SEX AFTER A DRY SPELL
SO…let’s talk about SEX baby, Salt N Pepa style because sometimes sex is sex, particularly after a ten month dry spell. This is not a Romeo and Juliet love story folk. But it’s better…because awesome sex happened and no one died in the end.
I was humped, laid, screwed as in penetrated, prodded, pounded. FuCkEd major league, big time. Yessssss, I finally broke my dry spell on July Fourth of all dates – seriously, could I be anymore obvious? Well, it was July fifth to be exact…because as we know all good and naughty things tend to happen after midnight. But WOW. Semantics aside, the fireworks cliche slides in quite nicely here. I replaced fireworks with a good old fashioned romp.
Okay okay, now I’m not going to exaggerate and tell you it was like this explosive combustion, but I will say physical compatibility and sexual chemistry were in check. His testosterone and my estrogen were like yin and yang. You know how sometimes you end up with shitty sex with someone you cultivated a relationship with and after the umpteenth date you take it to the bedroom only to find out the sex is below minimum expectation. And you’re like, WTF? I created these fantasies in my head; I made it through the waiting period; I listened to the person go on an on about, insert boring subject, only to discover there is no spark in the sack. Very disappointing.
Well, I got good sex with an unsuspecting source and it just so happened to fall on Independence Day. Random. Random sex. Or perhaps symbolic. Symbolic Sex. Symbolic Random Fourth of July Independence Day Sex.
It was like the ultimate college romp and he was five years younger than me, so he was definitely closer to being in college. Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson. Not that the age difference was super apparent or anything because our bodies were in harmony and our intellect and personalities were not part of this equation.
I probably wouldn’t have submitted had it not been for the NaTuRaL pull of nature. At first when he approached me, I was like, Who are you and what are you trying to do? It started with a tongue in my mouth and before I knew it we were on his bed doing “it”…and I was fully into “it.” I’ve never been an advocate of the one night stand and I’ve never actually participated in one but this was like sexual gravitation. It was beyond my control. Basic Instinct.
I’m into you – Mrs. Lopez.
Once we got the party started there was no fiddling, fumbling or uncomfortable flipping. We were in rhythm; sync. It was written in the stars – meant to be. Sex for the sake of sex. Two people with a common goal – to get off…and we did — multiple times. And I must say he was very swift with the condom changing maneuvers.
But definitely not how I expected to end my dry spell. After ten months of no activity and being 30, the age when most good girls are already married and thinking about family things, I was wondering if perhaps I was subliminally saving myself for “the one.” That maybe he was channeling me and keeping me prudish in preparation for his Mr. Big. We’d finally meet in some exotic location and the love and sex would happen simultaneously.
I just did it with the jock instead. Great. I’ll probably meet my soul mate next week and have to explain that I was saving myself but then Independence Day happened — and, well…I got that boom boom POW.
I suppose it was inevitable. July Fourth does mark the season of fling – z summer fling; the best season to fling. So it was a pinnacle date to break the dry spell curse. There were many conversations about sex that day and at a prior after-party, young boys were trying to lure me with drugs and porn. Weird. But not in L.A. because that shiz is kind of mainstream here, particularly at after-party hours when everyone is sufficiently drunk.
Nevertheless, I had no desire to hook up with anyone. Besides, I was so far into my dry spell, its like my vagina was drying out faster than the Sahara desert — until the final destination. The party had pretty much dissipated, but amongst a few lingerers — there he was — my dry spell code-breaker. Tall, fit and toned – the ultimate jock with an Andy Warholian edge (he had a quirk). I had seen him before but he never really struck me as anything other than background noise. I recall we had a brief and irrelevant conversation. Who would’ve known that next time I would be seeing him naked.
And I gotta say, the following morning I felt renewed and confident. Back in my twenties I would’ve classed this impulsive act of sex as rebellious and evil, but when you get to 30, “slutty” doesn’t exist. You just do it because in another 30 years you’ll be 60 and sex is probably not as awesome when you’re a grandparent — or maybe it is. I don’t know. But definitely no post sex guilt for me. It was like, yeah I still got it…them chickens “ain’t” jackin’ my style. I got that BOOM BOOM BOOM. That future boom, boom, boom.
Soooo dear readers: Ten months is a significant period of abstinence. It’s the longest I’ve gone without sex since I started doing it. I’m curious, what’s the longest you’ve gone without sexy time and how did you crack the dry spell code?