For a sex-craved girl, my stats are low. It wasn’t until last night that I had my first one night stand, well at least I think I did. You’d think I would have slept around a little bit more at the ripe age of 22, but if I did in fact sleep with him, it would have only been the third man I’ve taken the plunge with.
The worst part is, I’m not sure if we actually had sex. The last thing I remember is him saying he thought he had a condom somewhere in his room, then I woke up bare-ass naked next to him with a condom wrapper on the floor. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention I’d drank more than a lonely sailor that night.
The way I see it this could have played out two ways. 1) We fucked. It was just too quick and boring for me to remember in my drunken state or 2) I fell asleep while he was rubber hunting.
You’d think I feel dirty for what happened, but the thing is- I don’t remember it. It’s as if part of my mind blocked out all bad memories to spare me from a life of regret.
I remember that his entire body was smooth. Almost like he didn’t have the ability to grow body hair. And his hands, oh his hands were awful. They would have beautiful on a woman, but not this dude. His dainty little fingers made my hands look like they were pulled straight from a caveman. He didn’t know how to cuddle, kiss or hug. In the morning I gave him a hug goodbye and he almost fell over, like a limp piece of asparagus.
He called to make sure I made it home safe. I never called back.