Posted by Anonymous on 2016/08/04 under Games Six people I’ve slept with. The number shocks me; I’ve only ever been in long term, serious relationships. Yet here I am, this last one making half a dozen. I know it’s been years since my first, but somehow I still never considered myself someone who would boast such a number. I swear, it feels like four of these instances I owe to a second me – the ‘foxy’ woman. Quoted from the last man I had relations with. And each of those four, spur-of-the-moment, the kinds of encounters I sort of fantasize about having. About being capable of orchestrating. But sitting here, writing; THIS me, feels disconnected somewhat – totally, to be honest – from these acts. I have to put on a different mask. Slip into a totally different personality. The seductress. I toy with the idea constantly. Being capable of the act of seducing someone into f***ing me, without making too many moves myself. I keep having to tell myself it happened, I relive these times frequently, but they feel no more real to me. The last one…I’m not sure whether or not it was intentional. I think I can say it was. I wanted to, my god; did I ever, but I never thought it’d become a reality. And when it became clear it could be, I still felt as if it wasn’t real. And then there I sat, in his house, on his couch, smoking, and he’s there, close; his face hovering right above my own, a breath away from a kiss. The tension, tangible. Physical. That – the suspense, the teasing, the electric feeling in the air – that’s what I seek. What I crave. It never gets old. Then pulling away, dismissing the moment as if it hadn’t happened. The movie. And then the confession: “You’re really cute”. Because I’ve been working my charms all night. The feeling of buzzing under my skin, my heartbeat speeding up. One of my favorite drugs is this feeling of being touched by someone new. Someone like this. God. The way he stares, the way he laughs and grabs me, the strength he uses to pull me this way and that. To pull me into his lap. His hands and muscles taught beneath his shirt, which doesn’t stay on long. The amazement in his voice, his face, his hands. I relish each time he tells me how sexy I am; how perfect my assets are. The roommate suddenly entering the room, my clothes undone and his roommate shirtless on top of me. The carelessness; the realization that none of it really matters, or exists. Not really. But the morning light comes, and suddenly I feel it settle in. I don’t want to see the light. We move into his room. He keeps discovering, uncovering me. Breathing in places that make me want to tear the rest of his clothes off. I get a hell of a kick out of teasing him, and the way it clearly turns him on. That was my mistake the second time around; I was too eager. It wasn’t as fun when I had a goal I wanted to reach. But his amazement was still there, the way he calls me ‘foxy’ and suddenly I am. I have been, but now it’s internalized. It’s now part of what I’m projecting. I’m adapting, constantly. An erotic, carnal learning process.
But the sex…like the other chance encounters, was hard, fast; a release. For both parties. I want it again, but the coy way. I want to lead him in, I think it puts him off to see me so forward. As much as I enjoy that, I want him to chase instead of me. I might see him again tonight. I want to see what happens. That’s the important distinction, I think. The uncertainty. No plan. The excitement of not knowing what’s coming.