Can I just start this post by saying, NO, I most certainly did NOT get fucked last night. SIGH. Future Lawyer is a sweet, romantic Rilke loving, red rose buying, back massage giving ivy league preppy. It’s so cute and if his lips weren’t so good, it would be too cloying for me. Generally, I would be frowning upon such behavior, as it has always felt so trite and contrived, however Future Lawyer is genuinely that guy. The Rilke on his bookcase is well-worn, not placed there just to impress the ladies. He has cried during more episodes of NPR’s This American Life for god’s sake than I have watched romantic comedies.
He met my dog and I at the train station and we quickly walked over to Starbucks for something hot to keep the bitter cold at bay for the walk back to the dorms. Coffee in hands, we wandered through the maze of university buildings until we reached his Hall. As we walked in, he gave me flowers. My first internal reaction was that of mild discomfort. I have never liked to be given roses by anyone because they always seemed so formulaic and pedestrian. (Pedestrian is a word my ex fiancé used. I actually find it to be one of the most insulting words. She once said how much she hated that our problems were so pedestrian. What did she want? Some epic dilemma and great struggle?) I took a breath, shut down my inner dialogue and looked at him and how sweet, kind, AND sincere he was and then kicked my inner dialogue in the shin and put it in time out for the night. He hung my coat, poured me some wine and showed me around his suite, which was roughly the size of a small NYC one bedroom, minus a kitchen. We then picked out Slumdog Millionaire, since neither of us had seen it, and curled up on the couch in the dark. Occasional kisses were had. Wine was drunk, Michel Cluizel Grand Noir 85% chocolate was consumed and the dog was walked far enough to find my Future Lawyer a slice of pizza at midnight.
When we walked back into the suite, he disappeared for a moment to use mouth wash after the pizza. I really didn’t mind. I like spicy pepperoni. I laughed at him and wiped the wet bit off his lip. His embarrassment quickly departed as I started to kiss him. Remember, we were kicked out of a mall last week for making out. He may be schmaltzy, preppy and shorter than what I have gone for BUT he has a set of lips on him that just don’t quit. We kissed for a few minutes but then were distracted by the undergrads screaming outside his door. Music was a necessity, and somehow Mahler ended up being chosen. As the music intensified, so did our kissing and eventually he backed me into his bedroom and locked my dog out with the door. She was horrified as she isn’t used to being separated from me by a closed-door. The lights went down and the next 45 minutes ranked up there as one of the hottest make out sessions in my history. Thank you Mahler. Eventually the composition changed however and it started to ruin the groove. I gave him the link to my online Trip Hop Playlist and ran into the living room to grab a hair-clip.
I patted my sad puppy on the head, dug in my purse and grabbed a hair clip. Prior to coming over I had tried to wax my legs a bit, so they wouldn’t be so bad on the likely chance that we ended up in contorted naked positions. I couldn’t do anything about the Brazilian. Those are NOT DIY jobs. I also bought a box of condoms, just in case. I know that most men purchase grocery store or drug store condoms, so I stopped by the sex shop and bought some Kimono Micro Thin japanese ones. When they make thin condoms, why do men go for regular? It’s better to be prepared and it isn’t the mans responsibility to worry about my sexual health and wish to stay childless, so I tossed one in my jeans pocket as I head back into the bedroom, hair pulled up for better long-haired girl on top make out action.
Back in the bedroom we find our groove again with the help of Morcheeba. Now, my pants come off, as do his and then he says it, after I am so turned on that I can’t see straight. He tells me that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for us to have sex tonight. He wants to wait a little longer. AAACK! I am wearing one article of clothing, sprawled out with mussed up hair, looking at him in shock and disbelief through sexually charged eyes and thinking he might be kidding. He might start laughing at any moment and just take me. But he doesn’t, and I whimper, and we continue to make out for a while but some of the sheen is gone.
I stayed the night and I slept like I do at home, nude. If you want to wake up to a naked woman whom you have called gorgeous several times over the last 12 hours and feel tempted, that’s your fault buddy. Within an hour of waking up, we were out the door and parting ways at the train. I made a quick detour and grabbed an americano for the ride.
On the train ride home I was incredibly, ridiculously, crazy horny. I texted my Internet Sex man from NYC and made a fleeting playful remark about how horny I was and why wasn’t he local? Surprisingly, I received a message back within moments. Apparently he found the timing of my message fitting as he had just been thinking of me. He checked Skype and I wasn’t there and assumed that he would be having a solo session. I laughed when the next text message was a photo of his erection. He has the perfect match of voyeur and exhibitionist traits to my own and along with my Pac NW man, they are my sexually deviant saviors on this journey. When I am not getting laid locally, I can sign into Skype and get some virtual action with a non stranger. It’s a wonderful set up that ends in my napping happily and a bit less frustrated than I had a few hours earlier. Sweet live kisses and hot internet sex. The world was a beautiful place today.