What Happens After

My word.

The Que and I still have been rendezvous-ing all over the place. Well, all over my bed. We're no closer to anything resembling a real relationship, but at this point, we're using each other for our bodies, ha. It's quite liberating, actually. I think. Whatever we're doing is much better than any other flings I've had--if only for the fact that this one comes with nakedness and such. And no manipulative mind games. The whole "he has a whole lot of other women" trope is still here, though. But both (all four?) of my eyes are open, and his are too, so I'm praying we avoid any nasty collisions.

You know what sucks, though? When he rolls over and falls asleep afterward. I've been reading women's magazines for the better part of 10 years so I get that it's chemical ("a man thing" if you will) that I shouldn't take personally. But how come men get the "crash after orgasm" chemical and women get the simulated sensation of love/closeness towards the person from whence said orgasm came? Even if he is snoring. I try not to fret over it. I usually turn on "The Office" until my head mmmm, and my body mellow out. And um, there's not really any cuddling. Seriously, he sleeps like a log. That takes up a lot of space in what I previously thought was a big bed.

Is that healthy? I'd be interested to know what folks do after intercourse or intercourse-like activities. During the actual activities, though? I've got that covered. COVERED, IT IS.

A Numbers Game

"How many times did you come?"

He wanted to know. Truthfully, he'd lost count of how many times he felt her shudder, heard her scream.

"You came while we were first kissing, didn't you?" She nodded yes.

She'd straddled him as their mouths meshed, their tongues tangled. She squirmed in his arms as he suckled her neck just as she needed. He pressed harder and lashed his tongue firmer the way she begged him to. He didn't stop his quest, even when her limbs tightened around him in her first strained release.

That fire of hers smolders so close to the surface, he thought. Just kissing her neck can make her come.

He remembered almost erupting himself when she broke free to divest herself of her clothing: the tight shirt and tiny shorts that barely concealed her ass and the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen.

His eyes darkened as he pulled off her shorts, noticing the finery underneath.

"Stand up," he motioned, dragging her in front of him to stare at her magnificence. She turned slowly at his command. He gazed at chocolate-drop breasts resting enticingly in black lace, and when her back faced him, he reached out and filled his hands with her delectable ass, peeking out from matching panties.

He groaned as she mounted him once more, her flimsy lingerie the only barrier from his granite manhood. She whimpered, aroused by the sensation as he assaulted her throat again and began moving his mouth downward. Teasingly, she pulled off her bra slowly and deliberately. He wanted to ravage her on the spot. Tortured, he contented himself with feasting on her perfect breasts, one, then the other, attuned to her reaction to his attentions. Her moans grew louder, her body undulated harder and faster, and she arched into his mouth against the relentless tongue that coated her aching peaks.

He continued his feast even as she wailed his name in climax.

But he hadn't gotten his fill of her, he recalled, amazed. When would he?

She clutched at his broad shoulders, her cries softening into sighs. When she giggled into his neck, he broke free and eased her onto her back.

"Can I say that I'm nervous?" she asked timidly as he descended to his knees. He tossed her drawers to the floor.

"No."

With a smirk, he kissed her stomach. A soft protest died on her lips as he dipped his head to finally devour her as he wanted...

She would come again.

When Times Were Simpler

I can't wait to get away from you
Unsurprisingly you hate me too
We only communicate when we need to fight
But we are best friends...right?

You're too good at pretending you don't care
There's enough resentment in the air
Now you don't want me in the flat
When you’re home at night
But we're best friends right?

You’re Stephanie and I'm Paulette
You know what all my faces mean
And it's easy to smoke it up, forget
Everything that happened in between

Nicky’s right when he says I can't win
So I don't wanna tell you anything
I can't even think about
How you feel inside
But we are best friends, right?

I don't like the way you say my name
You're always looking for someone to blame
Now you want me to suffer just cause
You was born wide
But we are best friends right?

You’re Stephanie and I'm Paulette
You know what all my faces mean
And its easy to smoke it up, forget
Everything that happened in between

So I had love for you when I was 4
And there's no one I wanna smoke with more
Someday I'll buy the Rizla*, so you get the dro**
Cause we are best friends right, right, right, right?
Because we are best friends right?
Because we are best friends right?
"Best Friends" x Amy Winehouse

Some of you may know that my BFF? and I aren't seeing eye-to-eye anymore. Long-distance, plus different ideologies and priorities, I guess. I found her trying to shield me from life instead of supporting me when I chose to live it. Sex had always been a bone of contention with us--whenever I expressed any desire to do anything she would patronize and not listen to me, brushing off my concerns and just telling me to stay a virgin, even though she was sexually active. Ironically, in high school, she was the one who wanted to wait for marriage. When I finally had my first sexual experience, she was anything but happy for me, even though I was thrilled (and satisfied) at the outcome. That was a defining moment for me, it made me realize that we were no longer the inseparable, totally like-minded girls we'd been for the last two years of high school and first three years of college. I'm sad. I love her. But I know that we're in a different season of our lives right now. I will always appreciate our friendship, for six years she was the quintessential definition of what a best friend should be. Maybe I'm being dramatic with all of this rhetoric, but I feel like anything less would be an insult to our once ironclad bond. I wish her nothing but the happiness and love that she gave me during those beautiful years of our friendship.

Close Encounters of the First Kind

I'm afraid I'm not a sex-blogger like Amy or Vix, just have enough dirty thoughts and the occasional hookup to keep things interesting. So I won't be able to go into details about what happened when Que came over to my house one evening last week.

Did we do the full monty? No. Did I want to? HELL YES.

Before this I made a promise that before anything else happened, I would come clean about my lack of experience. Before we hooked up at the party it didn't matter that I had TOTALLY lied by omission about being a virgin, because my sexual status was none of his business as a random acquaintance. But as we began toying with the idea of a physical relationship I thought it wouldn't be fair to him, and he needed to know the whole deal.

I told him in the front seat of my car after work. It was kind of funny, actually. He asked if my confession was that I had a boyfriend or spent my holiday break in a series of sexual aerobics with various suitors. "Did you mess with any guys?" he asked. "No, quite the opposite, actually," I replied. He looked at me. "You messed with a GIRL?"

Le sigh. Life is not easy.

After all the hoops I jumped through to finally confess ("say everyone assumes you've been to Paris, but you haven't. You've seen a LOT of Parisian films and seem knowledgeable about the customs and stuff but you haven't technically been. Actually, you haven't done that much traveling in the first place") he was quite understanding. Disbelieving at first, but he agreed with my reasons for not telling him sooner.

I started fantasizing about our first "real" encounter as soon as I was sure that he wouldn't curse me out or run screaming from the car at the mere mention of an intact hymen. My biggest concern was that he would expect sex, and I was at least comforted (and proud of myself) that we had outlined the boundaries beforehand. But still, I couldn't help but wonder: what if it was bad? How awkward would that be? Do I have to shave everything? What if I laugh? What if oral sex was nowhere near all it's cracked up to be?

In short, yes, it's all it's cracked up to be. HOLY SHIT IS IT EVERYTHING IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE.

All my research on Parisian customs and sneaking Cosmopolitan magazines all those years was not done in vain. Cheesy as it sounds, I was anxiety-free during the blessed event, thanks to those sources.

Some things that I learned:

-I am loud.
-It is, indeed, okay to laugh in bed if something is funny.
-Black lace does not fail.
-Inducing a boner is extremely gratifying and does wonders for your confidence.
-Any time spent worrying about the attractiveness of your vagina is time wasted.
-He has already thought about you naked. You will never disappoint.
-Following directions yields good results. Giving directions yields great results.
-Porn is a wonderful appetizer. Do not forget to close laptop and put it safely on the floor after viewing, though.

I greatly, greatly anticipate an encore very soon.

Home Sweet Home

Hello, friends.

We're all aware that I de facto relocated to Southern State for college, and somewhere along the way I fell in love with this damn city. I had every intention of hightailing it back to the Midwest as soon as I walked across the stage (THIS MAY! ZOMG I'M ABOUT TO HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE I STILL OWN A TEDDY BEAR AND HAVE YET TO FILE A TAX.) but like I said, the universe had other plans. So slowly and surely, I've been mentally preparing myself for a life with a 30331 zipcode for the time being, and rather enjoying it. And by "mentally preparing" I mean learning where the nearest Five Guys is and coming up with ways to convince my landlady to let me paint the walls, as opposed to, you know, finding a grad school program or studying for the GED or coming up with ideas on how to pay my own rent.

Priorities, I've got them. Avoidance issues, too.

My mother, predictably, is none too thrilled with her absentminded daughter fending for herself 700 miles away from her maternal, loving touch. My sisters either. Dad's okay with it, though, although he wouldn't turn me away (or, frankly, be surprised) if I showed up on our doorstep a year from now with nothing but a broken spirit and my iPod.

Barring the occurrence of some incredible, handsome Deux Ex Machina and I get married at my graduation party* or something, I'm guessing I'll be in a starter house of some kind for awhile by myself. Nothing excites me more than a place of my own that I can decorate and make my little sanctuary. It would be equal parts beach house, swanky loft, sports bar, and TAKE THAT, MOTHER.

*should I have it in Southern City or go back home? Dilemma!

There would be cheap posters on the walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and a refrigerator chock full of magnets and pictures. Every room would be painted, there would be framed pictures of neat stuff everywhere, candles. It would probably be a little cluttered, lip gloss would be in the kitchen, a collection of flip-flops by every door and mirrors everywhere. Mountains of books, CDs, and DVDs would stay perched on every shelf. Surround sound, duh. Maybe even a hamburger phone! I'd keep sweatshirts and cozy socks in the living room, and I'd have a big TV in my bedroom and an easy chair (the older the better) so I can watch The Office all day. Little Sister got me a Michael Jackson poster for Christmas, so that would have to go someplace prominent, obvs. Mismatched silverware, LOTS of wineglasses, with sunflowers or tulips at the table. All the lovely kitchen decor will distract from the fact that I cannot cook, see.

Every time my mom visits she'll bury her head in her hands and say what is all this junk? What is that writing on the wall above your bed? When's the last time you vacuumed? And I will smile and just be like, it's my house and it's perfect. And then I will win her over with this fellow:

Describe to me your dream house! Virtual housewarming!