, bad ones, and some that weren't necessarily what I would define as great sex but we're so interesting that that more than made up for it. Mostly they've been alright. As in, just okay. I'd say, overall, that one out of five have been amazing. So I'm either picking up the wrong guys, or, and I think this is more likely, sometimes you need a few goes with the same person to really get things going. Generally you get to know someone a little better each time you hang out with them, which serves to deepen your relationship with them as it goes along: you know what foods they like, or you know what kind of movies you can invite them to and which you can't, you learn what drama may be going on in their family.
Now apply this to a purely sex-based relationship. At first, you're just getting to know each other. There may be a few awkward moments as you're discovering what is and what isn't common ground. But eventually you get to know each other well and can just get straight to the good stuff.
I wish this fuck buddy business had occurred to me last summer. I could have been screening candidates this whole time. That's not to say, upon reflection, there aren't any, but all the aforementioned amazing one-night stands are either not in my phone book, have not shared my interest in repeat recreation, or, in one case, lives clear across the country and isn't rich enough to incur the level of travel expenses my libido would require.
Potentially, of course, there is Steve (and yes, I know I said last time I wouldn't talk about him, but this is merely an incidental mention, so y'all can shut up) but whether or not we will have a great sex life remains, at this juncture, an open-ended question. We didn't have sex with each other during the group sex incident, and the one night he did spend in my bed was definitely a spooning-only affair (see "finish the bag" paragraph four). It would certainly be convenient... well, that sounds rather dry - it would be pretty fucking fantastic, actually, if Steve and I turn out to have a powerhouse bedroom relationship, but I'm not getting my hopes up. Sometimes you have chemistry every way with someone except for in the bedroom and there's nothing you can do about it. Going on what I know so far, there is some potential of this occurring. But unless the first time is totally over-the-top bloody awful, I will certainly give Steve many, many opportunities to engage in good, old-fashioned, clean and sober dirty sex with me before I declare a mission abort. Because while finding a fuck buddy would be great, I have to admit that accidentally stumbling upon a great boyfriend would be even better.
In the end, I decided to forego the dancefloor tonight and stayed in. I put some of that cooped-up spring energy to good use and cleaned the house. Then Steve called. We talked for awhile and made a date for the movies tomorrow night. Now all I wanna do is get him in here and dirty the place up again.
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