One girl. One college. Three thousand guys. This blog is a blow-by-blow [yes, that was a dirty pun] account of the social (and usually sexual) misadventures of a commitment-phobic and ironically promiscuous virgin.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

This will get old

But for now, it's still exciting. Three posts in one day is kind of sick, especially when I am trying to work on a paper. And do my Latin (Yeah, I know, Latin is dead, blah, blah, blah... fuck you). And clean my room. Instead I am sitting on blogger doing exactly what I told myself I wouldn't be doing. I guess it's better than Facebook.

I just can't decide whether or not I care if he calls. I don't think I do for any reason other than my room is cold, I don't have a television, and I am horny. His room is warm, he has not only a TV, but about a million DVDs and cable to boot, and he is good at what his does with his hands. And mouth. Goddammit.

It's true what they say, you can't miss what you never had, but I think sex might be the big exception. I feel like I'm missing something whenever I think about the fact that I'm not having any. I think it's probably because I don't have any religious qualms about it, or even really clear moral grounds on the matter. I just have dated anyone long enough to validate having sex with him. I have had friends who just had sex to get it over with, with varying responses. I think the only thing that I really worry about is the attachment issues. I mean, after holding onto something for almost twenty-years, you're bound to miss it when it's gone, right? I guess I just don't want to look back and regret it. You always remember your firsts, don't you? I mean, your first bike, your first kiss (shudder, I kind of wish I didn't), your first crush (my older brother's friend Lucas, he was in sixth grade and I was in second when I first fell in love. I used to have to hang out after school and wait for my brother to walk me home and I would just stare at his golden floppy hair. He was such a badass too, he dislocated his shoulder playing structure tag one day, and was back on the playground less than a week later. Sigh. He was pretty much a rockstar in my 8 year-old eyes... what was I talking about?).

Not to defile the moment, but I still remember my first blow job. It was in a sixty-nine. I was sixteen (okay, fifteen). I know some people do the sex thing first and will only give head to someone they really love, but lets be real for a minute: oral sex does not knock you up. I mean, I'm not advocating going out and giving head to everyone you meet - especially as a manner of maintaining your virginity. Not at all, but my first time (and just about all subsequent times) a guy went down on me first, and so it didn't seem like such a big deal. Actually, the first guy I ever gave head to had gone down on me more than once, and it was absolutely fantastic. I didn't feel OBLIGATED to do it, but it seemed like a fair gesture. I've never thought the act itself was so terrible - though on occasion I get a little bored and start thinking about a new pair of shoes I want to buy - which is why I pretty much prescribe to the "give and you will receive" tactic. If you go down on me, I'll go down on you. Unless I am tired, in which case I will probably just go to sleep. That may sound a little unfair, but how often do guys get a blow job and the girl gets the shaft both literally and figuratively (ha, I am so witty)? I guess the end of this thought is: If he goes, I'll (usually) go and never see it as a huge deal. It's too impersonal to get attached over, and as long as I leave satisfied, I don't really mind.

I digress... back to the "my first" experience. I liked the guy, Mike, a lot actually, but I was more physically attracted to him than anything else. He was about three years older and had way more sexual experience than I will ever have in my life - more than anyone not working in the porn industry will ever have in their life - and I let him take the lead while we were hooking up, probably more than I should have. I don't regret it and even at the time I didn't really think that it meant something "special." The hook up itself didn't really have as much impact as I thought it would, other than the fact that it caused another "first" (there were ice cubs involved... this is definitely another post). I liked him before and I liked him after. Maybe I've just never been dillusional, but I didn't mistake it for love or even like. We still talked for years after that until he became kind of a bum, and from what I hear, got ugly. I swear he used to be hot. Think Dave Grohl from the Foo Fighers. Except hot. I realized after I typed "Dave Grohl" that there are probably a lot of people who wouldn't exactly call him "sexy," "hot" or even "remotely attractive," but Mike was hot.

Now, four or five years later I am wondering about the last of the great "firsts." This had better be worth the wait - and I mean roses, champagne, and magical rainbows - otherwise it'll just be kind of disappointing. Once again, I'm not in any rush, but it would just be a bummer to find out that there was nothing really that spectactular or special about it. Think of all the wasted opportunity.


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