A Change of Direction

I spend a lot of time in my head. My curiosity is pretty lazy though. I'm much more interested in possibilities than realities. Every now and then I begin to wonder if I'm starting to go crazy or am I just terribly bored. In any case, wondering is something I do a lot of. A few weeks ago, I found a diary I wrote a few entries in when I was about 14. The thoughts spelled out from my younger self were shocking. Though I've certainly gained more experience, I am no less obsessed with sex than I was when it completely eluded me. And it seems the more I learn, the less I know.

So a good chunk of my thoughts are centered on sex. I've imagined having sex with most of my friends more than once. In school I fantasized about my teachers. All of them. Especially the unattractive ones. I tried to guess who was into the weird shit and what they looked like when they did it. I try to picture strangers on the street naked, try to predict the location and appearance of every fold, dimple, sag. I wonder if older people have better sex, if I only improve with experience or eventually plateau. I wonder if anyone ever imagines my naked imperfections or if they'd enjoy having sex with me.

I put pictures of my genitals on the internet. I feel no attachment to the images themselves, I just like to conjure up stories of the kind of people who would masturbate to them. Photos whose cropping amputated my body until all that is left equates to little more than two-dimensional sex toys. They are always men. Older guys. They always do it in the dark, too. Oscar Wilde once wrote that illusion is the first of all pleasures and these men were living proof. Scenarios would begin to form as they filled in the rest of the pictures. Maybe they touched themselves, hard through their jeans as they imagined sucking on hard nipples or brushing their hand against a bare, hairless vulva. Did they think back to their younger selves, that they could experience a girl demand she be allowed to humour their every fancy?

It's safe.

Exposed without fear of rejection.

Transient connections as intense and artificial as they are brief. I ignore attempts to engage me in conversation. I'm not sure I could express any preference for Bernini over Michelangelo to a person who could recognize my swollen clitoris before even seeing my eyes. This isn't about love. Like a skilled magician, my expertise is little more than smoke and mirrors. One delusion traded for another.

Despite the notion that fucking and all it encompasses will always consume me, I wonder about all sorts of things. Sometimes I disgust myself. I do it on purpose. I imagine the most horrible things possible because I want to know how dark my thoughts can get. I'm not sure why I do it. Perhaps I want to quantify these thoughts, maybe I want to mourn a loss of innocence. Either way it leaves no question as to how I could be so jaded.

Today I change the purpose of my blog. I have decided to write not only what I do, but what I think about, what I imagine. I will make no distinction between them.

Dorm Sex

It was my second semester of college. I'd already done as much as I could to build up a reputation as a pothead, an alcoholic, maybe even a slut. Not intentionally, mind you. I'd been approached only a month before by one of the more lax resident assistants to go get high.

Now that same RA was asking if my friend Vance would buy the 3 of us some 40s. He agreed and once the contraband had been procured and safely stored in the RAs room, we began drinking and listening to music. Half way through the second 40oz and our filters were off. We began watching porn and showing each other our favorite porn stars.

Then came the drunk texting.

I don't know if the cloud of testosterone that overtook the room got to my head, I don't know what it was that I was trying to prove, but I felt the insatiable need to get laid. And I knew just who to call upon. We met only the week before. After drunken makeouts and confessions of, "I think you're hot," I fellated him in the backseat of his BMW.

In retrospect it's hard to remember what exactly had convinced him to come over, probably some explicit review of the things that awaited him.

"I have to go!" I squealed to Vance and the RA.

"Where are you going?" the RA asked.

"To get laidddddddd, suckahhhh," I replied with zeal.

I made my bed quickly and found a condom. I suddenly heard a knock on the door. I grabbed my cell phone and texted my roommate, "I need the room for a bit. Text you when I'm done."

He surveyed my room and focused on the array of books scattered across my desk. His eyes zeroed in on a Player's Handbook I had for Dungeons and Dragons. "Oh, you play D&D! I have a chara..." he started.

"I didn't say I wanted to talk, Brody. Take off your pants and get on the bed."

"Oh, uhh, okay."

I straddled him. "Is it okay if I tie you up?" I asked.

"Yeah, umm, I guess so," he answered timidly.

I unzipped his pants, slid them down and began fellating him as I'd done once before. Suddenly I felt not only his penis in my mouth, but my own vomit. Part of me was disgusted, but the desire to continue was overwhelming. I swallowed it and continued.

A few minutes and once his penis was fully erect, I put on the condom and assumed the position (reverse cowgirl style) and began to gyrate my hips. He thrust his own forward until I made him stop. I wanted complete control of the situation. He was moaning.

He came and I untied him. He thrust his fingers into me and I directed his every action until I could no longer speak.

Half an hour later he was coming to orgasm a second time, "Oh shit," he said, "I think I got a little bit on your wall."

I pulled my skirt back down, showed him downstairs and ran back to greet the RA sitting on a couch in his hallway. "Guess who just got laid!" I sang while thrusting my hips forward suggestively.

"But you're a girl!" he protests, "It's easy for you!!!"

"You look like you could use a cigarette," a voice says from behind me. It's Liam and he's wearing a sly grin on his face.

"Yeah, actually. That'd be great."

We went outside and I was beginning to sober up from the night's activity. I was suddenly very aware of the rain falling on the awning above us, the silvery dance of smoke emanating from our lips, the dull, satifying ache between my legs.

Liam finally spoke after a few drags off of his cigarette, "Did you take that purity test everyone's been doing?"

"Yeah," I said, "I think I scored like a 46."

"You know," he smirked, "I got a 22. I'd be willing to help lower your score."

I surveyed my surroundings, taking into account possible things that were on the quiz that I had yet to do. "Well," I replied, "I've never had sex with 2 different people in one night, I've never had sex outside, or in public, or in the rain."

"Yeah?" he ventured. He put out his cigarette, "I'm in room D222."

I went to my own room and passed out. I woke up with a hangover.


Originally posted on La Ciudad Que No Puede Dormir