Sexuality Happens

Funny story. I hooked up with this bio guy back in the day, and I then found out that we was a friend of my middle school friend (well, of her boyfriend). And now middle school friend and I are chatting more, and hope to hang out lots in Denver (and she writes a sex blog;(un)scripted sexuality). And she’s dating/fucking/seeing him now. She asked if I’d ever written about him on here.

And I realized I hadn’t. For a plethora of reasons, but mainly because it wasn’t ever a bad experience. He didn’t stalk me, he didn’t cut me out of his life, he didn’t start saying horribly chauvinistic things and tell me he didn’t believe that sexual assault exists, he didn’t tell people that I tried to seduce him into having PIV intercourse, none of the above. He didn’t assault me.

In fact, he was the first person to make me feel attractive, to actually feel like someone thought I was pretty/sexy/etc, instead of just interesting, eclectic, etc.

People don’t usually tell me I’m pretty. They say stuff like “wow, you have beautiful skin,” “your eyes are very intriguing,” “your hair color compliments your personality.” Even people I am naked in front of, and/or fuck; “Your eyes really make these photos pop,” “god, I love the things your fingers do inside me,” “I think your tattoos are perfectly matched to you,” and “I like your hair long; I can grab it better.” That’s if they say anything about my looks.

Now, I know looks aren’t everything. Clearly. If someone only complimented me on my looks, and wasn’t able to hold an intelligent/interesting conversation, I’d be out of there before you can say “so like, you’re totally hot.” Conversely, it’s nice to hear, at least occasionally, that someone finds you attractive/pretty/beautiful/sexy.

The other day, a roller girl from a different league and I struck up a conversation at an after party. We’d chatted before after May’s bout, and I’d heard a rumor that she was queer…plus, I’d given her a lap dance at the last party, so the very least I could do was have a decent conversation with her.

We talked for a little bit, mostly about she’d been really drunk last time, and might have said some things that were awkward. Then she said “you know, I saw you earlier today, and thought “wow, you’re really pretty. I mean, I don’t think you were ugly before, but I guess I didn’t realize that you’re actually very pretty. Striking, actually.”

Well, I guess it’s always better to be found prettier by someone when they’re sober, than prettier when they’re drunk. And it was a nice compliment. Someone found me pretty, yay. I just didn’t know how to take it.

Back to said boy. I was reading over Sasha’s post about how he makes her feel good, and it struck a note with me, so I decided to read over my old and angsty personal blog posts that involved him. It was complicated, everything about liking him. Firstly, he had been dating someone I knew…and he wasn’t really my type. But regardless, I liked him, a lot. And tried to convince myself that I didn’t:

And I said into the silence “ENOUGH.” And I didn’t cry. And I wasn’t angry. I just gave up. And I will always find him attractive. And I hope we will continue our friendship and good conversations. But there’s nothing else I can do.

But then, I wound up giving him a ride someone’s house one night, with flakes of snow falling.

We get to the house. He gets out, says I don’t need to wait for him, and shuts the door. Then he opens the door. Does the *hi, I’m opening my mouth like I’m going to say something but nothing comes out* move, and shuts the door. Then he opens the door again, and says “never mind”, to which I say “just bloody say it already”. He goes on a monologue about lines, and drawing lines, and friendship, etc, and then says “tell me if this is crossing the line, but do you find me attractive.” to which I say yes. He says “what?” and I say “yes.”

NO ONE calls me sexy. Cute, cuddly, adorable, motherly, caring, etc, YES. Sexy, NO.

I still remember the moment. I remember the shirt I was wearing (low cut…of course). I was wearing jeans. I remember what the street looked like; I could probably drive you there tomorrow if I had to. I don’t remember lots of things about people I’ve hooked up with…I don’t remember what the prospie was wearing, I don’t remember the asshole’s sheets, I don’t remember if the derby girl ever put her fingers inside me. Hell, I don’t even remember that much in great detail about our hook up (although I remember more, now that I’ve read back through my private posts from that time). However, I remember that moment as if it was a photograph, simply because it had never happened before. I didn’t think anything would come of it, I didn’t have any underlying motives or plans to seduce him, I was just so stunned at being told I was sexy, and that moment imprinted itself on my brain.

We did hook up. It involved coffee and a sex store, and a walk through downtown after midnight enjoying the lights leftover from the holidays. It involved me repeatedly asking if he was ok with it, making sure he was sure, and convincing him that yes, I really did want to suck his cock, yes, even if he’d already jacked off twice that day and might not come, and yes, even if he hadn’t shaved. It involved me shivering, and him covering me, and him going back and forth between “this was a one time deal because ____” and “next time we do this, _____.” I wound up tired and emotional…

It takes a little time, but he comes. And he even kisses me afterwards. And we get water, and come back and lie in bed. And he starts talking. Which is a bad plan. Because I kind of end up in tears, not on purpose…and I stop. But it’s a combo of both “this is a one night thing” and him repeatedly saying “next time”. And I just can’t handle this. And he’s so nice. Covering me up, getting water, telling me not to leave yet. And he touched my face, and my hair. And it was so nice.

Ok. Now, years later, I realize that putting the covers over me, kissing me after oral sex, being nice enough to get me water, touching my face and stroking my hair…these are all things that *should* happen in healthy sexual interactions (if you want them, of course). However, up until this point in my life (and after it as well, come to think of it), I’d never been told I was pretty/sexy/beautiful by anyone I was sexually active with, I’d never had anyone stroke my hair, or lightly touch my face, or offer me water. Now that I write these things, I realize that (as of late), both C and K did these kind of things, and maybe that’s one more reason I enjoyed them so much, because I knew that they held me in some regard, cared enough to touch me, hold me, take care of me to some extent.

But that had never happened before, and here was this guy, not only telling me I was sexy, but being a good person. I felt like a princess. In hindsight, I wonder if I would have felt the same way had I been in similarly healthy situations before this situation. I might never know.

So I totally understand what Sasha means about being made to feel special, and then realizing that maybe she should have gotten to feel this in other relationships (but didn’t get to). I understand that allure he has. I remember how it felt to be told I was sexy for the first time.

I wish people would tell me it more often (no, this is not a fish for compliments. there is not need to fill up the comment section with “but you ARE sexy!” posts). I like being appreciated for my brains, for my skin, for my breasts, for my eyes, for my sense of humor…but isn’t all of these things together that make a person sexy, pretty, attractive? I wish people wouldn’t always dissect me, turn me into parts. I wish I could just be fucking sexy sometimes, or beautiful, or pretty, or gorgeous, or pick your word, and it just be that. And with him, it was. And it was good.

The end.

-Essin’ Em