Oh God, oh God, it’s happening. Ew. Eww.
I tried to mask my expression of mild horror as the guy I was hooking up with led my hand gently but ever-so-firmly down into the sheets. I knew what was going to happen, and I was doing my best to embrace the situation. I was naked with a guy. I couldn’t keep pretending he was some sort of Ken doll with just a smooth space down there forever. I had to touch his penis at some point. And it was looking like today was judgment day.
Let’s start with how I wound up in this situation. I wasn’t the sort of girl you’d really call a slut in high school. I went to parties and made out with guys, but I didn’t have sex with any of them. Maybe a little over-the-boxers action, but that was about it. It was a system that had worked out really well for me so far, but a night was coming that would change all of that.
It started out like any other weekend. My friends and I all went to this party and were in the process of taking shots when I noticed my current hook up come in. We smiled at each other like typical high schoolers who texted 24/7 but spoke as little as possible in real life. He proceeded to get a beer and I stayed near the vodka with my group of friends. I could feel him watching me as I got drunker, and soon we were making out in a corner of the house.
“You have to come over tonight,” he said as he stuck his tongue in my ear. “Tell me you’ll come over.” We’d had several partially naked make-out sessions at his place, but I had received most of the attention. Somehow I knew that if I went over there, things were going to be more serious. I would maybe have to do more than come over and take my top off. I was nervous, but I was ready, and plus the alcohol was making me brave. I said yes.
We ended up back at his place, both of us fully naked and in his bed. I knew what was coming (no pun intended), but that still didn’t prepare me for the moment his hand grabbed mine and started leading it down his body.
Don’t get me wrong — this guy was cute and I wanted to be there, but there was something really different about actually touching his thing for the first time. I closed my eyes and I let it happen, much the same way you deal with an early-morning dentist appointment that you can’t get out of.
Oh God. Oh my God.
It was hot and sweaty and stuck to the inside of his thigh. He led my hand down and an involuntary squeak of horror left my mouth. Was it supposed to be all sticky like this? Why was it curved to the side like a banana? Was I supposed to want to un-stick it from his hairy thigh and, like, do something with it? I couldn’t. It was too much. Luckily, at that moment he whispered to me some of the most magical words a girl can ever hope to hear.
“Just play with it a little bit,” he said. A true Casanova. What girl doesn’t wish to hear such an impassioned, poignant plea from a guy with robots on his bed sheets?
I don’t think I have ever put my clothes on faster. Just a little bit? Just a little bit of what, exactly? I didn’t stay to find out. I made my excuses and got out of there, back into the cold night air that wasn’t sticky and gross and stuck to a hairy thigh.
Never again, I thought. But tale as old as time, I’d thought wrong.