Everyone thinks they know what it looks like. Movies and books and TV Shows have covered it to death.
You see each other from across the bar, he’s handsome and winks at you, he buys you a drink, he takes you home, you drunkenly begin to hook up. It’s perfect and hot and you don’t find it weird at all. He randomly knows everything that you like and vice-versa and magically, you both orgasm at the same time. The next morning you either sneak out or he makes you breakfast, and you part ways only to have him pining after you because “you’re different, he can’t stop thinking about you.”
If anyone has seen 500 Days of Summer, that’s the expectation side of this night and this is the reality. You go out for a night with your girlfriends, promising that this is a night just to enjoy yourself. You see him eyeing you, but only after three margaritas does he seem interesting and cool (or do you seem less nervous…who’s to say?). You feel super weird about going home to his apartment (like does he live in a meth lab? Does he live next to a meth lab?), but you do it anyway because you’re just dying to see his collection of The Ramones vinyls…right.
So you go back to his house and have another drink and you just know it’s coming and you wait, but then all of sudden you’re kissing and fumbling, and he’s using way too much tongue and biting at your lip too hard, and you kiss his neck just to get a little stability. But all the while, you’re drunk too, and probably no picnic to kiss either.
And he takes off your shirt, and you think about everything you had to eat that night and that week, and silently curse yourself for skipping the gym yesterday. Soon, after foreplay that was a little more generous on your end, he’s fumbling with a condom (or you’re asking him to use one, yes? Yes.) and you’re having sex, and you wonder who, besides an overly enthusiastic blow-up doll, this guy has boned before. But still, something about that tequila and the million romantic movies you’ve watched makes you act super into it and moan like you’ve never been touched before.
Once he’s satisfied, he rolls off of you and you sigh enthusiastically because, ya know, you can take one for the team. You then are faced with how to proceed. Do you trek out into the universe, possibly to get jumped because it’s 4 am, or, to be safe, do you stay? If you do stay, do you cuddle? Soon your question is answered as the sound of snoring rings loudly in your ears.
You sleep a little longer than you want to and you wish you could have your usual hangover remedy of greasy food and trashy TV, but you now have a guy breathing on you in an unfamiliar bed with a pounding headache. Suddenly you’re both stirred awake and you exchange “hi’s.” Now, people have told fabled tales where they have magical, stimulating pillow talk, but I have yet to find it. Most pillow talk sounds like a bad job interview, plus you’re naked.
Following that, you pull on your clothes, he assures you that he would grab food, but he’s just so busy with today being Saturday and all. Yep, you say, “me too, no worries.” You try your best to fix your makeup in the elevator, but c’mon when you get on the train or bus, you’re definitely not going to be the craziest looking one there, and you just got some. High Five!
You find yourself wondering if he’ll call, not that you care. You know that no relationships are truly built from one night stands…and despite the fact you know nothing about him, you are still a little bummed he didn’t call, and despite your big ‘eff you’ to the patriarchy, you still don’t wanna call him, cuz hey, no one wants to be that girl.
And then a few weeks later, it’s like nothing happened…sort of.
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