A Night Out That Was Awesome

16 11 2012

This post will talk about sex. And sex clubs. Not really safe for work.

Big C and I went to a swing club. It was so seedy, it was awesome. Also there were many transsexual women, which made Big C go all ‘…I don’t get it.’ (Some of them were old enough to be my grandmother. MAJOR squick factor.) And then there were very sketchy guys. Big C and I were morbidly enjoying the ambiance, but except for one thing, we probably would have left. The fetish room was sketchy and dark, the orgy room was full of men and transwomen, all of whom were scary looking, it smelled like sex and cigarettes…it was a mess. Except for that one thing.

Oh, that one thing. Well, not a thing. A man. My favorite type of man: a skinny white boy. I spotted him the second I walked in. And as a bonus: He had a British accent! I, like many many American girls, love British accents. It’s like ‘Yeah, baby, talk to me, that accent is like rolling on velvet naked.’

So Big C and I strike up a conversation with him, and we’re all laughing and having a good time. British Boy says he’s happy we’re there because he feels a little like a target. (It was true, people were looking at him like he was a piece of meat. Granted, so was I, but I’m not a six foot tall sixty year old transwoman, so I guess I’m less scary/more appealing?) British Boy is bi, and just my type, and I want him so bad, I could taste it. But he didn’t make a move, even though we were flirting like crazy. And we’re in a sex club for God’s sake, so I assume that he’s not interested.

Then Big C proves why he is awesome and mortifying all at once. He goes ‘Yeah, she really wants to fuck you’, and I’m blushing, and British Boy is too, and then we were looking at each other, and our touch barrier was breaking; my knee pressing against his, our fingers brushing, and finally we get up, and kiss. And we kissed well together-he was taller than me, almost a foot taller-oh yeah, I was happy.

We went into a private room-it was sketchy as hell, but it was clean. And oh we were kissing-there is nothing like someone who meshes with you when you kiss.

And the sex? Let’s put it this way-I had a glow for hours afterwards. Unrepentant, biting, scratching, let the people next door sex. Awesome.

Of course, he’s going back to England, and I’ll never see him again, so my number goes up by one and I regret that I can’t even have a sex friend. I think I’m seeking a connection, but I’m also sabotaging myself because I seek out people who are unavailable, emotionally or otherwise.

Though for some reason he asked for my number, so we exchanged digits. (Does anyone say exchanged digits anymore?) Like I’m going to call him? I sent him a text and he responded to that one but not to the next one, and that’s all. I was surprised he asked for my number at all. It was nice of him though, so it was a little less like ‘Hi thanks for the sex bye’ thing.

I don’t feel guilty about the sex, because that was awesome. I just think I’m a little lonely. I want more cuddles. (Which British Boy gave me, but it would be nice to have on a continuous basis.) I think, subconsciously  that I still think that sex is all I’m good for, that it’s the only way anyone will praise me that I can accept. (And who doesn’t want to hear that they’re hot, that their body is beautiful, that they’re good at…certain things.) But still, I want more than that.

I deserve more than that.

Well, I should wrap this up. I have other things to do and I have to get up at 6:30 in the morning for work.

Sincerely yours,

J.J

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