Thursday, July 2, 2015

The Time I Had a One-Night Stand on Purpose

(Author's note: I use the phrase "on purpose" here because I've had one-time flings before. But as I mention in the previous post, I didn't know they were going to be so at the time. THIS time, I was in on it.)

My best friend got married in June and I was a bridesmaid. This was my first time being in a wedding party, and unlike many people in this situation, I was very excited to be involved. The bride was amazing, zero bridezilla moments, and she made everything about the process easy and breezy.

For a short time I had a plus-one for this particular event, but that blew up in my face (a story for another time) so I ended up flying solo. I was fine with this as I wasn't the only single bridesmaid. And this way I could cruise the guests in my usual dorky awkward fashion. My friend and I live in different cities, so apart from each other, our social circles are totally different. Almost everyone attending was a stranger to me.

During the ceremony, I noticed a guy in the audience standing at the back with his buddies (not enough chairs and yet the bride was still cool as a cucumber) taking selfies with the vows in progress. A little douchey but I still giggled.

I got to my alcohol-induced happy place by the time dinner was over and inserted myself into the speech-giving agenda with what I called a "speech bomb." It was a short, unscheduled bit about the bride, as I was the friend who dated back the furthest with her, and it was a hit. It was improvised, but got a lot of laughs.

As the night wore on, I noticed said selfie-dude standing at the side of the dance floor. I had already made friends with almost everyone in attendance (just doing my duty as a part of the wedding party to be sociable and fun) except him. My liquid courage made me go over and say hi. Because, well, he was hot.

He looked miserable as he sipped his beer.

"Why aren't you dancing?" I asked, giving him a little jiggle of my hips to entice him.

"My date is ruining this for me." Swig of beer.

Red flag. Okay, don't hit on him TOO hard. He's here with someone.

"Oh? What's happening?"

"She's sloppy drunk. Vomiting in the porta potty." (Outdoor wedding)

"Oh shit, that's too bad," I offered.

"Yeah, it's only our second date."

"Whooooa," I couldn't hide my pity and embarrassment for him.

At that moment I heard my name from across the dance floor and turned to see a guest/new friend calling me over for a particularly fun tune. By the time I looked back, my dude was gone.

"Okey dokey," I thought. And off I went to do the Macarena.

Two hours later, the night had wound down and the shuttle buses had arrived to take us back to the hotel. As I went to board, that's when I saw a group of people huddled around someone. I approached to find the maid of honour and mother of the bride, among others, holding a puking girl upright, keeping her hair back, and generally trying to calm her down. The MoH and MoB both had vom-stains on their pretty outfits. 

Naturally it took some time to get this chick under control so the bus driver would let her on. I boarded and chatted with new friends all the way to the hotel, not giving the hurl-queen another thought.

We all stood in front of the hotel, milling around, waiting for the second and final bus to arrive and for news of the after party. The bride and I laughed, had a few cigarettes, and she filled me in on the shenanigans pulled by Drunky McIdiot, who was someone she didn't even know. Luckily, the bride's good time wasn't spoiled by this guest who was too old to be pulling stunts like that. We're all pushing 30 and beyond, lady. We've all figured out our limits by now. Get with the program.

As we stood around chatting and making decisions, I noticed selfie-guy arguing in the distance with Pukes-a-Lot, who was slur-crying. He put her into a cab, yelled something at her, and she sped off. He then came trudging towards us, rolling his eyes harder than I would have thought possible.

Once he reached the group, I got an actual introduction (let's call him Tim), and we were all regaled with the full story of what had happened. Long story short, this was a second and last date, and he was mortified that she had behaved that way.

Not really giving a fuck and being just drunk enough to be sassy, another bridesmaid and I began to tease him about raising his dating standards. He chuckled and blushed, but basically agreed, which I found charming in my liquored-up state.

After an hour of standing around waiting for people to join, the plan finally solidified for an after party in the bridal suite. It was 2am and I decided I was thoroughly too old for this shit. Myself and a group of others excused ourselves to our rooms. As the group dispersed, I felt a surge of bravery course through me. 

"Hey Tim!" I yelled. "The real party's in room 414!"

No reaction. No acknowledgment. No sign he heard at all. I'd mostly done it for the laugh, as is my motivation for most things. He was physically out of my league (although not intellectually from what I gathered) so my invite was a total goof.

A few of us laughed, and we boarded the elevator, bound for bed.

I got to my room and realized I was too drunk to lay down and sleep. I know myself, and I knew that a vomitous hangover was in my near future if I crashed like this. I hastily pulled off my false eyelashes, rubbed my face with water, put my crunchy, hairspray laden hair in a scrunchie (yes, a scrunchie) and slipped into PJs.

I'M HUNGRY, I decided. I had barely touched my dinner and didn't eat the late night snacks that were offered. YES, PIZZA IS THE ANSWER! In my still-drunk state I figured food in my belly before sleeping might alleviate the possible hangover.

I was eating pizza by 2:45am, a right mess splayed out over the bed watching Netflix on my laptop. I was slowly sobering up. My plan was working.

I closed my eyes for what felt like a second, and was brutally thrown back into consciousness by a rapping on my door. Immediately I thought THE BRIDE! And I jumped out of bed like lightning. Looking through the peephole, I had a mini-stroke, followed by a mini-panic-attack. It was Tim. At 3:30am there was a man I'd just met standing outside my hotel room door. And I had invited him.

I quickly assessed my drunkenness, not slobbering but still happy, and opened the door, because why the fuck not.

As soon as the door opened I regretted it, because a mental image of myself flashed through my brain. The words HOT MESS flashed in my mind like a tacky neon sign. Smudged mascara, rat's nest hair, pants with teddy bears on them, and an oversized Boba Fett t-shirt. I wouldn't have blamed him if he decided in that moment that he didn't really want what he initially came for.

I think I said something like "hey" but it was probably more like "hrrmmpphh hi whatdude?" I had been jolted from deep sleep and was still tipsy. Would you be eloquent in that moment? Doubtful.

Tim then said something that shocked me back into my full mental capacities.

"I heard there's an after party here." A little eyebrow waggle.


What I said like an idiot: "Uhhh no it's in the bridal suite."

What a fucking tool I am. Being unaccustomed to the concept of sleeping with a stranger, I was missing all the sexy cues.

"Really, because I was told it was in 414."

Shit. He was calling me out on my invite. "No dude, there's no party here." My first instinct was terror, and I just wanted him to go away.

What followed was the saddest puppy dog demeanor I've ever seen, complete with drooping, big dopey eyes, and a little toe kick of the carpet. Complete resignation. Complete rejection, in fact.

Now, to be clear, I did not invite him inside out of pity or guilt. Not at all. But I did experience a wave of bravery then and there. 

The little devil on my shoulder said the following: "Listen up. Everything that freaks you out about sex with someone new pretty much doesn't exist in this scenario. Firstly, he's at the door, so rejection is unlikely. Second, you know what this is and so does he - there will be no trying to impress someone for a second date. This would be a one-off so whatever happens is not something you'll ever have to face again. Thirdly, the opportunity is right here in front of your face. You don't have time to be a headcase. There's no time to plan, and most importantly - no time to be anxious. Fourthly, this is a new experience for you so don't waste your chance.  You've been thinking you need more penises, right?"


So what I said out loud was, "Are you hungry?"

"Starving." Cheeky little dude.

"I have pizza. Come in."

I didn't even have time to think about how odd it looked that I'd just come from an event full of food and had ordered pizza to my hotel room. Given more time and less alcohol my inner monologue would have been screaming at me about my body issues (I am plump and therefore struggle with being seen eating unhealthy food). But he didn't seem to mind. He dove right into my leftovers (not a sexual euphemism).

Tim sat on the bed while he ate, telling me the story of his disastrous second date, while I slyly used a makeup wipe to clean my hot-mess face. I also readjusted the turd-bun on the back of my head. It was the best I could do with no time for sex-prep, but I was comforted by the thought that he'd already seen me looking my best at the wedding, and he was already sitting on my bed. He was a sure thing.

I was endeared by how nervous he looked, sitting on the edge of the bed. I was reclined and pretending I was totally relaxed, but inside I was wondering how these things work. How long do we chit-chat? Who makes the move here? The host, or the guest? What if he just came for company? Yes, I suppose I'm naive.

Finally I laughed out loud and told him how nervous he looked. I asked him to get comfortable and he obliged. The most charming part of it was that I had assumed he'd be Rico Suavé and know how these things were done (a judgment based solely on his exceptional good looks). I expected him, of the two of us, to have the moves. As it turned out, I have moves.

We laid down and chatted a bit more, I picked some sparkles out of his hair, and eventually I mentioned in passing how nice, though tacky, the hotel room was. It was huge, and it had a jacuzzi outside of the bathroom, right beside the bed. I kid you not. This was the perfect setup.

"I haven't even tried the thing yet," I said.

"Well you gotta try it before you leave!" Tim added.

We were dancing around the matter, so I went for it.


"Really?" His eyes lit up. "Okay!'

"For real?" I asked, my fear of rejection bubbling to the surface. "I'm gonna fill it up! Don't back out on me!"

"No way!" he reassured me. "I'm in!"

I got up and got the water running, the lighting properly dimmed for the mood, and got the jets going. In what felt like the blink of an eye, the friggin' thing was full and it was time to put my money where my mouth was. Tim got off the bed.

We stood in front of each other for a brief, awkward moment before I said something losery like, "Okay then! Here we go!" And off came my pants and top (so-long Boba Fett), while I watched him disrobe in my peripherals.

I was in the water in a flash, reclining at one end of the tub. Although alcohol was still helping my anxiety get through this, I had the good sense to dip my head and rinse my disgusting hair, and quickly give my face another wash. This was turning out to be an awesome idea.

Suddenly there was a new penis in front of me. This is a big deal to me since I'm 29 years old and have had the experience of first-witnessing new genitals only seven times before, and always with people I know at least a little about and was hoping to date. This is a rare occurrence for me. With that visual, I knew that what I thought was about to happen was now a guarantee. It was the sexual event horizon. The point of no return. Sex was now an eventuality. Guy who wants company after a wedding does not get nekkid.

Tim dipped himself into the water and reclined on the opposite side of the tub with a big sigh. I caught his eyes as they darted to my breasts and back up. He stifled a goofy smile. I felt instantly more comfortable.

Our legs intertwined and he caressed me gently as we made small talk about how nice the water was and how we both in fact needed to be bathed after the long day. What followed was maybe a five minute silence as we, or at least I, closed my eyes, enjoyed the soothing sound of the water jets, the feel of the bubbles, and the sensation of his hands tickling my legs. Physical contact was now happening. Rejection now highly unlikely.

A thought struck me suddenly.

"Do you remember my name?" I teased.

Bless his honesty. "Uh no, I'm sorry, I don't."

That moment was like a smack in the face. Not a painful smack, but the kind that makes you abruptly hyper aware of the situation. The simple, blunt, reality was this: we were strangers, naked and surely about to bone, and we didn't know each other at all. Adults do this kind of thing all the time, but to me it was very strange and new. I laughed. And so did Tim.

So I reminded him of my name. Not like it really mattered, but I deemed that to be the basic requirement for this to continue.

Tim grinned and told me it was nice to meet me. I offered him a chuckle as I noticed through the bubbling water that he was officially excited. This made me giddy, and the last layer of self-consciousness melted away. Not only was I enough to inspire lust, but his equipment was still in working order despite the amount of booze consumed. (disclaimer - he was very lucid and aware, although still on the same level of tipsiness as myself)

I gave us a few more moments of comfortable silence before deciding it was time to get the show on the road. Perhaps he sensed that this whole thing was new to me and was waiting for me to take each step forward. Perhaps he was just not in a rush. Maybe he was still nervous like I'd seen earlier.

"Do you mind if I come closer?" I asked. MAN, MY NEW-FOUND BALLS ARE HUGE!

"Of course not," he smiled.

I had another mini-internal-panic-attack at this because, once again, my body issues reared their nasty heads. "You can't move gracefully while naked," they sneered. "Especially this maneuver. This is tricky stuff. Getting from one side of the tub to the other, in the nude, water splashing, things jiggling, rolls rolling. Don't kill his boner!"

I told them to fuck off, and over I went. My maneuver was surprisingly a success as I found myself on top of him, propped up on my knees to avoid crushing him (fucking body issues). I dove in to kiss him and was delighted at the level of reciprocity. Good. I hadn't misunderstood anything. Sex was a go!

There was some tender making out for a while before I dunked my hand under the water to make sure things were still functioning below the belt. Huzzah, they were! After a bit of rubbing and tugging, he made a comment that it was time to get out, and I agreed.

We toweled off separately, my back turned to him. I haven't yet mastered looking sexy while drying off, though I did leave out that special move where you towel-floss between your legs.

Tim grabbed me from behind. The towels fell and the throw-down began. He was finally making his own moves.

I shan't go into further details about the actual bangarangin' because I'm sure you all know how that shit works. I will only say there were some super fun kinky moments, and lots of dirty talk. It turned out giving him my name did in fact come into play. Booya.

When all was said and done, we laid there peacefully and talked. This talking was much more relaxed than before, and I felt I was seeing him finally be himself. With the deed done, men are always less guarded.

We talked about nothing important or memorable. He teased me about flip-flopping at the door initially when he arrived, and I told him he was witness to my decision making process. To fuck or not to fuck? I told him surely he didn't often see a woman so brazenly decide to let him in or not, literally and metaphorically. I commended him for his braveness to even show up. He commended me on the success of my speech-bomb.

One thing that stayed with me was this comment: "Way to go with the jacuzzi idea. That was actually a great ice-breaker."

Why thank you very much, Tim. I was and am very proud of that move. It was the perfect, smooth segue from clothed, idle chit-chat to super sexy foreplay.

So what was my takeaway from all this? Well it changed my view on a few things. Most importantly, there's no need to be so damn nervous about first-time sex. Generally speaking, it's the same every time, and it's not as if it's something I don't know how to do. In fact, feedback tells me I'm pretty good at it.

Second, my body issues are mine and mine alone. For the most part, my partner is not concerned with the teeny details that bother me. I'm sure as I was stripping down for the tub he was not looking at my stomach roll. Actually, I caught him as he peeked, so I know exactly what he was looking at. Those insecurities are best ignored,  because bringing them to someone else's attention can do no good whatsoever. Confidence is sexy. 

Lastly, I learned that this casual sex business is something that I am capable of, and can actually enjoy. The circumstances still have to be right in a lot of ways, but this whole situation made me feel like I took a long overdue step into adultland. 

I won't plan to seek out one-nighters on a regular basis like some addict who is now hooked, but I now know that if a similar scenario arises again, and I want it to happen, I will have the chutzpah to see it through.

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