The Old College Try (NSFR)

When I was a sophomore in university, a bunch of my girlfriends and I decided to rent a Motel 6 room just outside of town one Friday night and get completely wasted.  Why?  Because college, dammit, that’s why!  We piled a couple of cars full of vodka, mixers, cigarettes, and a big-ass boom box (remember those?), then headed into the suburbs to the seediest motel chain in all of the US. 

Shortly after dropping our stuff in the room, we turned on some pop music, ordered pizza, poured drinks, and started dancing on the beds.  I’m sure we were pretty loud, but there didn’t seem to be many people in the hotel; no one was complaining.  On the contrary – we caught the attention of a middle-aged man down the hall who was moving into our college town.  He decided to bring his beer over and drink with us; despite it being a girls’ night out, we welcomed him. 

This was years ago, so I can’t remember any of our conversation (if I’m being honest, I probably didn’t remember it the next day), but I know we had a great time. After binge-drinking vodka cranberries and chain smoking Camels, having hilarious conversations, and engaging in a straight-outta-slumber-party-porn pillow fight, the nice man – let’s call him Tom – went back to his room, and we turned out the lights and crawled into bed.  Two minutes later, out of the darkness came, “So – who wants to go fuck Tom with me?”  “I do!”  I piped up.  My friend Jo and I (that’s right, folks – my first threesome was with someone who has the same name as me, though she went by the nickname Creamy at the time) ran to the vending machine in our PJs and bought condoms, then sauntered over to Tom’s room and knocked on his door. 

Image result for threesome“Mind if we come in?” we asked when he opened.  Astonished, he opened the door and motioned us in with a sweep of his arm.  We didn’t bother saying anything; we just started taking off his clothes and pushed him down on the bed.  I wish I could tell you all the sordid details of what happened that night, but it’s all a blur (thanks a lot, vodka).  I remember making out with her; making out with Tom; both of us going down on him at the same time; us going down on each other; all of us taking a shower together; and most memorably, Tom getting whiskey dick when the time came for penetrative sex.  He was alright getting started, but then it would inevitably and quickly deflate.  We tried everything we could think of; we did everything he could think of – but to no avail.  I felt so bad for that guy.  Not because not having an erection is a bad thing – it’s absolutely not (triple negative ninja in the house!). I’ve had a million super-hot experiences with guys that didn’t involve their dicks.  But how often do two college girls come to your hotel room asking you to fuck them? 

This happened when I was twenty; I was relatively inexperienced and uneducated in the realm of sexuality, so I was definitely not having the “sex isn’t about penetration or orgasm” conversation.  It was more like, “Well, we tried to bang and it didn’t work, so guess that’s over.”  Looking back, I want a do-over.  I want to tell that guy: Let’s play. Let’s all touch each other til we’re quivering.  Let’s lick and stroke and explore each other’s bodies, one part at a time, and enjoy every moment for what it is.  Let’s make this about being sensual rather than trying to make it a porn.   

In any case, it was fun to head back into the city and have this conversation with classmates on Monday: “What did you do this weekend?”  “I had a threesome with a stranger in a Motel 6.  You?” I never had much of a filter. 

Playboy and Me

Every month from the time I can start remembering my childhood to the time I left my parents’ house, a magazine covered with a shiny black plastic wrapping would show up in our mailbox.  You may be thinking that I wondered throughout my childhood: What was this mystery magazine?  But I never needed to wonder, because as soon as my dad got his hands on that month’s issue of Playboy, the plastic cover would come off and he would call me and my sister to come over and find the famous bunny icon hidden somewhere on the cover.  For us, it was such a fun game that we couldn’t wait for dad to get home when the new Playboy arrived so we could find the bunny.

My parents never made a big deal out of the fact that there were nudie mags lying about the house, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.  In normalizing nudity, they helped demystify sexuality a bit.  The magazines were just… there.  I looked at them often, thinking about how my body would look when I got older.  Thinking that the women in those pages were beautiful.  In high school, I read the Playboy Advisor and the jokes and repeated them to my friends, who delighted in how pervy I was.  Looking back, I’m so fucking thankful that the women I saw in the issues I looked at as a child of the eighties featured women who, for the most part, looked like they ate actual food, weren’t airbrushed, and didn’t have plastic surgery.

When I was in third grade, my bus driver told me that I would be in Playboy someday – I was old enough and young enough to know that it was a creepy and inappropriate comment.  When I was in fifth grade, I asked my mom if it bothered her that dad liked to look at naked women.  “No, honey,” she said.  “He’s just looking, so it’s okay.”  When I was in seventh grade, I took a few issues to school with me to sell them (five dollars each – a bargain for access to porn!) in order to make some money for Christmas shopping.  I had sold one before school and was planning on selling more during lunch, but gossip spreads like wildfire; before I knew it, I was being pulled out of class by a SUPER FUCKING HOT security guard / basketball coach who took me to my locker, made me hand him the magazines, and then said, “You’re lucky we’re not going to call your parents.”  When I was in tenth grade, I found an issue of Playgirl with Robert Kelker-Kelly from Days of Our Lives in my parent’s closet and was so excited that there were nudie mags full of men, too.  There was a piece of erotica in there that would stick with me for the rest of my life as a fantasy (which I got to act out a few years ago).

When I was a college student, I told my dad that all I wanted in terms of inheritance were his old Playboy magazines; he had been keeping them up in the attic next to issues of Psychology Today and Analog.  By the time my father did pass, there were decades’ worth up there.  A few years after his death, I crawled into the attic to lug out allllll those boxes of old Playboys to find many of them waterlogged from roof leaks, ripped, musty, or otherwise falling apart.  We had to get rid of them.  I put a few of the oldest ones from the late 70s aside (bush and OJ Simpson ads!), and then my mother and I loaded the rest into her SUV to take to the recycling center.  A bunch of the guys who worked at the center came over, curious as to what we were throwing away; we told them that they were old Playboys and that they could have the magazines if they wanted.  Nah, they all said, and walked away.  But as we pulled out of the recycling center, we could see them all walking back to the bins and pulling some issues out to have a quick browse.

Rules of Attraction (NSFR)

At the show we were at on Saturday night, he put his hand on my back and I kissed him in the middle of a bar full of my friends.  It all felt very natural, especially considering it was only our second date.  Something about him felt comfortable.  We got off the subway early coming back to my place so we could go for a stroll in the late summer air that had been cooled by rain; while walking, we bounced jokes off each other.  He’s witty, incredibly well-read, and refreshingly imaginative. He makes me laugh really hard. 

When we got into my apartment and I took off my shoes, he said I had cute feet.  SCORE – I know what that means.  He rubbed them as we sat on my couch sipping Jim Beam and talking about Modernists, horror, and blues music.  I can’t remember the entire conversation – we drank a lot of Jim Beam – but I know it sparkled.  He dove across the couch to kiss me, and we sat up so I could straddle him.  We took each other’s clothes off slowly, delighting in just touching each other.

We stumbled upstairs; he tossed me onto my bed, which I love.  Nothing better than being thrown around!  He licked my feet (yesyesyes) and kissed me in secret erogenous zones that most people never pay attention to.  I was thinking, This guy knows what’s up.  Aaaaand then he took my panties off and I noticed that the familiar feeling of heat and that string of clear fluid that normally sticks to my panties from the wetness in my cunt was missing.  Dry as a bone.  We made out a little and licked and nibbled each other’s various body parts; he tried fingering me, which as you can imagine was not extremely pleasant (I know, I know, I should have handed him one of the bottles of lube next to the bed).  I rolled him over and restrained him so I could play with him instead, thinking that maybe I’d just had too much to drink and things would improve in the morning. 

We woke up after not nearly enough sleep; after a bit of kissing and touching, he lightly traced his fingers around my nipples and along my outer labia – good start.  I told him as much – I like to be touched gently in some places.  He put his face between my legs and started eagerly licking my lips… and it felt really nice, but I still wasn’t getting wet.  The only wetness came from his mouth.  I told him that I probably wasn’t going to come because I don’t come easily from oral sex – I’ve made peace with that and don’t want to fake it (which is true).  That sex wasn’t about orgasms, but about pleasure and connection, and I was feeling both / really enjoying the way his tongue felt on me – also true.  What I didn’t say is that he just wasn’t doing it for me.  It wasn’t anything about what he was doing, but just that my body wasn’t responding to him.  I didn’t feel the zsa zsa zsu.

In her book Come As You Are, Emily Nagoski says that among women, there’s only a ten percent overlap between arousal and genital response; I just figured that non-concordance was occurring.  However, the next day when my sister asked me if I were attracted to him, I realized that attraction hadn’t even crossed my mind.  Of course I was attracted to him!  He could write!  We had sparkly conversation!  He made me laugh!  We like all the same things!  When I started saying all of this, she laughed and asked if I were physically attracted to him.  And the honest answer is… no.  He’s handsome.  But I don’t feel that physical pull, that “God I need you to touch me right the fuck now” feeling when I’m with him.  I assumed that because we’re so compatible in other ways the attraction would just be there… but it’s not.  

I’m a lucky gal when it comes to sex; when I’m physically aroused, my vagina responds in spades.  As I’ve come to find out, however, there’s a difference between mental and physical arousal.  All of you are probably saying, “DUH, Jo,” but I’ve always been most physically attracted to people I find mentally stimulating.  My brain is turned on, and my body follows.  This is a first for me, and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.  I’d like to try again, but then I feel like I’m just experimenting on the guy.  Then again, maybe when we spend more time together, my body will decide it’s aroused – feelings change.  It’s a sex quandary.