I added him on Facebook
a couple weeks into seeing him at work. I was hoping he’d interpret my friend
request as the “I want to date you” or “I want to fuck you”. Isn’t that really
the purpose of friend requests these days? But once again, he didn’t bite; I
had to be more forward. My forwardness was really quite pitiful and frankly
non-existent. Shortly into facebook messaging Kevin asked for my number. This really excited me until he told me his new apartment didn’t have wifi,
and I guess at some point he realized I wasn’t data-worthy.
We texted for an
evening about usual things: what we were hoping to do with our lives and
Seinfeld. For a brief moment I thought maybe I had found a decent one. This was
all going well until I told my co-worker, Jason, how long it had been since I had gotten
laid…and that I was house-sitting. If Jason were a regular human he
probably wouldn’t have cared much, but this guy was uber-sexual: every thirty
seconds he was either telling a sexual joke or pulling the “that’s-what-she-said”
line. (The “that’s-what-she-said” line is basically the lowest form of humour
in my books.) Long-story-short, uber-sexual Jason ended up telling Kevin
that I was DTF. I know twelve-year-olds probably shouldn’t be having sex, but
if they are I feel like that’s what they would say to each other.
A couple hours later
Kevin and I were watching Saturday Night Live where I was house-sitting. At
this point I wasn’t 100% sure what Jason had told Kevin;
sometimes I can be really naïve. Lady Gaga was the guest performer that night,
which was really not helping me get in the mood. Kevin would randomly make
pop-culture references and I continually felt stupid when I didn’t know what
the hell he was talking about. It also didn’t help that the house was freezing.
Kevin was sitting beside me drinking a coffee and wearing a winter jacket.
At some point Kevin
made a move and we started making out. It was weird: we were both silent
kissers. I know one can make noise
while kissing, but I just never have. I think it’s a confidence issue. After a
couple minutes of making out we made our way to the bedroom of the woman I was
house-sitting for. My cute maxi-dress and Kevin’s winter jacket came off quite
fast. Kevin reached into his wallet and pulled out two condoms. “Which one do
you want to use?” he asked. I was expecting something along the lines of ribbed
or extra thin; instead, I got to “choose” strawberry or melon. I went with strawberry.
The sex really wasn’t all that exciting. Sure it was alright, but nothing to
write home about.
Throughout most of
the act I was so distracted by the smell of strawberry latex. Latex itself
smells gross enough, but the smell of strawberry latex is just nasty. After
about twenty minutes of various positions I just wanted Kevin to finish. I told
him to go on top and I began the countdown in my head “10..9..8..” hoping he
would cum. I did this probably four times while also seriously wanting a
cigarette. Eventually me and my vagina gave up. Kevin then asked if I could “finish
him off” by giving him a hand-job. I went for about a minute before admitting
defeat. I was exhausted. And I didn’t want to admit to Kevin, still hard, that
I have weak hands and wrists. Kevin then asked if he could use the shower which
I assume he wanted to jack-off in. I regret that I didn’t go and watch him.
Instead I went on Instagram and probably liked a bunch of pictures of raw food
and Bukowski quotes.
Kevin got out of the
shower and dressed himself quite quickly. He had a hard time finding one sock
and told me he couldn’t lose it as he had an “impressive sock collection.” I
began feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t collect anything.
I walked Kevin to the
door and asked, “so, there’s like nothing wrong with me right?” “Oh, no,” he
said, “I just usually have sex with girls I’m in relationships with.”
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