So last night, I turned down an opportunity to have sex with a hot curly headed surfer boy by the name of Javier, from El Salvador. It wasn’t like he outright asked me, but I know I could have had him if I wanted to.
Even though I yearn for physical human contact (is there anything better than the feeling of being wrapped up in the arms of a man with big strong arms), the “intimacy”, and the satisfaction of an orgasm not brought on by myself… the idea of having meaningless sex with a complete stranger just holds less and less appeal for me, the older I get.
When my best friend (who I won’t name) & I were in our 20s – we were like a pair of girl monkeys on heat in a steamy jungle, mating aggressively with all the hot boy monkeys, any which way, just about every weekend. And it was fun. A lot of fun.
Now it just all seems a bit arduous. A lot of effort for what.
You’ve met at a bar. You’ve had a few drinks. You’ve had a bit of a banter. You’ve eyed each other off and have decided, “Yeh, you’re cute… I’d go there”. Then somehow, you’ve agreed you’ll go home together. Sometimes the agreement is explicit and outright. Other times it’s an under the table agreement.
So you get home and this is how it pans out:
There’s the “getting to know you” chat (Noone cares what your favorite book, film or album is, by this stage).
The taking off of clothes business and worrying about what he thinks of my belly, arse, or other body part which happens to be the concern of the day (yes: I know he doesn’t care, because he’s getting laid).
The negotiations with my self esteem (oh god, we don’t want to go there, Trust me.)
The act itself. Let’s just say that invariably – it’s Average. Good at best. But rarely Excellent. I mean, I think I’m a good ‘hostess’… I look after my guests if you know what I mean, and for me personally- and I can always get to the end point with relative ease (I’m a lucky girl). But even if we’re having technically Excellent sex, it still feels Average to me because of the lack of emotional connection. If i feel nothing, it’s getting increasingly hard for my whole self to translate that into better than Average.
Then of course, there’s the post coital chat (I now have zero interest in any book, film or album now that I’ve come, and I’m guessing he does too).
The lack of sleep (because it appears I can only physically sleep with a select few men in this world).
And then there’s the morning awkwardness (assuming they’ve had the decency to stay the night).
What’s your name again? I’m bad with names, Okay.
I always want to do breakfast just because it seems the polite thing to do. Plus it’s my favorite meal of the day. They often don’t.
Do we swap numbers? I only want to, if they’re going to use it.
The kiss goodbye is nearly always the worst. A pash? He hasn’t brushed his teeth for quite some time and reeks of rum. A peck always seems a bit cursory after what you’ve just done all night.
The thought of the ‘comedown’ the next day is enough to put me off. I know i will just feel too easy, empty, vulnerable and / or lonely afterwards, to warrant doing it in the first place.
(Sometimes, rarely – everything just clicks and it’s like an explosives testing ground at an army base. And then all of the above is null and void.)
But i think what I’m really after these days is a sense of connection. I’d like to have hot sex with a gorgeous curly headed surfer boy from El Salvador who was really into me, thought I was interesting, and wanted to get to know me more. And maybe teach me to surf.
Perhaps I just need a good kick up the arse and be told to just get out there and have lots of meaningless sex with hot curly headed surfer boys from El Salvador. Dunno.
Ps, I’ve spent the last week in Isla Mujeres, Tulum, Cozumel and Playa del Carmen conducting a reccy for places to lay my hat / study Spanish for the next month. I have decided on Isla Mujeres. A brief travel post on this past week will go up soon.