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.