The sky wizard is plain evil

2 Mar

A drum&bass compilation called Legally Stoned is the perfect background music to this bit I’m about to write. I contemplated housing this blog post on my desktop, in eternal obscurity. Instead, I’ll put it online and dedicate it to one tall, big-boobed, blue-eyed, full-lipped, smart, sweet, hilarious blonde with whom I talk about sex way too comfortably.

When I found myself single after a very intense relationship ended, I went out. A lot. If anyone was going out, I was going too. I danced and danced and drank about 50 glasses of Sauvignon blanc that winter (rebel). I smoked pot with my friends and had a blast being young and happy. There just wasn’t a whole lotta action going on. Know what I’m saaaaayin’? Until one fine night, when I went out with a friend to this chill little funky lounge. We’d been there for a couple of hours when I saw him walk in.

He was tall – a little taller than I like ’em but with great shoulders and looking mighty sharp in dark jeans. My friend readily approved. He chatted with friends, didn’t approach any girls, and none of them approached him either. Fuck it, I’d do it. I don’t know what the hell I said to him when I touched his shoulder, but we talked, exchanged numbers, got to our respective homes and continued to talk over the phone for hours. We met two nights later to talk some more in the dark, quiet booth we ended up choosing at the bar. I really liked him. He was smart, funny, attentive, kind, seemed genuinely interested in me, and had a gorgeous smile.

We went back to his place after the bar that night but I had that stupid voice in my head telling me I was a slut. I sat on the living room couch and he excused himself. In the 47 seconds he was gone, I weighed the pros and cons of what might or might not unfold that night and was decidedly glad I had chosen pants over skirt. He came back into the room – had changed into a white t-shirt and sexy man sweatpants (I love sexy man sweatpants). He offered me a soda, turned on South Park, and sat next to me with his arm around my shoulder. He smelled nice.

You’re single, you haven’t had sex in a while, you’re horny but you don’t want to be a whore. So God sent you a hot-bodied, intelligent, funny, well-dressed, well-mannered, deep-voiced, good-music-loving motherfucking Adonis to watch the Casa Bonita episode with. Are you serious? It doesn’t matter that God doesn’t exist. It doesn’t matter if you don’t ever see him again. Jump him now, idiot.

So we started kissing and stuff. It got hot and heavy and we went to the bedroom.

All of a sudden, the equipment wasn’t working. At first it didn’t bother me, because I knew it soon would. But no. Really. It didn’t work, no matter what. No matter WHAT.

Oh man! Sometimes that happens, was he drunk? Maybe he was just nervous, it’s happened to me before. Poor guy!

No, he was completely sober, and yes, I understand that. And honestly, “no hard feelings” – if it weren’t for how the rest went down. He didn’t know what he was doing… he was very confused. He was so confused I didn’t even know where to begin to help him. I was shocked at what was happening and wondered if he’d ever watched a little porn in his life. It was a cruel joke. I could’ve been home sleeping with my dog. What the fuck.

We never spoke again. I was cheated and traumatized, and even though I felt extremely bad, I couldn’t fathom having to talk about that experience.

I had a great time with you last night, Night Writer

I, uh… yeah, I know you did… Hey, you said you lived with your girlfriend for two years before she broke up with you, right?

I had figured the worst case scenario would’ve been mediocre sex with Adonis. I didn’t imagine it could be so bad and strange and difficult that after months of celibacy and while tipsy on two beers I would truly wish I were home asleep instead. WHY couldn’t I have stayed in the corner, with my friend and my wine the other night?

It took me months and a 21 year-old Irish soccer player with a great sense of humor and a barely decipherable accent to help me bury that incident deep into the dimly lit part of my brain where I hide memories such as, but not limited to, vomiting on my crush’s dorm room door and being mistaken for a boy because my mother insisted I have short hair as a child. My Irish boy was a splendidly refreshing short summer fling.

While my friend and I chatted about sex last night (all the sex she’s having and I’m not), we agreed that my next boyfriend will be a lucky man. I know there’s great (or at least mediocre-but-will-get-better) sex AND conversation to be had with the same person. I have to believe it.


7 Responses to “The sky wizard is plain evil”

  1. Matthew March 2, 2010 at 12:50 #

    rawr, listen to you. prowler. πŸ˜‰

    sorry it didn’t go so well, last time. get em next time!

    • Night Writer March 2, 2010 at 14:00 #

      hehe thanks πŸ™‚ i’m not a ho, really (not that you called me one, i’m just on the defensive). i’m just, you know.. human πŸ™‚

  2. inna March 3, 2010 at 17:16 #

    haha i didn’t see that coming. awesome πŸ˜€
    maybe you should look into the whole indecipherable accent thing… seems to do the trick

  3. Night Writer March 3, 2010 at 17:23 #

    i sure am a sucker for charming accents, but i don’t think that’d be very good for anything longer than 2 weeks… lol

  4. subject-verb agreement March 4, 2010 at 19:48 #

    do me a favor: never apologize for being a sexual, sensual woman, again.

    don’t waste your breath trying to qualify the re-telling of your intimate experiences with “i’m not a ho”, because people who judge, will do so regardless. own your sexuality. there is no shame in taking what you want, when you want it. xo

  5. Angelo Maddock May 1, 2010 at 21:00 #

    Looking forward to reading more. Great post.Much thanks again. Cool.

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