Tuesday, 31 March 2009

one night stand

How dare he not call me! I am a fuckin’ catch! We've all been there... well, most of us have. You know who and what I’m talking about, right? That bizarre territory: The one night stand.

I didn’t know much about the guy, and quite honestly I didn’t care. After all I wasn’t doing this for marriage, I was doing it for my own pleasure.
I didn’t care what his politics were, how many siblings he has, or what his favourite food is – I was just interested in finding out if he was circumcised or not. He was charming, intelligent and he had thick fingers.

The decision was made and I was doing this on my terms.

We’ve all had a one night stand; some, more than others. We may not want to admit it maybe not even to ourselves, but every woman hankers after the thrill of unchartered territory, especially while trying to get over a break up. OK, so in retrospect it may not be the wisest of moves but nevertheless it’s one many people follow.

At the time I thought I was doing what any other self-respecting, sassy girl would do; getting myself a servicing.
We’d talked enough, I’d watched his lips as he talked and I’d checked the bulge in his jeans –none too shoddy. So phase two was at play - we went to bed. Within moments, my legs were spread wide open as he lavished me with the attention I’ve been lusting after.

Although exhausted with all the unnecessary chat, he easily stimulated me and awakened my inner hussy.
Not knowing this guy until hours earlier I didn’t have the self consciousness that can occur, had I been on a few dates with him first, so I could let loose and do things I otherwise may not - without caring how he judged me or if the neighbours heard.
After all I may never see this bloke again, so if I wasn’t wearing matching lingerie and hadn’t shaved my legs for days, what difference would it have made? What was he going to do? Back out? I don’t think so.

But because I’d invited him over with the soul intention of riding him - I was prepared. So why the hell has nothing happened since? I mean my legs were silky smooth and I give incredible head,I figured his sexual style before feeling his dick, so what the hell?

In the morning as I lay next to him I stretched by the side of the bed for any article of clothing big enough to cover my front and back bottom before sliding out, desperately clinging onto my modesty; disregarding the fact that hours earlier he was getting more personal with my lady garden than a louse sucking on a horses ear.
So it shouldn’t matter what he sees now, right? Wrong. Strangely, it matters more now than ever!
As I apologetically head towards the bathroom, I feel his eyes boaring into the back of my disheveled hair judging my every move.
I’m desperate for him to be more interested with what’s happening on the ceiling than with me. I turn to look at him and try gauge what he’s thinking. He just stares at me intensely.
The kind of look that rattles your cage and is unnerving, but totally turns you on; like a lion that’s caught its prey. Men – you gotta love ‘em.

As I quickly but quietly shut the bathroom door, finally; I can breathe, I can fart, stare at last night’s make - up smeared down my face and itch that spot which has been plaguing me for the past hour.

Why the hell do I put myself through this? Well, it seems fun at the time, and I’m certainly not
complaining when he’s making me feel like the only woman he’s touched since the start of the new
millennium. So the start of the big questions: Will I see him again? Will he call? What’s gonna happen now?
Of course if the sex had been crap and my loins weren’t adequately awakened, I wouldn’t bother asking myself these questions, instead I’d console my lack of morality with remembering what my Auntie Joyce used to say to me ’The proof of the pudding is in the tasting’, so that’s what I’m doing, having a good old bite of the pie.
What’s wrong with that? Girl’s like fun too.
We may not like to admit it, but before we’ve even kissed him good bye, us girls are asking
ourselves if this is the guy that will take us off the shelf and give us a regular dusting over?
So as you hesitantly bid your lover farewell, wondering if he really will call you try to read his face for any signs. Nothing.
Whoever said we aren’t meant to have any expectations of people was living in a dream land; people do all the time.
We think that if someone can caress with such tenderness, and kiss you like his life force was being
delivered through the joining of our mouths as we inhale each other’s breath; that this has got to mean something. So, why isn’t he calling? Doesn’t he want me? How can he not want me? Doesn’t he think I was a vixen in bed? Of course I was a bloody vixen in bed!

Although I want to act like I don’t care, I do. I’m hurt and confused he hasn’t called.
I’m a big girl, I got what I wished for, so why the grump?
All too often myself and my friends spend an inordinate amount of time dwelling on an event that lasted 30 minutes (if you are lucky), about a man who let’s face it probably leaves the toilet seat up, and scratches his crotch in public.
Remembering that a one night stand can be invigorating, even empowering, and just plain horny, if it remains just that; and we let go of it, and don’t pine after the person after they’ve left. In his company he treated me well, and I laughed a lot. Why should I feel used, or unworthy? Is it still a mistake when it leaves you feeling bad? Yes? But I got what I wanted. I had fun, the sex was satisfying but I’m not happy…. What was that? “Be careful what you wish for…?”
Oh, hitting me with that old chestnut, are ya?

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