Good sex is so unsatisfying
It leaves me wanting more!
On Saturday night I went to Seattle’s first Pancakes & Booze Art Show, a curation of fabulous local art and pancakes kept exclusive by a half-hour-long line. I attended with a roommate, a friend from college, and a former coworker who happens to be a man.
Regarding the art show, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves in a later post. The art was good and I liked it. I have not yet developed the language to talk about art.
So my roommate leaves, and my friend from college leaves, and suddenly I am not unhappily alone with my very male former coworker. We head to Capitol Hill for another drink, then to Volunteer Park to peer in the windows of a greenhouse, then whoops, what do you know I missed the last ferry back to Bainbridge.
We head back to his place and, after a nightcap and a night of great conversation, we get busy. And it’s good. Not the best I’ve ever had — it wasn’t nearly love-making and it wasn’t like that night in Ithaca with a man whose name I honestly can’t remember; the man I still kick myself for sleeping with because he called me gauche over dinner, for a reason I also can’t remember, probably for being too shy to speak or for just being myself, but I slept with him anyway and I still kick myself and also don’t because that was the best sex of my life.
So this wasn’t that, but neither was it that pushy, demanding, uncommunicative sex that happened on Tuesday. I definitely wasn’t making a to-do list in my head as it all went down. And now I’m like, eek! because bad sex serves an amazing role. Bad sex happens and maybe it hurts, but you still get laid and then it’s over and you get to go home and giggle with your girlfriends and make fun of his attempts at follow-up conversation, if any, and you sure as hell never want to see him again.
But good sex? Good sex has my body saying “yum” and “more” without my permission or approval. Now I don’t want him to be my *BoYfRiEnD*, but I’d be down to see him again in a week or two. Keep it casual.
I don’t want to want! I want to fuck and laugh and move on. My priorities are myself and female friendships and damned if I’m going to let good dick get in my way.
When I was in college there was kind of a running joke among my friends that I would always fuck the guy I hated the most at a party. The over-confident, over-talkative freshman. The terribly unfunny, self-absorbed comedian. In my youth (aka 3 years ago), I was blinded to my own wants and needs and thoughts and feelings by copious amounts of alcohol. With the clarity of age and wisdom I understand: there ain’t no commitment in having horrible hate sex with your enemy.
Now that I am older and sober-er and wiser I don’t need to have bad sex to keep myself away from commitment. I don’t have time for that.
I am too busy for bad sex and too busy to get distracted by fun good sex with a friend. I went to an art show Saturday, sailing Sunday, networking in Seattle on Monday, house party on Bainbridge Tuesday, Beach Day at Sunset Tavern Wednesday, on and on ad infinitum. Life.