I always envisioned that my first one night stand would be an incredible and sexually liberating experience. I seriously thought I’d turn into a 22 year old Samantha Jones, boasting to my gal pals with juicy gossip along the lines of, “Oh, we had sex on his yacht all night long”. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating. To be honest, I had just gotten out of a two year relationship and the prospect of riding a different penis really piqued my curiosity.
I met Zack, an Indian guy, at a club (Bside, to be specific). If memory serves me right, his pickup line was something like, “You have a really beautiful face, I love your eyes.” Of course, I blushed and giggled and thanked him. We exchanged phone numbers at the end of the night and texted until the wee hours of the morning. We made arrangements to meet up the next day.
I remember sweating profusely while waiting for him to pick me up. As soon as his car pulled up, I blushed bright red and a fresh wave of nervous sweat came over me (I think I have a sweating problem, more on this in future posts). He proudly announced that he was taking me to his condo. Yes, his own condo. He was a 30 year old dentist. I was both impressed and excited.
When we got there, he immediately uncorked a bottle of wine. “This guy wastes no time,” I thought. I was wrong. We ended up talking for two hours. Disappointed, I took a look at the clock while he rambled on. It was 11pm. Because my bedtime had come and gone, I told him I was leaving. I worked the next morning, after all. I got up and he offered to walk me out. As the elevator doors opened, he leaned in to kiss me goodnight and BAM! We started making out in the most aggressive of manners.
We rushed back to his unit, our mouths locked while trying to rip off the other’s clothes. He threw me onto his couch and we began the standard ten minute foreplay sesh. He eventually asked me for a condom. I have to admit, that sort of bothered me. His excuse for not having one on hand (or in this case – on dick, har har) was that he’d just moved in and wasn’t sure where they were. I felt like a bit of a ho for having one (actually several) on me.
Anyway, we started going at it. I think it was doggy style on the couch. It wasn’t anything special but I was a bit drunk, so it probably felt better than it would have under sober circumstances. He had a really good body, but I think he waxed. That bugged me. I don’t really like pretty boys; it’s a bit of a turn off. After a few minutes, he looked into my eyes and said, “Uhh, sorry but I really have to pee”.
He went to the bathroom and I wondered if he was actually peeing. I didn’t hear any telltale tinkling sounds. Suspicious. I assumed he felt nervous or wasn’t into me or something bad like that. When he came back, neither of us seemed into it. He asked me if I had another condom. I lied and said no. He could have easily looked for one but he didn’t offer. I said I was leaving – for real this time.
A week passed and he hadn’t called, texted or emailed. I was fine with that but I was still curious about his whole peeing thing. I instinctively surveyed every guy I know to see how often this happens. I was hoping to relieve my self esteem a little bit but sadly, their communal answer was, “very rarely.”
Anyway, I ended up seeing Zack a while later at Bside again. We made eye contact and he quickly looked away. What a dick! I stared at him furiously until he felt pressured enough to approach me. He said hi, we talked a bit and he left. I don’t know what to make of our situation. We’re not friends, we’re not even acquaintances, really. We’re just two people who slept together – or sort of slept together, until his supposed urination ruined the whole experience.
Not exactly the Sex & The City moment I’d hoped for. God damn that show.