Casual Sex?

“Is this whole casual sex thing working for you?”

I’m having a salad lunch with a girlfriend at Lemonade.  I don’t really know how to answer this question.

“Because I was trying to find a casual sex partner for awhile and it just never worked out.”

I think back on my recent experiences.  Coffee Shop Guy was casual, but I deflected his numerous follow-up attempts, not really interested in making it a regular thing with him.  Gaffer Guy was obviously a really bad choice for a fuck buddy.  And ex-boyfriend could not by any stretch be considered casual.

“Yeah, I guess it hasn’t been that successful so far.  But I’m holding out hope.”

My friend shared that she doesn’t sleep with guys right away anymore.  She likes to get to know them first, to build up the sexual tension, and then when they do have sex it’s powerful.

“Hmm, maybe I should try that.”

Probably the best casual sex I ever had was when I was backpacking in Central America.  I met these two Israeli guys in the van ride on the way from Belize City to Flores, Guatemala.  We made friends on the four hour ride and ended up staying at the same hotel overlooking the water in Flores.  It’s incredible meeting people when you’re traveling, especially alone, because everyone is so in the moment and present that you make fast friends and people you know for days you feel you’ve known for years.  It was like that with these two guys.  Within hours, we were bickering and bantering like we’d been friends all our lives.

One night, I was hanging out in their hotel room smoking this really weak Guatemalan weed they’d bought off this guy working at the restaurant where we’d had grilled chicken and beans for dinner.  It was weak, but one of my new friends (the skinny one) just kept rolling joints, so we were getting pretty stoned.  And bonding over sex and drug stories.  I was sitting on the other one’s bed (the chubbier one), and we were kind of playing footsy in this noncommittal way.  These guys were fresh out of the Israeli military, 23 years old, traveling for six months across Central and South America.

At some point, I got tired and excused myself to go to bed.  I brushed my teeth with bottled water and washed my face in the bathroom that had vines growing through the gaping hole in the shower wall.  I turned on the fan full blast and lay down on the thin, creaky mattress, on top of the sheets because I swear I felt bed bugs the night before.  I had just closed my eyes when there was a knock on the door.  I had an inkling of who it might be but I was still surprised to find my chubby friend standing there.

“He’s asleep.  Do you want to do some stuff?”

I was really on the fence about this one, I have to say.  I knew he had a girlfriend, but that wasn’t the problem.  He had told me if he wanted to sleep with someone on this trip, he was going to – and as you know, I don’t take responsibility for these decisions.

The truth is I just wasn’t that into him physically, and I didn’t have that urge to pounce on him that usually guides my sexual decision-making.  I liked him, we were friends, we had talked and gotten to know each other a little bit, and I had fun bickering and bantering with him.  But, not to be a shallow asshole, he was just not really my type physically – quite short, very soft body, and extremely hairy, like hair inside the tops of his ears hairy.  But he did have a very nice smile and beautiful eyes, and I liked him.  So I let him in and sat down on my bed, trying to make up my mind.

He was clearly waiting for a cue from me. 

“Will it get weird between us if we do this?  And with the other guy.”

“Look, do you want me to go?”

I didn’t.  I wanted to give this a shot.  We had good chemistry, and I didn’t want to write him off because of his hobbit-like qualities.  I decided the ear-hair was Wolverine-esque, and lay back on the creaking mattress.

“Come here.”

He was gentle with me.  His kisses were soft, his skin even softer.  The words “baby fat” came into my mind, and I pushed them aside. 

He went down on me and it felt good.  I wanted to have sex, and he resisted a little.  I insisted, and he stopped and looked at me.

“We can’t have sex.”

“What?!”
I was very confused and disappointed and worried and a little frustrated.  Once again I find myself asking, then what are you doing here?

“I have a problem.”

Oh no.  Here it goes.  What is it?  AIDS?  Herpes?  HPV?  What is it?

“I have a cyst on my balls.”

Oh my god.  Cancer.  I can’t believe it.  He’s so young!

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s benign.”  Phew.

“How did that happen?”

“I was working security in Gaza and we got into a fight and I got the butt of a machine gun jabbed into my balls.”

I couldn’t believe this story.  This was a different reality from my own. 

“So you can’t have sex?”

“It hurts.  A lot.”

So, that was that.  We kept kissing.  He wanted to make me come by going down on me.  I still wanted to have sex.  At some point, he was really hard and said “fuck it” and took a condom out of his pocket. 

We started to have careful sex.  But not too careful.  We moved around, switching positions.  From time to time I would ask if it hurt.  He took a couple pain breaks.  But for the most part, he seemed to be enjoying himself.  And I have to say the slow and steady approach was definitely an improvement from the jack rabbit pounding favored by a lot of guys who don’t have cysts on their balls.

And I came!  From sex.  With a relative stranger.  After only one go!  It was incredible.  And then he came!  Even with his cyst and everything.  He said afterwards it usually hurts with his girlfriend, but it didn’t really hurt this time. 

The next day, it wasn’t weird between us.  Actually, it was kind of fun.  On the seven hour van ride to Semuc Champey, I would strategically position myself in the seat in front of him so that he could fondle my breasts (casually) from the seat behind.  If our other friend knew what was going on, he made no indication.

That night, he tried to coerce me into sleeping in his bed in a one-room hostel full of a bunch of other male backpackers.  I declined, not wanting to be that girl.  He was a little offended, accusing me of thinking all he wanted from me was sex.  This baffling argument again.  We tried to have sex again but it was too painful for him.

The following day, they went on to Antigua, and I went back to Belize City to catch my flight home.

That was probably the best casual sex I’ve ever had.  Probably because I got to know him a little first, we had chemistry and some nice tension build up before we did the deed.  But it’s also interesting to me that often the guys I’m most physically attracted to (in that catnip kinda way) are the most disappointing in bed.  This guy was so not my type to the point that I almost didn’t even consider having sex with him, and he was actually much better than most I’ve been with.

The best casual sex partner I ever had, and it only lasted two days.  Even if we had kept traveling together, it was really over when it was over.  And what was the future in it anyway?  Maybe my friend has a point.  Maybe I’m bad at casual sex because I ultimately want more.  Or, if I meet someone that is everything I want in a casual sex partner, I’ll probably fall in love with them. 

My mom was really disturbed by my last blog post.

“Can’t you get to know people a little first before you have sex with them?”

This surprised me somewhat coming from her.  I know for a fact my mom was a big ol’ slut in her 20s in New York.  But I know it disturbs her to think of me having sex with people I barely know, only to discover they are sociopathic (aka Gaffer Guy).

There is something creepy about this, I will give her that.  With Gaffer Guy, I completely take responsibility because I knew the guy was crazy from the moment I met him and yet I kept putting my hand in the fire knowing full well it was going to burn me every time.  

I guess if I could totally remove my emotions from sex, Gaffer Guy’s craziness wouldn’t have affected me so much.  If I viewed sex as a purely physical act, I wouldn’t care.  But the truth is that I was hurt, and I did feel the loss of something.

So, maybe I’m bad at having casual sex.  Not to say I’m putting my slutty days behind me.  Because I’m not ready to do that yet.  But it’s good to know, along the path of discovering what I want, that I ultimately do want more from a relationship (even a casual one) than just sex.

Afternoon Delight

So, I’m sitting in this coffee shop reading Bonobo Handshake by Vanessa Woods.  Along with the chimpanzee, the bonobo is our closest existing relative.  We apparently share 98% of our DNA with both species!  

As I’m reading, I notice this guy in the cafe pretty obviously checking me out and trying to make eye contact.  I smile and go back to my book.  My friend calls and I take the call outside.  While I’m out there, this guy comes out to smoke a cigarette and plops down right next to me.  It’s a little awkward trying to talk to my friend while he’s sitting there, and I wonder if he’s a psychopath or just has no social filters.  He’s holding out two tootsie roll lollipops.

“Want a lollipop?”

I’m not sure if he realizes this is the universal sign for I’m a Pedophile.  I politely decline and turn away.  He unwraps the orange one and pops it in his mouth.  He keeps watching me, but I purposefully ignore him and he eventually gives up and leaves me alone.

So, if we share 98% of our DNA with bonobos and chimps, why is it that when I mention bonobos, practically no one knows what I’m talking about?  And why are we taught in school that we’re descended from chimps, and bonobos are somehow left out of the picture?  I hypothesize there are two reasons: bonobos live in a matriarchal society in which a male’s rank is determined by his mother, and they have a lot of sex.  In other words, they are Slutty Feminists.

Back inside the coffee shop, the guy turns to me.  This time, he reaches out his hand and introduces himself.  He’s got an interesting name. 

“What ethnicity is that?”

“Israeli.”

I tell him I met a lot of Israelis backbacking in Guatemala and that I found them intense, smart, and attractive.  This makes him smile and blush.

“What are you reading?”

 “Have you heard of the bonobos?”

Of course he hasn’t.

I explain that I’m thinking of writing a play about them.  I tell him a little about their sluttiness.  He’s genuinely interested. 

I learn that he’s 32 years old and family-oriented.  I also learn that he’s a jack of all trades – he works in a law office, he’s a massage therapist, he went to medical school, and he wants to be an actor.  He stares deeply into my eyes, smiling unabashedly.

“Your eyes are so beautiful.  What color are they?  Honey?”

“Hazel, I guess.”

“I could stare into them forever.”

His honesty and directness are intriguing.  Is this guy for real?  He wants to hang out today.  I’m impressed with his bold proposal, but I’m not sure yet if I’m interested, so I give myself an out.

“I’m meeting friends later.”  Which is sort of true.

Until very recently, scientists further underestimated the significance of bonobos by referring to them as “pygmy chimpanzees” when not completely ignoring their existence altogether.  Woods admits that “even people like me who are familiar with chimps barely even know there are two ‘closest living relatives’ to humans.  Like an embarrassing relative, bonobos are frequently missing from the family tree.  According to Microsoft Word’s spell-checker, “bonobo” isn’t even a word.” (Vanessa Woods, Bonobo Handshake).  We like to think we’re not related to a bunch of slutty feminist primates, but we are.

The coffee shop is going to close soon.  The guy closes his computer and smiles wickedly.

“You’re distracting me.  Wanna get out of here?”

I have to admit I love this line.  We get outside and I suddenly realize I’m noticeably taller than him.  I hate that this makes me momentarily uncomfortable.  I'm a feminist, for fuck sake!  Besides, I should be used to it by now, tall woman that I am.

“Your place or mine?”

This sounds remarkably like an offer for sex but I’m so unused to men being this forthcoming that I assume this isn’t his intention. 

“Let’s go to your place, I want to meet your dog.”  I know this is a game I’m playing, I’m not really a dog person and I don’t really care if I ever meet his dog.  But I want to get off the street and I’m not bringing him back to my place.  Also, I still don’t know what I want from this guy.

In the 1980s, Frans de Waal studied bonobos in the San Diego Zoo.  “He saw tongue kissing, fellatio, and a kama sutra of sexual positions.  Before de Waal, people thought that nonconceptive sex, or ‘sex for fun,’ was unique to humans.  But bonobos were having sex in all sorts of crazy ways, including the missionary position, which no one had ever seen in an animal.  De Waal also concluded that bonobos were female-dominated and that compared to chimps, they committed very little violence.  He suggested that here was another model for human behavior, one that didn’t include war and bloodshed.” (Woods)  Of course de Waal’s findings inspired much backlash from the scientific community, who felt that his “image of the ‘make love not war’ hippie ape was an exaggeration.” (Woods)

I walk in the door of this guy’s studio apartment and I’m accosted by a sea of boy crap under an unfortunate case of overhead fluorescent lighting.  I feel like I’ve stumbled into a chimpanzee habitat.  I try not to look at the rumpled and dismal gray bedspread as I step over a pile of dirty boxers, heading straight for the only thing I feel comfortable focusing on in this room: a photo of two little boys on his refrigerator.

 “Who’s this?”

“My nephews.”

I stand awkwardly, feeling like I’m invading his space by staring at the mess, not sure where is safe to look.  He clears a big ol’ pile of clothes off the only chair in the room so I can sit down.  Then he starts packing a bong.  I try to make small talk as he takes a huge bong rip and starts hacking coughing.  I talk louder.  He puts down the bong and goes in for a kiss.  It’s wet and sloppy.  I pull away.  This room has really done a number on my libido.

“I don’t even know you.”  Honestly, I don’t care if I know him or not.  I just suddenly feel like I’m in over my head and I’m not sure what I signed up for.  Did I agree to this when I agreed to come over here?  Was I giving my unspoken assent?  He apparently enjoyed the kiss and goes in for another, crawling on top of me in the process.  I can see every pore.

He then makes the move that changes everything.  He turns off the fucking overhead light.  And leads me to the bed.  Is this really happening?  I met this guy in a coffee shop in the middle of a hot Monday afternoon and now we’re going to have sex in his messy apartment.  I have to say, the idea of this seduces me more than anything else.  I decide to go for it.  I kiss him back.  I like his directness, I like his passion, the way he touches me. 

A bonobo handshake refers to the array of sexual behaviors bonobos engage in as casually as humans do a handshake.  And coffee shop guy and I bonobo handshake the shit out of that afternoon.  We do it all.  Front to back, face to face, upside down and backwards.  And it’s really fun, casual, playful.  We roll around in bed like a couple of bonobos getting to know each other – occasionally stopping to talk and switch positions.  And neither of us orgasm, but it doesn’t matter.  It’s almost better that way because it’s never over – it’s this continuous game that has no finish line, no beginning or end.  It feels comfortable and mutual, and like a perfectly legitimate way of getting to know someone. 

I wish we could let go of our Puritan roots and get back to something older, more primal.  Accept the bonobo in us.  I’m not saying we should live totally in a free-loving, non-competitive society because, as my male friend put it “nothing would ever get done.”  But I love the idea of some balance.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if both sides were considered?  If we knew we came from both a patriarchal/ competitive/ violent society and a matriarchal/ cooperative/ sexual society?  Maybe we would stop slut-shaming.  Maybe we would have more women in powerful positions.  Maybe we would have more fun.  And meet in coffee shops.  And have more sex.  Lots and lots of sex.

Want to know more about bonobos?  This book is awesome...

Bonobo Handshake by Vanessa Woods (http://amzn.com/B0064XCOZ)