I know, I know, I've been slacking with my posting lately. I've been busy with school, I have a complex knitting project, I'm working on Pornbook II...whatever, you don't care. On with the story.
Following graduation from college, something unexpected happened: I went through a bit of a "dry spell". I'd started my first teaching job, which drained me of nearly all of my energy, and I legitimately could not find any suitable cock. Sure, the 8th grade science teacher in my building was a hottie, but he worked allllll the way on the other side of the building, and I only ran into him a couple of times in the copy room. One day, another teacher in my department called in a sub who was seriously cute, and we chatted and exchanged a phone call between classrooms, but even though I begged that coworker to request him again, nothing ever came of it. So, the depressing, dirty details: I had sex once in July 2006. And on New Year's Eve 06/07*. And that was about it.
(*I will admit, however, that that is a fascinating story. But not the story I'm going to tell now. All in good time.)
June rolled around, still with a depressing lack of sex. During my last two years of college, my alma mater had been in talks with an international organization to host their 2007 annual conference. My advisor/professor had told all of us that even if we'd graduated by then, we should make an effort to come back up and volunteer. I agreed to do so, and made plans to return to college dorm life for a number of days.
Then it hit me: There were going to be a TON of people, of all ages and from all over the world, at this conference. Surely, I would be able to get laid. It would be almost embarrassing if I couldn't. Satisfied with my new mission, I eagerly awaited the conference.
The anticipated date arrived, and I showed up, checked in, went to pick up my roommate (Hussy-In-Training), got my keys and meal card, and was immediately put to work. My first assignment: go to the gigantic room that would eventually contain the vendors, and wrap tables with festively-colored plastic tablecloths. Okay. Sure. We were told it was a two-person job to hold them tightly and tape them down, so we were partnered off.
When the hundred or so tables were properly wrapped, we all gathered around in the hallway. I made a joke about how I was a hot, sweaty, disgusting mess (it was the record hottest June in that region, of course) and heard laughter. While I knew most of the others on the volunteer squad, this guy who had enjoyed my self-deprecating humor was a stranger. An attractive stranger. Hmm.
Alas, I did not see this attractive stranger the next day. Or the day after that. Damn! Just when I was starting to lose hope, he showed up towards the middle of the week. And not only did he show up, he made his way right over to where I was sitting at the information table. We chatted, we flirted, until someone else he knew saw him and whisked him away. Hussy-In-Training, was sitting next to me, and we had a good giggle. There were a lot of people in the lobby, so it was hard to keep track of his whereabouts, but we eventually saw him making his way towards the exit. Before he left, he backtracked and returned just to say good-bye to me.
"I'm in," I said to Hussy-In-Training.
"What? How do you know these things?"
"Trust me, I know. I'm in." Hussy-In-Training, young grasshopper that she was, still had much to learn. (And I would teach her some of it. I'm a terrible influence.)
The next day, the head of our volunteer team sat next to me for a bit, and I grilled her for details. Stranger had been a teacher and was planning on going for his doctorate, but had to take time off to care for a sick family member. She and her husband had met him at the gym, because in his free time, he had gotten into semi-professional weightlifting. Ooooh. Since he was good at lifting heavy things and only lived an hour away from the festival, she'd asked him to come by for a couple days.
Now, the moment of truth. "Is he seeing anyone?" I asked.
She smiled at me. "Nope. He's single." Score!
Towards the end of the week, there was an party planned at one of the wineries not far from the college. She said that Weightlifter had been invited, but she wasn't sure if he was going to come. As it was a nice event, I put on a cute top and a skirt, and was delighted to see him waiting for the buses that would take us to the winery. I strutted right up to him and made a cute comment about how he had finally gotten a nametag like the rest of us (taking note of his last name, as I figured I should probably learn it), and made sure to touch it, since it was pinned to his chest. He said he was glad to see me again, but then some unattractive girls he'd gone to college with spotted him, and they ran up to him and distracted him with their nasal screechy yammering. Normally, such things do not deter me, but at that precise moment, one of my friends (also on the volunteer squad) demanded my attention for something I don't even remember, and I went to deal with him. As a result, I did NOT get a seat near Weightlifter on the bus and spent the entirety of the ride openly sulking. I NEED BETTER FRIENDS.
Well, in light of what happened next, maybe that statement about needing better friends wasn't true. We all disembarked from the buses and everyone went their separate ways in the rather large winery. Everyone on the volunteer squad had put their cell phone number on a contact sheet. Everyone on the volunteer squad also knew how much I wanted to fuck this guy, as I am not exactly shy. So what happened during the first part of the wine party was pretty awesome.
We stalked him. We stalked the shit out of him. We had an informational network of which the CIA would be jealous. Never underestimate my determination. I was up at the main tent listening to one of the musical groups performing when I got a call that Weightlifter was down by the lake. I grabbed my friend and we crossed the field down to the area by the water. As we were walking down there, we saw Weightlifter and Unattractive Classmates walking in the opposite direction. Damn! From across the field. I waved to him, and he pointed to his empty wine glass, indicating he needed a refill and he said he'd be back.
I sat on some rocks by the water and sulked some more until another call came in. He was still at the bar. I got up, went back across the field, and "accidentally bumped into him". I did not let him out of my sight for the rest of the evening (except when I had to go to the bathroom, and believe me, I peed quickly).
We drank wine and made conversation and drank more wine. Unattractive Classmates meandered by, but it was clear who he was interested in. We chatted with them for a little bit, and took a couple pictures before they found better things to do than unsuccessfully try to disrupt my game.
In our barside conversation, we talked about where we were originally from. Weightlifter told me that he was attending a weightlifting competition in a town not too far from mine in another month. "Oh, you'll have to give me a call when you're down there!" He agreed to do so. This was going well. Another divine intervention: he said that the volunteer coordinator had managed to get him a single room for the night so he wouldn't have to drive home after all the wine. His room was in the same building as mine, on the same floor (but in the opposite wing). Clearly, God wanted me to have sex that night.
We got rather tipsy, and when it got dark, we boarded the buses to return to the college. This time, we did, in fact, sit next to each other, and snuggled a little bit. My hand was on top of his hand, while his hand was on top of my leg, and I whispered flirty little things directly into his ear. We held hands as we walked back to the dorm, and he gave me his room number before we parted ways. I went to quickly change out of my nice-ish clothes into my pajamas, high-fived Hussy-In-Training, and walked down the hall.
Upon entering his room, I hopped up onto the bed and he sat down next to me. Despite knowing exactly why I was there, we continued our polite conversation for a while longer. At one point, he reached out and brushed his fingers against my thigh. "You have really soft skin," he said.
It was the best segue I was going to get. Then came the classiest line this Classy Hussy has ever uttered in her entire life: "So are you going to lose the gum and hit the lights or what?"
He laughed and told me that he appreciated how direct I was, and followed my instructions. And then we fucked like crazy, with little regard to the open window and anyone who may be walking by. I admit, the thought had crossed my mind that maybe the weightlifting/giant muscles were compensation for something else and I was going to have to hide my disappointment, but I was delighted to find out that it was not an issue. Dude was hung. Sweet.
We explored nearly every position we could possibly think of, mixing in some oral action for a good variety. The aforementioned muscles were amazing to hold on to, and were also useful for introducing my knees to my ears as he lifted my legs onto his shoulders. It was a good night.
After we were *finished*, we cuddled for a little bit. When an appropriate amount of time had passed, I gave him a kiss, bid him a fond farewell, and told him I'd see him in the morning. Jentastic does not like being touched when she sleeps.
Hussy-In-Training made fun of my "sex hair" when I returned to the room, but she was pleased with my success. I told some of the other ladies on the team in the bathroom the following morning that I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do, and the younger, more innocent ones stared at me in awe and congratulated me for landing the hottie, as they had not yet realized their full potential as owners of vaginas. I told you I set a good example.
(I later found out that this one girl said to someone else that she didn't believe that I'd nailed him. Whore. I sent Hussy-In-Training out after her to inform her of the evidence of the sex hair.)
Weightlifter had to leave that evening. We managed to eat lunch and dinner together, and we walked around the campus during one of my breaks. It was nice enough. I escorted him to his car when he was leaving, gave him a hug and a kiss good-bye, and he assured me that we'd get together in another month.
I returned home from the conference feeling better than I had while driving up. I got home, unpacked my stuff, and then got a phone call from Dr. ManDiva. He asked if I wanted to go out that night, and I told him I was tired from the drive. Dr. ManDiva does not readily take no for an answer, and I finally relented. I kept him on the phone while I was getting ready, and I told him about my exploits with Weightlifter.
As I was filling him in, I wandered over to my computer and saw that I had the most evidence indication of social interactions of our generation: the facebook friend request. I squealed in excitement, and with my friend still on the phone, I went to go check out Weightlifter's profile.
Dr. ManDiva will back me up on this one - I almost cried. Weightlifter appeared to be functionally illiterate. Oh dear. Things only got worse as I read on. Under "favorite books", he had written "i dont read books, only music and magazines". Eeek. This was...this was not good. I closed the window and tried to push away what I had just seen with memories of his naked body.
Time passed, and we chatted a bit via AIM. Conversations with him reminded me of what my high school band teacher had said about those who go for degrees in musical performance - schools don't care how smart you are as long as you can play your instrument and you have a pulse. I fought to ignore the prolific use of "ur" from someone who was five years older than me, and assumed correctly that "there/their/they're" was simply out of the question. I don't remember seeing any evidence that he knew punctuation existed. Despite these near-painful interactions, we still made plans to get together when he came down for his weightlifting competition.
As I was young, poor, and getting ready to start grad school, I still lived with my parents. (That was probably partially responsible for the dry spell.) But as luck would have it, they were planning on going away on vacation the weekend of the competition. Again, I remain firmly convinced that God wanted me to have sex, and who was I to go against His wishes?
I drove to the next county over and prepared to watch the competition. I instantly regretted not bringing a book, as it was not all that exciting. Weightlifter saw me and came over to talk to me for a little while before it was his turn. He came in fourth. No medal for him.
He walked me out to my car, and I gave him directions back to my house. The plan was for him to take the arranged bus back to the dorm where the competitors were staying, shower, pack his stuff, and come over. It seemed like an excruciatingly long wait, but he eventually arrived.
We went out to dinner at one of the few restaurants that was still open at that time. I don't know if it was because he was tired, or because my perceptions had been colored by his inability to string together coherent words in a written medium, or because we knew we were just passing time again before the anticipated sex, but it was a little awkward. We finished dinner and went to the bar where Dr. ManDiva worked and hung out there for a little while before returning home. More idle smalltalk, a little TV-watching, and we headed upstairs to get down to business.
I'm not going to lie, the sex was still phenomenal. It's funny how you're willing to forget that proper nouns are supposed to be capitalized and that apostrophes actually exist when you're being pounded into a mattress. We thoroughly exhausted ourselves once more, and as space was limited, I relented to spending the night in the same bed with him.
I had to work my shitty mall job the next day, so we got up, showered, ate breakfast, and then prepared to leave. I told him how to get back to the highway to get home, and we said our good-byes. He called me when I was almost at the mall to tell me he had a great time and we'd talk again soon.
And then it just sort of fizzled out from there. We never saw each other again. In December, I made plans to go back upstate to visit friends and crash on Hussy-In-Training's floor, and we sort of tried to coordinate a meeting...but it never happened. It's probably for the best. Though he had managed to alleviate my sexual frustration (and how!), I was becoming frustrated with him when we had our clothes on, and that's really not good. Don't get me wrong, different people are useful for different things, and it's rare that you can find one person who can provide everything you could possibly need...but after that, I developed a stronger appreciation for the most important organ:
The brain.
(I know that's a sentence fragment and I don't give a shit.)
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