One night stand. Something slutty girls do, or dudes who are players. A way to use people. Mysterious, cruel, nasty, and sooooo intriguing. That’s a tiny snapshot of my thinking on this social event that, at 28 years old, I had never experienced.
By age 28, I had slept with five men and zero women. A survivor of sexual abuse, I was confused and scared by sex (not generalizing for everyone’s experience, but that was true for me). I had almost no sexual confidence, and very little sexual knowledge. My ex-fiance and I had just broken up, and for eleven years we had basically done variations on three different things. And we were very happy, but I had never really loved sex all that much. I saw it mostly as an obligation to keep my partner happy. It was just that reaching orgasm for me was so exhausting. It only ever happened through oral sex, and even that usually took over half an hour to achieve. My poor fiance must have had rock-hard jaw muscles when we broke up.
But after a couple months of being single, I started to feel… well, horny. I wanted sex with a man, and I didn’t know how to go about getting it. Nowadays, with the abundance of dating and hook-up apps (and my familiarity with them), I can get a decent sexual experience within a week. When I was 28, lacking sexual confidence and vocabulary, not so easy to get laid. So I suppose you could say I was in a state of sexual frustration when I joined my sister and her friend Stacy for a drink at a local bar.
I didn’t know that Stacy was bringing HER friend, Larry. I had met Larry several times. It was well known that he pined for Stacy, because he did so vocally and often. They had dated briefly, and then she’d decided she wasn’t interested but they could be “friends”. So he hung around, lusting after her, and she had somebody who would go anywhere with her, anytime.
I didn’t think much of Larry. He was sporty, materialistic, hung out in bars, just basically not my type. But that night, as the four of us sat around drinking pretentious cocktails and listening to Stacy and my sister gab on about the gym, I mentioned rather exasperatedly that I was HORNY. And then, because I’d had a couple drinks, I said, “Larry, don’t you have any hot friends you could hook me up with? I need to get LAID.” My sister and Stacy, also tipsy, saw this as an opportunity to flirt and tease with the poor, beleaguered Larry. “Yeah, Larry,” they chimed in. “Don’t you have any cute friends for my sister?” Larry shuffled his feet and laughed and then looked at me in this WAY that I hadn’t seen before. It hit me like a flash. I could have sex with LARRY.
Of course I could! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? He was cute enough, and obviously frustrated too. So then this little song and dance began. It was fun because we both intuitively knew that we couldn’t let on to my sister and Stacy. Stacy wouldn’t approve because Larry was “hers”, and my sister wouldn’t approve because she didn’t actually want me to go out and have sex with somebody. She just thought the teasing was fun and funny. It came time to leave, because some people had to get up early and go to the gym, and Larry and I exclaimed that we both wanted to stay out. So he and I made our way to another bar, which he chose and happened to be right next to his house.
I don’t know that I could have gone home with him had I not been drinking. I was too shy and too afraid of sex and intimacy. But that dutch courage kicked in and I followed his directions to his house, and up the stairs to his bedroom. We started making out, standing next to his bed, and a chorus of excited middle-schoolers started up in my head: “Ooooh! You’re gonna have SEX!!! With a guy you BARELY KNOW! WHO ISN’T YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!!!” At that time in my life, it was one of the most risqué things I had done.
I believe you can get a pretty clear reading of somebody’s sexual map within the first few minutes of making out with them. You can tell where they’re gonna wanna go and what they’ll stay away from. You can tell what will make them hot and what will shut them down. Personally, I can tell if someone is out of my league or not. Spoiler alert: most people are out of my sexual league. Especially back then. And even though I hadn’t had many sexual experiences at 28, I had made out with an 18-year old virgin when I was 22. When the virgin had reached the point of seeing my vagina, he stopped and reverently examined it like it was The Pearl in the Steinbeck story we all read in 8th grade. For 12 long minutes. I couldn’t continue after that because I realized I was so out of his league that I would be doing more hand holding and guiding than laying back and getting my mind blown. So I was pretty self-consious about finding myself outside of someone else’s league after that.
Larry was outside of my league, clearly. He was older, for one, but it was how he launched immediately into raunchy dirty talk that left me in the dust. His hand went down my pants and he started saying, “Ooo, yeah, you keep it clean down there, don’t you? You keep it nice and groomed and clean for me, don’t you? Ooo, yeah.” All I could say was, “Yes, I do.” Looking back, I think he might have been asking me a legitimate question. Like, maybe he was a germaphobe and just really wanted to know when I had last scrubbed my crotch.
We went to the bed and, after very very quick foreplay, started to move toward intercourse. “Do you have a condom?” I asked, because I hadn’t for the life of me thought I was going to get laid anytime soon, so didn’t have any condoms. He paused, sighed, then asked if we really had to use one. Our conversation went something like this:
Me- Do you have a condom?
Larry- (sigh) Do we really need to use one?
Me- Um, yeah. I’m not on birth control. And then, you know, STDs….
L- Yeah, right, okay. (lots of fumbling around next to the bed, then condom appears and is unwrapped) I hate these.
Me- They’re not the greatest.
L- Sex feels soooo much better without them.
Me- I know.
(Intercourse begins. I’m on top. I’m having sex! And he’s not my boyfriend!!!!)
L- (moans) Oh, this would feel SO much better without a condom. (long pause) Can you just feel it? Can you imagine how much better it would feel without a condom? (long pause, throughout which I am silent) Oooh, just try to imagine how good this would feel… how much better without a condom… just skin on skin.
Me- (start making sounds of a baby crying) Waaah! Waaah! Oh sorry, I was just imagining our baby crying in the next room. Wouldn’t that feel good? Having a baby with me? Getting up right now to take care of it?
Me- That’s what we get without a condom. Sorry.
Then he came, I didn’t, and I lay awkwardly on his shoulder for a couple minutes. He said, “Sooo, my roommates are out of town and I’m taking care of their cats.” I don’t know what that meant, exactly, but it did make me remember that my dog was waiting for me at home. So I told him I had to leave and I got dressed. He walked me to the door and, not knowing what else to say, I thanked him. I drove home completely elated and even hornier than before. All the sex had done was arouse me, but the act of engaging in a one-night stand had thrilled me. I couldn’t believe I had done it; it was like I had received a ribbon in the adulthood competitions.
The next day, my body felt on fire. I could not remember wanting sex on such a visceral level before that. I was distracted at work, and kept thinking about how I could see Larry again. So I was ecstatic when my phone rang and it was him. But rather than calling to invite me to have more sex with him, he asked me if it was cool if we didn’t mention anything to my sister and Stacy. I readily agreed. I had been worried about the two of them finding out. So it would be our little secret.
It took several days for my body to calm back down. I didn’t see Larry again, though I did receive a message from him, out of the blue, about six months later wondering “what are you up to tonight?” I ignored it.