Jake went out a few weeks ago with Formika and made out with a bunch of her porn star buddies. He chose to tell me this, casually, as if it was a minor detail he'd left out of a story he'd told me days ago, over ice cream on St. Mark's.
"You made out with porn stars?" I was more jealous than upset.
"You said it was ok!"
This was only half true. I'd told Jake it was ok for him to flirt and make out with other guys on one other occasion. We were going out to Opaline together, and rather than spend the night feeling awkward about being at a club with boyfriend in tow and secretly wanting to act like our slutty single selves, I told him all bets were off. We were going home together, but it was ok to make out with other guys until then.
"That was only for that particular night," I said. "I didn't mean in general."
Actually, I didn't have a problem with Jake making out with other guys so much as the fact that he just assumed he was allowed to. He didn't bother to ok it with me beforehand.
"Ok then," I said, "Let's make some rules."
I told Jake that from now on it was ok for him to make out with other guys, but on one condition: he had to ask my permission first, in each particular instance.
"I like the idea of you calling me up from the bathroom of some bar and describing the guy you want to hook up with, and exactly what you want to do with him," I said, feeling a little flushed and giggly. "I get to decide if he's worthy and if you deserve to get what you want. That way I'm still included. It's not like you're doing things completely independent of me."
I was getting kind of giddy thinking about it. It was a warm spring night in the East Village, I was having the best banana ice cream of my life, and I felt closer to Jake than I ever had before. I wanted to press his head to my chest and hold him and protect him forever. I don't remember if there were twinkle lights in the trees on St. Marks that night, but there should have been.
"Control issues," Jake grumbled.
April 22, 2005
April 11, 2005
The Bad Touch
I remember reading in junior high that women reach their sexual prime in their 30’s, while men reach theirs around 18. This piece of information has stayed with me, and now that I’m 22 I’m actually terrified that I’ve pissed away my sexual prime. I’m worried that I’ll wake up one day and never be horny again.
I’m definitely not as horny as I used to be. In high school all I could think about was what I would do if I could get some dumb jock out of his clothes. I would have the dirtiest thoughts just looking at guys walking around the mall. When I started dating, I would get hard just being close to a guy, before we even kissed. These days I don’t feel that impatience, that molten squirming feeling as often as I used to.
I’m not on antidepressants. I don’t think I have any sort of sexual dysfunction. I think my problem is that I don’t allow myself to get horny. Masturbating has really become part of my daily routine. Even when I’m not particularly turned on, if I’m just bored, I’ll look up some porn and rub one out. And it’s not that I have any residual moral guilt about masturbating. It’s great, it’s wonderful, I think everyone should do it, no exceptions. But maybe there is something to the whole moderation thing. Maybe I shouldn’t be masturbating just because.
Thus, I’m instituting a policy of abstinence: no masturbating! I’m going on strike.
I’ve tried this in the past and I’ve failed, so I’m going to start slow. At first I’m going to take things one day at a time, like in AA. If I can make it through today without jerking off, then I’ll worry about tomorrow. I guess what I’m trying to do is build up sexual energy. I know, the idea that you can waste energy by ejaculating, it’s so Victorian or Catholic or something. But I think this will work. I think after a few weeks I’ll be this seething, carnivorous vessel of lust once again.
Until then, I guess I’ll do my laundry and catch up on some reading.
I’m definitely not as horny as I used to be. In high school all I could think about was what I would do if I could get some dumb jock out of his clothes. I would have the dirtiest thoughts just looking at guys walking around the mall. When I started dating, I would get hard just being close to a guy, before we even kissed. These days I don’t feel that impatience, that molten squirming feeling as often as I used to.
I’m not on antidepressants. I don’t think I have any sort of sexual dysfunction. I think my problem is that I don’t allow myself to get horny. Masturbating has really become part of my daily routine. Even when I’m not particularly turned on, if I’m just bored, I’ll look up some porn and rub one out. And it’s not that I have any residual moral guilt about masturbating. It’s great, it’s wonderful, I think everyone should do it, no exceptions. But maybe there is something to the whole moderation thing. Maybe I shouldn’t be masturbating just because.
Thus, I’m instituting a policy of abstinence: no masturbating! I’m going on strike.
I’ve tried this in the past and I’ve failed, so I’m going to start slow. At first I’m going to take things one day at a time, like in AA. If I can make it through today without jerking off, then I’ll worry about tomorrow. I guess what I’m trying to do is build up sexual energy. I know, the idea that you can waste energy by ejaculating, it’s so Victorian or Catholic or something. But I think this will work. I think after a few weeks I’ll be this seething, carnivorous vessel of lust once again.
Until then, I guess I’ll do my laundry and catch up on some reading.
April 05, 2005
Pimping Him Out
Jake and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now. The other night a friend called him up and asked if he wanted to come over.
“He and his boyfriend wanted to have a threesome,” he told me later.
I was a little surprised. “So, is that something you do? With him?”
“Sometimes. He’s kind of a fuck buddy.”
Jake doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have a fuck buddy. He’s goofy and boyish. He’s got curly blond hair, blue eyes and a heaping dose of wide-eyed All-American Midwestern-ness straight out of a WB dramedy. But he’s actually pretty dirty. The night I met him he was dancing naked on a bar. The first time we slept together, as he ground his pelvis into mine, our legs scissored, he said, “This would be even better with a double-headed dildo.” He’s even told me he once peed on a guy.
“Is he hot?” I asked about Jake’s fuck buddy.
“Yeah. He’s always calling me, telling me how much he loves riding my cock.”
Riding my cock. It just kept resonating in my psyche. Riding my cock. He loves riding my cock. As if the thought of two lean, well-muscled college boys naked on their bed, squirming in sexual frustration, trying to find another guy to come join the fun wasn’t enough to make me spontaneously combust. I pounced on Jake and he took me to bed.
But when we got there all I could think of was Jake and his fuck buddy. I pictured both of them naked, Jake lying back, his arms folded under his head while his fuck buddy – skinny, but well defined, smooth chest, shaved head – bounces up and down, Jake’s thick cock sliding in and out of him. Both of them pink and sweaty. It was like the fuel I needed to keep going, a source of my sexual vitality. I felt like if I didn’t focus, if I didn’t keep sucking up that energy, I’d be stuck having half-hearted, disinterested sex for all eternity, without ever stopping or getting off. When I came those words burned in my head; He loves riding my cock.
And now that’s all I can think of whenever Jake and I have sex. Not in an obsessive, jealous way. For some reason it makes me want him more. The idea of Jake as this sexual creature with a past that I have no control over; I know that kind of thing drives most people nuts. But I like that Jake has fucked other guys and that they want to come back for more. It’s kind of like owning a horse that has won the Kentucky Derby, or the way that guy from Korn must feel about his porn star wife: that sense of accomplishment even though you really haven’t done anything.
Or maybe this is just my way of distancing myself. I’m not used to having sex with someone regularly so maybe this is like a defense mechanism. Maybe I’m not all that comfortable with the reality of him and me so I have to remove myself from it. I have to turn him into this porn star in my head, pimping him out to all these imaginary boys. I don’t have to be there, I don’t have to be involved with him. I don’t have to deal with all the things he’s asking of me without asking. I’m just a spectator with no responsibilities and nothing at stake.
“He and his boyfriend wanted to have a threesome,” he told me later.
I was a little surprised. “So, is that something you do? With him?”
“Sometimes. He’s kind of a fuck buddy.”
Jake doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have a fuck buddy. He’s goofy and boyish. He’s got curly blond hair, blue eyes and a heaping dose of wide-eyed All-American Midwestern-ness straight out of a WB dramedy. But he’s actually pretty dirty. The night I met him he was dancing naked on a bar. The first time we slept together, as he ground his pelvis into mine, our legs scissored, he said, “This would be even better with a double-headed dildo.” He’s even told me he once peed on a guy.
“Is he hot?” I asked about Jake’s fuck buddy.
“Yeah. He’s always calling me, telling me how much he loves riding my cock.”
Riding my cock. It just kept resonating in my psyche. Riding my cock. He loves riding my cock. As if the thought of two lean, well-muscled college boys naked on their bed, squirming in sexual frustration, trying to find another guy to come join the fun wasn’t enough to make me spontaneously combust. I pounced on Jake and he took me to bed.
But when we got there all I could think of was Jake and his fuck buddy. I pictured both of them naked, Jake lying back, his arms folded under his head while his fuck buddy – skinny, but well defined, smooth chest, shaved head – bounces up and down, Jake’s thick cock sliding in and out of him. Both of them pink and sweaty. It was like the fuel I needed to keep going, a source of my sexual vitality. I felt like if I didn’t focus, if I didn’t keep sucking up that energy, I’d be stuck having half-hearted, disinterested sex for all eternity, without ever stopping or getting off. When I came those words burned in my head; He loves riding my cock.
And now that’s all I can think of whenever Jake and I have sex. Not in an obsessive, jealous way. For some reason it makes me want him more. The idea of Jake as this sexual creature with a past that I have no control over; I know that kind of thing drives most people nuts. But I like that Jake has fucked other guys and that they want to come back for more. It’s kind of like owning a horse that has won the Kentucky Derby, or the way that guy from Korn must feel about his porn star wife: that sense of accomplishment even though you really haven’t done anything.
Or maybe this is just my way of distancing myself. I’m not used to having sex with someone regularly so maybe this is like a defense mechanism. Maybe I’m not all that comfortable with the reality of him and me so I have to remove myself from it. I have to turn him into this porn star in my head, pimping him out to all these imaginary boys. I don’t have to be there, I don’t have to be involved with him. I don’t have to deal with all the things he’s asking of me without asking. I’m just a spectator with no responsibilities and nothing at stake.
April 02, 2005
New Blog!
Welcome to the new and improved Romancing the Bone! The old Romancing the Bone is still there if you want to take a trip down memory lane.
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