Sleeping with the Enemy

We had sex. The dirty, selfish, 9-1/2 Weeks kind where both participants are focused on his and her own pleasure. The kind of sex you have when you don't know when your next opportunity will be. Things were done. And truth be told, I was the instigator of most of those things.

What have I done?

My stomach dropped. I just had dirty, selfish sex with someone that I am going to have to see again. And what about Clemson's feelings? What about Statham's ex? I'm pretty sure I already made her cry once this weekend. Oh god.

Statham came up behind me and sucked in air through his teeth. "You have scratch marks all the way down your back. I'm sorry."

Oh god.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

I wanted to be friends with these people and what I ended up doing was creating the most volatile situation imaginable. I slept with a guy who broke up with his girlfriend 48 hours earlier, who is also in the same group. She's going to hate me and I don't blame her one bit. I feel like the other woman, a homewrecker. Word is going to get out and I'm going to be known as The Hussy.

But I'm not a hussy! The last time I slept with someone I wasn't dating was S in 2007, and even that turned into a two-year relationship. Before that was Nick in 2005, and he was a good friend from college. I don't do strange.

We got in the shower together. The conversation was awkward. "So, uh, how's your kickball season going?" he asked.

"We haven't won yet."

Ugggggghhhhhhhhh.

He left me alone to re-dress. The gravity of the situation hit me and I began to shake. Even though he's single, Statham's not available. Everyone had been joking all weekend that they were going to get back together within the week. He kept assuring me that's not the case, but let's be real here: I knew he was lying. He, at the very least, didn't know what was going to happen.

He reappeared in the hallway where our clothes had been strewn. He pressed me against the wall and began caressing my side.

"You okay?"

"I think... I think I need to sit down," I stammered. Instead of finding a piece of furniture to sit down upon, my back slid down the wall and I plopped on the carpet. I grabbed the towel I used minutes earlier and tried to use it as a security blanket, but Statham grabbed it out of my hands and tossed it aside.

"You think this was a mistake," he said slowly. "It's written all over your face."

Yes. "No." I paused, "Just promise me one thing: when you get back together with your ex, this never happened."

He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I know people have been joking all weekend, taking bets about when we're getting back together, but it's different this time. This wasn't one of our usual breakups. There was closure." He met my eyes and held them, "I don't regret what I did with you. Not one bit."

"It's just I'm new and I'm trying to make friends. I don't want gossip and I don't want a reputation."

He laughed. "It's an incestuous group. Everybody has slept with everybody—except for me of course because I've been in a relationship—and what you've done is nothing compared to the rest of them.

"I have a good time with you," he continued. "When we were hanging out at the team bar and we were all invited to the Mexican restaurant, I was excited to hang out with you more! I thought you were giving me a vibe."

I clasped my hands to my face and groaned, "I'm not supposed to be giving out the vibe!" And if I remember correctly, I didn't. At least not intentionally. Don't get me wrong, I've given Statham the vibe before, but at the team bar he was the one who approached me.

He popped up behind my barstool, "Listen, we have to talk about your shorts."

I looked down. I was wearing little red running shorts with my alma mater stamped on the leg. I looked at Statham's shorts. He was wearing the basketball shorts of the enemy. My rival school.

"My shorts are more socially adept than your shorts," I teased.

"My shorts are smarter than your your shorts."

"My shorts can outdrink your shorts."

"My shorts make more money than your shorts."

"My shorts have hot girls!" I shouted.

"Touche," he smiled.

So, no, it wasn't me. Or at least it didn't start with me.

"And then I get to the Mexican restaurant and the ex was there..." he trailed off. "She wasn't supposed to be there."

"I didn't know it was her."

"I was trying to get you to go home with me last night, but Clemson wouldn't leave," he snarled. I stayed silent. "And today at the pub you ignored me," he playfully slapped my leg. "Now it's Sunday night and we both have to be at work in the morning. So what now?" he asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. My mind was blank. I kept thinking about when Valdosta dumped me. I invited him up to my apartment and he said no, that we needed to separate and let things marinate. That's what I wanted in this moment. I wanted to leave, let the dust settle and have time to sort out my feelings.

He tilted his head to the side and tisked. "You still think this was a mistake, don't you?"

Yes. "No."

But I already know this was a mistake, because I just put myself in a prime situation to get hurt. Your twenties are for making mistakes though. Thank god I got one week left.

"At least you can cross 'sleeping with the enemy' off your list of things to do before you're 30," he chuckled.

The tension broke and I laughed. I shook my head, "You know, I think you are my first."

I just don't know yet if this was a good mistake or a bad mistake.

Fantasy versus Reality

Fantasy

While commuting home from work, get restless. Decide to send your man a racy text, which is really out of character for you since you don't really text since you got dumped via one a few years ago. "I'm wanna sex you up," you type out, laughing at your Color Me Badd reference, and take pause to wonder what is it with your complete and utter love of terrible music. Your man texts back something equally as racy and you press the gas pedal to get home that much quicker.

Once in your apartment, pour yourself a glass of red wine. Wander into the bedroom to straighten the covers on the bed and light some candles. Shed your winter clothes for a see-through black lace babydoll he's never seen before. Strike a pose at the end of the hallway so when he opens the front door, he gets a full view of you.

When he opens the door, he gasps at your boldness. He drops his keys and rushes to you and immediately grabs you and kisses you. Like a dance, he moves forward and you move backwards towards the bedroom. His arms are wrapped around you and you never stop kissing, even when your back hits the bed. Wild and passionate lovemaking ensues.

Reality

While commuting home from work, get restless. Decide to send your man a racy text, which is really out of character for you since you don't really text since you got dumped via one a few years ago. "I'm wanna sex you up, you type out," laughing at your Color Me Badd reference, and take pause to wonder what is it with your complete and utter love of terrible music. Wait for his response.

"Fo real? I dont believe u," he responds. Groan at the fact you're with someone who uses text lingo. Gag a little bit.

Once in your apartment, pour yourself a glass of red wine. Wander into the bedroom to straighten the covers on the bed and light some candles. Shed your winter clothes for a see-through black lace babydoll he's never seen before. Realize it's still winter, and put a robe on over your goosefleshed skin. Shiver another minute.

Check the clock to see the time, and wonder where he is. Finish the glass of wine and look helplessly around the apartment. Finally sit down on the couch and pick up your knitting.

After he knocks on the door (because you so cleverly locked it—he can't come home and see you in a terrycloth robe and knitting or he'll run 10 miles in the other direction), race to the door and unlock it while tossing both the robe and the knitting. Breathlessly strike your pose at the end of the hallway.

When he opens the door, he gasps at your boldness. And then he stifles back a laugh. You shrug it off and walk towards him, planting him a soft and seductive kiss while pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to vent about work first. I'm so mad!" he says.

Remember it's still winter and feel a gust of chill from when he came inside. Retrieve both your robe and your knitting and slink back onto the couch. Listen to him vent about issues that seriously could have waited until after the wild and passionate lovemaking.

When he realizes you're not exactly paying attention, he stops talking and looks at you in your robe. He gently grabs the belt and loosens it and peels back the front layer to peek inside. It's like he sees you for the first time today. Pick up where your fantasy left off.

Or, if you're naughty, use protection

As seen in my doctor's office.

Tag Heuer, I'm it

Yesterday I walked in the door from work and I pounced. It had been a few days since I had any lovin' and I just didn't want to wait any longer. It took a few minutes to convince the boyfriend to give up on his nap. Finally I lead him in the bedroom where we frantically peel each other's clothes off...

And his watch clips me in the nose.

An uppercut of quartz and metal, I cried out as I collapsed onto the bed. The men's watch is just so much bigger than the women's watch. It's also heavier. Instinctively I pushed against the bridge of my nose to stop the pain and make sure it was still attached to my face. It hurt so badly that I even checked to see if it was broken: my nose, not the watch. It wasn't and I didn't want to wreck the mood, so I pushed against it one more time to stop the blood flow and forced myself to forget about it.

Today my nose throbs. It has three cuts on it from the stupid edges of the face. The bruising is light to moderate. And because he hit the bridge, the pain is between my eyes. A steady, pulsing throb.

Please tell me this kind of stuff happens to other people too.

Hump Day just got a whole lot sexier

"Fffuck. Shit. Damn. Oh God!"

Why do guys swear when they're about to orgasm?

In my experience, guys swear like drunken sailors with Tourettes when they are about to cum. This is especially so if the orgasm is originating from oral sex. Most don't even swear much during normal speech, but wrap some lips around them and it's like those are the only words they know. Or maybe it's just the guys I've been around, and if this is the case, I would like to know this as well.

I asked Scott last night. He thinks it's an American thing. He believes men learn it from porn where the women scream obscenities--they watch it at such a young age and it just becomes ingrained in them. I'm not buying it, but I don't have any other alternative theories.

Is swearing before orgasm a purely American thing? Do you or your partner swear? Why? Answer anonymously if you want, but I'm curious about it.

Dear Trojan, I hate you.

The condom broke last night.

And so begins Pregnancy Watch '07.

After we realized what happened, I jumped up from the bed and got in the shower. I knew it wouldn't solve anything, but thorough washing was the only proactive thing I could think of. I pulled back the shower curtain and jumped when I saw Scott sitting on the closed toilet, "I called Walgreen's--they do have Plan B like you thought."

Scott. The look on his face when he saw the broken condom. Considering his previous experience, I knew he was not going to handle this scare very well. I knew I was the one who had to remain calm and collected. I wrapped a towel around me and went into my closet to get dressed, "Well it's a good thing they're open 24 hours."

Scott trailed behind me, "This is what happens when you have sex. You have to be prepared for the consequences. Are you ready to have a child?" When Scott gets serious, his voice can sound patronizing when it is not his intention. I tried to remind myself this.

"You can't be serious."

He followed me into my closet, "Are you ready to have a child?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Are you ready to have a child?"

I felt trapped. Trapped in my closet and trapped by his question. I reached down and grabbed a t-shirt to pull on, "I'm not answering that." I began to shake. I knew this would freak him out and that I had to be the coherent one, but he's in my closet sternly asking about babies.

"Hey hey hey, come here," he stopped me from turning away and pulled me to him. I looked at his face for the first time and saw his lip was trembling and his eyes were tearing, "It's just, I didn't ask that last time. And I should have. I need to know."

"No."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. At first I thought it was a sigh of relief, but he was actually wincing.

"I'm not ready for a baby," I clarified, "But if I don't have a choice about it, I'll deal with it. I'm 26 with a stable job and health care. People actually plan babies when they're my age." I slipped my shirt on and grabbed my car keys. "Look, if you don't want to go, I can go pick up the drugs by myself. You can stay here or go home if you need to. I can handle this." He was so close to breaking down that I wanted to give him an easy out.

"Don't talk like that. I'm staying by your side."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

I've actually taken Plan B before and I'm confident in the drug, but Scott wasn't. No doubt the scare put him in the throes of his first pregnancy. He teared up and described the events: what happened, what he felt. As much as I held on being the strong one, I faltered when I heard all the details. A nervous habit, I began to clean the apartment.

"Will you stop folding the sheets for one minute?" He took the clean laundry from my hands and stuffed it in the chair. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"I want to hear you say you're okay."

"I'm okay."

"I'm with you in this. For the long haul. I'd fight for it." And maybe it was supposed to be a romantic moment, but I felt like another mistake. I want love before a baby. I want someone to marry me because he wants to, not because he feels obliged to. Mostly I wanted to stop talking about pregnancy, because the Plan B is going to work.

My New Light

I got home from work and stopped when I reached my living room. Discarded on the floor were the previous night's clothes: it was my birthday and Jack met up with my friends and me at a baseball game and then took me for martinis afterwards. A lot of martinis.

What had seemed passionate the night before now seemed foolish and regrettable. Jack had seen the clothes that morning while I was in the shower as he retrieved his to dress. I wonder if the daylight made him think the same.

I didn't do anything wrong--I had sex with the guy I've been seeing for a few months, but I felt irresponsible after viewing the situation under a new light.

E2 said the baseball game was awkward with him there. She regaled how she, not me, invited him over for dinner and how he began to complain. I was grateful that she wanted to invite me over and cook for me, and he whined it was his only afternoon off this week. I tried to use the birthday card, but he informed me that I only get the one day. E2 couldn't believe she invited him over and he took it out on me. Not putting up with his attitude, she then uninvited him.

Katie then spoke up about how she got upset with Jack because every word he said to her was putting her down. She said she tried to remember if he was like that when they worked together, but she didn't know. She thinks it may be based on the power of suggestion: maybe he did it all along and she never noticed until I brought it up.

Helen admitted at first she was worried that if something happened between Jack and me, what would happen to the group. But now she said he's making it easy to not be his friend. Both E2 and Katie agreed that they like me better and that they would choose me.

Which makes me feel really, really horrible.

I just met these people three months ago and they would choose me over Jack: who E2 has known for over four years. They have known him longer. I feel like I'm stealing his friends.

I'm beginning to regret going over to Helen's for comfort on Good Friday. In doing so, I tainted his image; my talking about him has made people not like him. Then again, I'm not a person who exaggerates and makes things up, but maybe Katie wouldn't have noticed that he's never actually said a nice thing to her. Helen says he's digging his own grave. She said she's already stopped inviting him to group activities.

It was an eye-opener for them to hear how crazy-critical and arrogant Jack can behave. It was an eye-opener for me to hear E2 and Helen talk about him like that: how he took turns offending them as well. It validates that perhaps I'm not just being too sensitive.

I thought my birthday was fun. Now I'm not so sure.

Rated R for Randy

I don't know if it's the music.

I don't know if it's the breathing.

I don't know if it's my no-slip rubber mat.

But yoga turns me on.

After an hour spent with my kness spread apart and my legs over my head, I just want a good deep dicking. I can't explain it.

Last night I was in some sort of shoulder stand slowing bending each leg until my knee could kiss my nose and all I could think was I wonder what it would feel like to get fucked like this.

Don't make love to me, just bend me until it hurts.

And after yoga, it's a lot further than normally.

Give me strength

I will not have sex with Adam tonight.
I will not have sex with Adam tonight.
I will not have sex with Adam tonight.

Unmoral Compasses

It was Monday afternoon and I had not heard from Adam since Friday morning. But I had jumped and decided not to worry about it. I had faith in... something. Yes, I had faith in myself. Barring a few incidents where I wandered into the kitchen to stare at my alcohol supply, Adam hadn't stolen many of my thoughts.

"I get the feeling that he's disappearing," said N over lunch.

"Yeah, me too. I don't think I did anything wrong though." I grabbed another piece of bread from the basket between us and picked off the seeds. "I think something else is occupying his mind. It may be another girl; it may not be."

"Well if he doesn't contact you today, e-mail him in the morning and make sure you're still on for Tuesday."

"That sounds fair."

I like going to N with relationship advice. She thinks like I do. Best of all, she has the same moral compass as me-- the unmoral kind.

"And remember, if you don't think things are going to work out," she advises, "go ahead and sleep with him. That way you'll at least get your jollies."

Yes, I definitely like the way N thinks.

Just when N and I decided to employ Operation Treat Him Mean and Keep Him Keen, Adam sent me an e-mail. When I should have been happy to hear from him, I was a bit disappointed. It was too informational and not flirty. "It doesn't earn a response," I hollered over my cubicle wall at N.

Four hours and a half a bottle of wine later, I sat in front of my monitor at home and studied the e-mail for the 10th time. I looked for hidden messages, either good or bad, but of course there were none veiled behind such lines as "How was your weekend?"

I hit reply and simply wrote, "Why don't you give me a call after class and I'll tell you about it?" I emptied the wine glass in my mouth and hit send and walked away.

By the time Adam called, the wine bottle was almost empty, my legs were freshly shaven (not the best idea combining the two activities but I escaped unharmed), and I was wearing my pjs that made my ass look fantastic.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"On my couch."

"Let's hang out."

"Ok, come on over."

And I got my jollies.

Spoons

"Big spoon or little spoon?"

Adam's trying to use my terminology.

"Little spoon for movies..."

"And big spoon for sleeping," he finishes. I smile.

He removes the pillows from the couch and we climb on together with me in front, the little spoon. He lays his lower arm under my neck and wraps his free arm around me. Never in my life have I ever felt so good and safe and warm in someone else's arms. I take a moment and ponder if I just feel this way because of the absence of someone else's arms, or if it's Adam. No, even now I still can't answer that.

A couple hours later and we change locations. Instead of feeling good and safe, I feel sexy and skinny and powerful. I truly like kissing Adam. I've learned I'll do just about anything to hear him groan. With Adam, I don't worry that I'm not beautiful enough or smart enough; I don't feel him judging.

He leans forward and sits up in bed and I wrap my legs around him and we make out. Light from the highrise across the street pours in his bedroom window, giving just enough light to see the outline of his slender body. I put my hands on his face and push them through his hair. I want my hands everywhere on him.

A couple hours after that and we settle into sleepy silences. We giggle under his goose down comforter while we slowly make our way into our sleeping positions. Adam turns and thrusts his back towards me. I take the opportunity and snuggle up against him, meeting every crevice of his body with my own, and smoosh my face into his shoulder blade. Adam groans.

"Big spoon?" he asks.

"Big... spoon..." I repeat and fall asleep before I could even finish the thought.

To be filed under: Mistake

Well now you've really done it.
I needed control.
Who are you kidding, you're more out of control than anything!
No, I feel like I have the upper hand again.
You have some trust issues. Seriously.
He cancelled. After I admitted I did not have a good feeling about this, he cancelled.
He was tired. He let you know as soon as he knew he wouldn't feel up to it. Then he called you. He's done nothing wrong.
The whole situation was shisty. He told me to call him when I got back into the city and when I did, his phone was off.
It was because he was sleeping. He was tired. He e-mailed you at 4 AM. You know he was up late.
I just didn't like being asked to call him to see if he's up for going out or not.
Well you took care of that, didn't you?
I didn't think he was going to call again.
Who reacts that way though?
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
You took advantage of him. You knew you could use him so you did.
I didn't hear him complaining.
You haven't seen him in seven years and you call him, invite him over, and sleep with him. Normal people do not do this.
I didn't think Adam was going to call again.
But he did.
Well... I didn't see that coming.
He called while you were naked with someone else.
He cancelled on me.
You are such an asshole. You cried silently on his shoulder while he watched football and you prayed he would think it was just sweat that was rolling down him. It was 5 tears, but you never cry. Talk about post orgasm regret. And then your phone in the bathroom rings and you recognize Adam's ringtone. Adam left you a long rambling message about how he was sorry for being absent this weekend and then he asked you out for tonight. TONIGHT.
Oh god, what have I done?
You were mad at men, so you used one to get back at Adam. You used a human being.
Again, he wasn't complaining.
And what are you going to do now?
Ignore the one I slept with and never tell Adam. We're not exclusive.
This makes you look pretty slutty.
I feel pretty slutty, okay? Don't give me such a hard time about it! I have to go home and take out the trash to hide any evidence!
And how do you feel you have control again?
Because I can get it elsewhere too, I'm not sitting around waiting for him to call.
But what if he really was tired? Why can't you just believe that?
Because I refuse to be played the fool. Not this time. Not again.
You could lose him over this.
I never had him.

I'm going to have sex Jack!

Nick is currently en route to my apartment. I don't think I've ever had a boy drive through 3 states just to see me before-- that's a nice feeling.

I realized that all my closest girlfriends are virgins, and it makes it hard to talk about sex with them. They are still under the belief that if you really care about someone, the sex will be amazing.

Heh, heh.

I liked the fact that Nick and I were old friends from school. I liked saying that we were college buddies; it felt good that I had a platonic friend that I've kept over the years. In my circle of friends from college, I've pretty much hooked up with 90% of them. Conor and his three roommates, it took me seven years, but they all could compare notes if they wanted to. Oh god, boys don't do that, do they? I've never compared notes when Conor slept with my friends.

And after that last time I saw Nick, he makes one more.

***I'm feeling pretty slutty right now, so I want to stress that we've worked our way through each other over seven years. A lot can happen in seven years; that's close to a decade! Ok so our group is pretty incestuous, but feelings were never hurt. We didn't all cheat on each other and there would be an appropriate lapse of time between relationships to make this look less like an HBO special***

So tonight I'm going to be in room with most of my sexual history. My sexual history is going to drink together, talk together, and take pictures with each other. My history will sing and get drunk and good times will be had by all. But that's a little weird, right?

If I could do it all over again, I probably wouldn't have slept with Nick. I feel like I tainted the friendship with the naked factor. My virgin friends say that I could try to get back to where we were before by not sleeping with him this weekend. However, I feel it's too late. You can't erase the memory. You can't erase what happened.

The way I look at it, I can sleep with Nick again. It would be advantageous to do so because I can get laid without upping my sexual partner count. There won't have to be any weird morning afters and no discussions about where this is going.

I'm going to have sex Jack!

Let's talk about sex

I found this poem recently and I love it. I find it really empowering and liberating. The voice obviously does not partake in sex without love, yet she is jealous of the act. She views those who do it as "purists" which is rather ironic because sex without love is a sin in God's eyes. It's a clinical look at love, acknowledging the partner as simply a factor.

I identify with this poem because that's how I've felt towards my relationship with Christopher. During sex, I'm not thinking about him. I don't even look at him if I can help it. I think about me and concentrate on me, something I don't think I do enough of in general. I feel alone, but in a good way, like a runner as the poem illustrates.

I'm so glad I found something that can articulate how I feel. She wants what I have. She wants to be me.