Friday, February 27, 2009

longest. entry. ever.

I've written recently about my being "one of the boys" here at school. While that also happens to mean I have precisely 0 female friends here, I really love hanging out with my boys. There are three key groups: One is Bear, and then sometimes he brings friends around, although admittedly not often. There is one guy, a year younger than me, who I met while in Spain. He was part of the "in-crowd" of boys there, and while we weren't best friends, we always got along well... Particularly when there weren't other girls in the program hanging all over him. He's one of the ones I went skinnydipping in the Mediterranean with. I didn't expect to keep in such close touch with him, but he lives four houses down from me and invites me out on a regular basis. It isn't a weekend without him. He lives with six other guys - they invite me over usually before the parties start meaning I hang out with just them... it's kind of like being in a frat. I love it. (I generally have a pretty strong disdain for the Greek system... at least in its stereotypical tendencies at my big, monied private northeastern university. I've always said, though, were I allowed to join a greek group, I'd do much better in a frat than a sorority.)

Then there is a friend of mine who's in my major at school, and worked on the magazine with me for the past few years. He and I went to Ireland together, and he's a major reason I had such a fantastic time there. He's currently running the magazine I was running last year (I stepped down since I couldn't commit the time and got an offer to work on a queer publication on campus), so he likes to bounce ideas off me. He's smart and funny and laid back. His girlfriend (who also spent some of the time in Ireland with us) is finishing up grad school in London right now, so I get the distinct impression I'm a "safe" girl with him, because he knows I know and like his girlfriend, and there's no tension there. He lives with five other guys as well, and while they're also funny and smart, it's in a very different way than the frat-like boys. Some of them are fellow writers, some are chemists, but they're all laid-back and very much let me be one of the boys. One of my favorite things is that they never leave me behind. I know that sounds simple, but I've gotten left behind on a regular basis by other "friends," sometimes in notably shitty situations. (Think leaving me alone in a bar in a foreign country when I've been drinking heavily. Actually, now that I think about that, it's happened in at least three different countries. Ew.) But these boys have never once left me behind, and are in fact excellent at making me feel like an integral part of the group.

So last night I was out with, essentially, both groups of boys. Well, as it were, both groups were out at and invited me to the same campus dive bar. So I went. I was admittedly overdressed for the diveyness of the place (although given the high Greek population at the place, I was sure I wouldn't be the most dressed up) - wearing a racerback tank dress with jeans and ankle boots on a low heel. More out of laziness than anything, I left my hair naturally curly, hoping it would pass as sultry, and not just frizzy. I put on eyeshadow, which is more than I usually do, and threw on my white peacoat.

When I got to the bar around midnight, there was a small line out the door, and I saw one of the frat boys outside, talking to a girl, touching her face. I chuckled to myself (he was supposed to pick me up en route to the bar and had flaked. See what I mean about not getting left behind?) and didn't call his attention. A few moments later, though, he came running up to me, visibly wasted. He gave me a hug - something he's good at at something like 6'4", meaning I just wrap my arms around his waist and he kind of wraps his around my shoulders - and kissed my forehead. It's an interesting habit he's picked up recently - it feels not quite paternal... maybe more brotherly... but in any case, it's a sweet gesture. I chided him a little about standing me up, and he muttered some incoherent response. I walked into the packed bar and he vanished.

After pushing my way to the actual bar and ordering my signature long island iced tea (the most bang for my buck... we are in a recession, here!), I started scanning the place for my other group of boys. Aside: I need to give them some name... If the others are the frat boys, I guess these ones will be the band. My friend and a few of his roommates are in a heavy metal band, so that seems appropriate. After a few texts, I found them at the back of the bar, one of the rare tables already secured. Ah, it's good to know people. My friend from Ireland and I started chatting immediately. He was quite drunk, although he holds it well. His eyes were squinty and I occassionally had to repeat myself, but overall he was doing well. He's a funny guy and I love talking to him, so in no time, we were joking around, me laughing loudly and smiling broadly when I wasn't. There was some banter with his roommates, too, who all know and seem to like me as well. Overall, I was having exactly the kind of night I've been missing and needing to pull myself out of my being-sick-and-pathetic funk.

And I think the idea that the most attractive people are the ones who are having a good time has some real merit. I've heard all over the place that the best way to pick someone up is to go out with friends and really look like you're having a good time - it makes you that much more attractive to everyone else. Apparently that's true. I ran into a few other guys I knew, a few of whom I've hooked up, and they all were eager to come and say hi to me, tell me I was looking well, all that jazz.

Three long islands and two shots later, we were closing down the bar. The chemists decided they wanted to go back to their house to maybe smoke, and asked what I wanted to do. I don't smoke, but I was having such a good time that I didn't want it to end, so I agreed to go with them. We stopped off to get my friend a sandwich and I stepped in to use the restroom. They were ready to go by the time I came out, and I overheard them telling one another to be sure they waited for me. It was sweet, like a headcount, and they wanted to make sure I was there. We walked across campus and caught the free bus that took us to their street. They actually live a few blocks from me, but we were all fairly tipsy and we didn't want to walk. And the bus was right there, and free. We tried not to be too rowdy on the bus, although the boisterous energy was still very much alive.

When we got to their place, we went up to the second floor (they have the whole house, essentially each floor is converted into a separate apartment), and they grabbed some more beers and started smoking. I grabbed a seat on the couch, and after some debate, we settled on watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. What can I say, we're products of the 90's. The whole thing was just a great way to unwind. There was more joking around, giving one another shit, and eventually one of the roommates retired to his room with the girl he'd brought home. (I don't know if she's his girlfriend or not, but I did get the impression they knew each other before tonight.) My friend had passed out about a half-hour after getting home, leaving just me and two of his roommates. I'd been sitting next to one of his roommates on the couch - he and I have been flirting mildly for a few weeks. Of course, a few weeks ago I ran into the band at a party, and blanked on this boy's name. He looked visibly bummed when I admitted that to him that night. He sometimes gives me shit about it, but to be fair, I WAS pretty drunk. Anyway, I'd been thinking about this roommate for much of the night - he's the most my type of all the band. He's got several inches on me, broad shoulders, blonde hair and - of course - pretty blue eyes. He is actually in the band, where he plays bass. We'd had a discussion earlier in the night about family heritage - the other people in the band are all very Irish, save for the one who's latino - and this one is, as it turns out, even more northern european than I am. He's Swedish and Norweigan. Which would certainly explain the milky skin, blonde hair, blue eye combo. Mostly though, at the time, I just thought it was funny to find another Scandinavian (I'm Danish. And Irish, yes, but my dad was actually born in DK, making that part more dominant.) We'll call him the Viking.

Once it was just the three of us left conscious, he asked me if I wanted to go downstairs and grab a glass of water with him. I'd been thinking about him WAY more than I should have been since we'd gotten to the band's house, and in my tipsyness, I just said "Yeah, I'll go downstairs with you!" Probably too enthusiastically. He led me downstairs and I managed not to trip over anything, including my own still-heeled feet, on the way down. He did, indeed, pour me a glass of water, which I drank thirstily. And then he set his glass on the counter and sauntered towards me. Without taking his eyes off mine, he took my glass from my hand, and in one fluid motion, put his hand on my chin and pulled my face to his. And kissed me. Sweetly, but not without intent. His lips were soft, and he was a good kisser. And one of my favorite ways to be kissed is with hands on my face like that. As he pulled away, I blinked and felt that goofy, girly smile spread across my face. He saw that, and smiled back at me. Then leaned in to kiss me again. When he pulled away the next time, he chuckled and just bluntly said "Yknow, if we're gonna be making out, we should at least go sit on the couch." I giggled and followed him into the other room. I settled in to his outstretched arm surprisingly comfortably, and we did, indeed, keep making out. At some point, I stopped and mentioned that I was definitely enjoying this, but I also really enjoy being one of the boys, and I didn't want this to jeapordize that. In retrospect, it might have been a little harsh, although it's true. At the time, though, he took it in stride and simply said "Oh, of course. Does that mean we should go to your place instead?"

I laughed because I hadn't said anything about sleeping with him (although my body language and my eagerness in kissing him might have given away my ulterior motives) and led him out the front door. We sauntered through the light rain, and he took my hand as we walked through the now-quiet streets. We reached my apartment just as the wind picked up enough for us to bitch about it, and I showed him in.

I was incredibly glad I'd spent a portion of the day earlier washing basically everything I owned, including all my bed sheets. I stepped out to the restroom, and when I came back, found him examining the Netflix movies on my desk. I asked him if he was judging me by them, and he chuckled and said "Only a little." (For the record, they were Dead Like Me and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. There are much more embarassing movies in my renting history.) He put the discs down and stepped towards me again. With my face in his hands, he kissed me deeply and backed me over to my bed. The fall to my floor-level bed was surprisingly graceful, especially considering how clumsy I am. I blame him and his hands at my hips offering some extra support.

The making out continued, albeit more intensely. Slowly, clothes came off. I liked that he asked me if it was OK if he undressed me. Sometimes I really love the rough, assertive kind of sex, but there's something to be said for a gentler approach, too. I also really loved that he brought up protection before I had to... in my experience, men who are hesitant about wearing a condom aren't worth shit. (OK, barring pre-determined and discussed fluid-bonded couples. But that's a whole different issue.) The sex itself wasn't incredible, but considering it was a first-time pairing, it was good. And all throughout, the adorable bluntness never ceased. After we'd finished, he looked at me and asked, honestly not able to predict my response from what I could tell, "Can I sleep here or do you want me to go?" I laughed louder than I should have at 4:45 in the morning. "Of course you can stay! I'd prefer it, actually. And I'm absolutely not sending you out into the rain at this hour. That would be shitty." He smiled, looking genuinely pleased and just a little relieved. I got up to turn off the light, surprisingly comfortable with being very visibly naked. As I climbed back into bed, I told him I just needed one of my three pillows, and he could have the other two. Again, he looked genuinely pleased. It was cute.

As we rearranged the pillows, he stretched his arm out, offering me his shoulder again. Now it was my turn to be surprised. I love cuddling, but again, in my experience, it's often something men in my life put up with without much actual interest in themselves. So I usually don't expect to actually have the option to fall asleep cuddling. With the Viking, it just seemed like a statement of fact, like of course I want to fall asleep wrapped around you. So, thus far, we have the cuteness, check; good kisser, check; relaxed no-bullshit approach to talking and safer sex, check; wants to spend the night, check (a pet peeve of mine is when people I'm sleeping with don't ever want to spend the night. It's weaksauce, in my opinion) ; AND cuddling? check.

We fell asleep like that, my head on his shoulder and hand on his chest, his arms around me and a leg thrown over mine. We moved around in our sleep, but I slept well. Whenever I moved, he'd readjust to make sure he was still touching me. When I rolled away from him to face the other way, he moved to be beside me, wrapping his arm around me and working his hand between mine underneath my cheek. I woke up like that, him still very much wrapped around me. For the first time this semester, I wasn't cold when I woke up. In fact, I was a perfect temperature - apparently he doesn't run ridiculously hot like some boys tend to.

Around 1130, we were both half-asleep lying on one another. "Sasha?" He asked. I looked up at him, still a little groggy. "I should probably head out sometime soon." "OK," I replied, predicting and kind of dreading the awkward morning after leaving dance. "Wanna fool around a little first?" he asked, without a hint of irony. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing too loud again. "That'd be fun," I managed. And he went back to kissing me, and running his hands over my body. Eventually, I ended up going down on him, and at one point he stopped me and asked me to turn around, so he could eat me out at the same time. Again, I was caught off guard. While I love giving oral sex, recieving it for me is a kind of uncomfortable thing (not physically, I've just got some issues with it and can't relax enough to enjoy it), so I declined, but thanked him, genuinely, for offering. Again, in my experience that isn't something many of my partners have volunteered to do. Especially when they're already being pleasured. Aside: Perhaps some of that explains the hesitance in recieving oral sex... In any case, though, it was another pleasant surprise. So was his skill with his hands. Again, I'm generally not a huge fan of manual stimulation, because I'm picky and I feel bad making my partners work so hard when I'm not even confident I can get off. While I didn't get off this time, either (which is, sadly, normal for me), it was immensely pleasurable, and he definitely knew what he was doing. Lovely.

After we'd finished and caught our breaths, we slowly redressed, untangling our clothes from the various piles we'd thrown them in. He excused himself to the restroom, and I fussed around in my room. He came back in and I was bracing myself, now, for the awkward goodbye... He just smiled at me, said he had a good time, and that he'd see me next time. With a short kiss and a quick stroke of his hand down my jawline (which seemed to me like the sex partner equivalent of the guys' fraternal punch in the arm), he let himself out of my apartment. Totally painless.

Looking in the mirror later, I noticed a tiny little hickey at the base of my neck, and smiled, thinking how it was funny and kind of adorable and therefore appropriate. I've spent the rest of the day hyper and happy. It's amazing what some quality cuddling will do for your mood.

My only concern is that by doing this, I've thrown off the balance of me being able to be one of the guys. At the same time, my hope is that when the rest of the band inevitably finds out, they'll just give us each some shit and that'll be the end of it. And I'm pretty confident that if they do find out, that will be what happens. There's just a nagging fear in the back of my mind that it won't go over smoothly and that I'll start being viewed as "the Viking's girl." Which would suck because those changes always seem to be accompanied by changes in how you're treated. And I love the way I'm treated now. All around.

And I do apologize for the ridiculous length of this post. Thanks to any of you crazies who read the whole thing. And even to those sane people who gave up halfway through.


Amalthea said...

I read it all, and smiled a lot. I may have had that goofy girly grin on my face you spoke of - just because this sounded like so much good clean fun. I'm so happy someone gave you real kisses and cuddles with no strings - instead of just the virtual ones we send you all the time. ;)

Roland Hulme said...

This post was the PERFECT length and very sweet and sexy. To be honest, I'm not sure how the dynamic of the group might be affected by this - men are weird animals and don't often obey our own rules. But speaking from experience (I've always preferred hanging out with girls than guys and have crossed the line with a few 'just friends' in a similar fashion) I'm sure it'll be fine.

Beautiful and descriptive post.