There are worse things I could do...

So, first off, I apologize for the absence of late. My computer is completely dead, and I'm graduating in a matter of days, so I'm relatively incomunicado. But there's nothing wrong - I'm just busy and frustrated with my computer situation. And it's hard to write smut in the communal computer labs on campus. Which doesn't stop me all together, but still... yknow, it complicates things.

There are things to write about, including the Viking pulling a kind of dick move a few nights ago. (This is what happens when I admit to myself I like someone... I find a way to screw it up. And end up walking home alone in the rain at 4am. Sigh.)

Anyway, in my effort to, I don't know, put off studying for my law exam - my last college exam EVER - I found myself watching Grease last night. Like the Pilot jokingly tells me "You know you're queer when..." you do silly things like LOVE cheesy 70s musicals. Well, yeah. It's true. I know most people love the classics like "Summer Lovin'" and "Greased Lightnin'," but THIS has always been my favorite song. From my favorite character. I've always kind of identified with Rizzo. Is anyone really surprised? I mean, c'mon, the opening lyrics to this song are "There are worse things I could do than go with a boy, or two..." Yeah, welcome to my life.

So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy today's musical obsession.



Rizzo's rather misunderstood for most of the film, and that's what this song is really about, and maybe why I identify with it so much. But I should mention a warm-fuzzy conversation I had with one of my best girlfriends back home the other day. We were talking on the phone, which is a little unusual for us (it's usually text or facebook), and we, of course, got to talking about our lovers. She knows nonboyfriend as well, and at some point the conversation turned to him. And I mentioned that I hope I get to see him when I get back - something I'm not sure about, because he gets jumpy around me when he's got a girlfriend. So do some other people, in regard to he and I - like I'm going to jump him, in total disregard for the exclusive relationship he's chosen to be in. Aside from the overly assertive confidence and predatory credit this belief gives me, it's rather ridiculous. And my friend said that - she even phrased it like it was something she's said to other people about me. "What people don't seem to get about you, Sasha, is that you would NEVER do that. It's like, Sasha wouldn't screw around with his relationship. She's too honest for that." Or something like that. And it was just this really lovely moment, and made me feel so wonderful that someone understands it. Understands where I'm coming from with all this, and that just because I'm not monogamous doesn't mean I'm automatically a man-eating, insatiable whore. And then, of course, it was nice to know that my effort to be honest and open in my relationships hasn't gone unnoticed. Because I really have been making an effort, and I think I've been doing a decent job, even if sometimes it means I'm alone more often than I'd like to be.

Sigh.

Anyway, she reads this blog, and I just thought I'd write a post about it and let her know how much I appreciated what she said. I miss you, sweetie! And will see you soon!

all those things I don't care about...

So I haven't written about it much, but I've been spending time with the Viking lately. It's not exactly habitual yet, although it's getting there. And we've moved past just the convenient post-hanging out in a group hookups to blatant booty calls. Which are always fun. And it's actually been a while since I've had a regular booty call, especially here at school. Which is weird to think about, but I guess it's true.

This weekend, it was my friend's girlfriend's birthday... Hmm, how to explain the relationship without using names? OK. My best friend in The Band (and one of my best friends in general) is the drummer of the band. I went to Ireland with he and his girlfriend last semester, and she and I get along great. The Band consists of the Drummer and his five roommates, although the actual band is four guys, only two of whom live in the house of guys that makes up The Band. Anyway, the Drummer's girlfriend invited me out for her birthday with most of The Band - she and I were the only girls. We went to a swanky sushi restaurant, and as the ice has finally receded here in the tundra, I got to get dressed up. I went with a teeny, tiny green dress (worn last on new year's eve), and fabulous green and black heels that have an adorable rounded, wing-tip toe. The Viking (who's the other roommate who is actually in the band - he plays bass) met the rest of us after dinner for bar-hopping.

I was terribly over-dressed for the pubs we were going to, but after a few drinks, I wasn't too concerned. And in any case, it was really fun to watch the Viking stealing looks at me. (I'll admit, those shoes DO make my legs look pretty fantastic.) We still haven't told our friends about us hooking up - although I have mentioned it to the Drummer's girlfriend, so there's a chance the Drummer knows. If he does, though, he hasn't said anything about it. We all (six of us by that point) eventually closed down the last bar and took the bus back to my apartment. The Drummer and his girlfriend and the Viking and I all sat in the back row. Of course, the Drummer and his girlfriend were being adorable and PDA-y, although thankfully not to a nauseating extent. Then somehow the Drummer and the Viking started jokingly punching each other. It turned into a psuedo-wrestling match. The Drummer eventually conceded that even though he's the taller of the pair, the Viking is stronger than he is. And then there was the bromance moment where the Drummer got all mushy and was telling the Viking that he was, like, his best friend, and he's such a great guy, and the Viking reiterated the sentiment. And then I got this strange feeling. Of warm fuzzies. Of course, the only reason I know the Viking is because he's such good friends with the Drummer, but I had this random flashback to when the Drummer first introduced me to his girlfriend. She had to leave Ireland a day early, giving the Drummer and I the day to hang out alone, and he confessed to me that he'd been really nervous about us liking one another, and he was so happy that we got along so well. Because we both mattered in his life. It was this really nice moment. And that's what I flashed back to, watching the Viking and the Drummer act out their friendship.

It was very strange. It made me want to just cuddle with the Viking right there, be all adorable and PDA-y like the Drummer and his girlfriend were being. And I suddenly felt very silly for thinking that I needed to keep our relationship a secret. Of course, I didn't say anything about it there, on the bus with everyone else. But it was a new sensation at the same time that it made me aware of the fact that I'd been looking forward to seeing the Viking all night, and that I'd noticed how he smiled when he saw me. And that I liked the way he said my name. And then I stopped myself. I don't get mushy like this.

I don't generally like PDA. It makes me uncomfortable, more often than not. I'm not used to having traditionally legitimate relationships, and so I guess I've gotten cautious and that urge to kiss people in public has mostly faded. (Not entirely...there are notable exceptions. Like my random and somewhat childish desire to be that obnoxiously cute couple cuddling in line at the amusement park.) But even more than that, I don't like the mush. I don't like the cutesy stuff. Saying "I love you" should be a statement of fact, not some massive production in my book. I expect to split the bill on dates. I don't want people opening doors for me unless they already would have or just walked through it themselves.

But it's something that's struck me since the first time I hooked up with the Viking. He's really sweet to me. Yes, there's the funny bluntness, the no-nonsense discussion that's always there, and the sex. But the things that really stick with me are the way he puts his arms around me. The way he gently kisses my neck, my forehead, my nose. The way he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me closer before we fall asleep. The way he sweeps my hair away from my face and lets his hand linger on my jawline as he kisses me.

These aren't things I should be focusing on. It's not that I've never had them before, I've just not been so aware of them. And I don't know why I am so aware of them with the Viking. Certainly, other partners cuddle with me, other partner kiss me softly or brush the hair from my face. So what's so different with the Viking? Maybe it's just a contrast with his aloof personality. I don't expect such tenderness from him.

Then again, I guess looking at me, knowing me, you wouldn't necessarily expect that I'd want those things, either. Maybe that's why it works. But it concerns me. I find myself wanting to see him more. I text him more often, not always late at night. I get excited when I know he's going to be where I am. Good lord, I'm developing a crush on him. Shit. Of course, it's not overly serious, and things will end when we both graduate shortly. But this urge that I have to spend more time with him now is rather strange to me.

And then I'm not sure how much of this has to do with the fact that at the end of that night, after he'd convinced me to come back to their house with the band, and after the Drummer had made up the couch for me and the Viking had waited til the Drummer left to come in and ask if I'd sleep in his bed with him, and I'd said yes and made a joke we'd both laughed at about his messy room, and I laid down and the Viking just wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck and pulled me close to him and let me sleep. We spent the night in bed together and there was nothing else. There was no pressure for anything else. Why does that feel so much more intimate and personal than had there been sex? It just seems like another step further from the just-a-booty-call classification.

But it was nice. I WILL miss his cuddling. And yes, those adorable little things I told myself I don't care about. Shit.

HNT: Working hard?

I'm in a stellar mood. Part of that is due to the fact that it's officially Spring Break. Yes, my final college spring break. Aww, how nostalgic. In other news, things are just going particularly smoothly for me at the moment. Things are well with my friends, for the most part. I've seen the band and the Viking, and there is no awkwardness. Excellent. I'm spending my birthday in Florida with Friend and a mutual friend, thanks to their INCREDIBLE generosity. I am so lucky. And I'm rocking out to Kansas at the moment. Brilliant.

So, how does all that benefit YOU?

Well, it means I'm more apt to be a little playful. And as part of my MASSIVE thank you to Osbasso (aka the King of HNT), for re-designing my blog for me, I thought I'd get his suggestion on a theme. He didn't have a direct theme for me, but he did suggest a series. So, while I don't usually do more than one photo in an HNT series, this one time I'll make an exception. And as such, we're going to make it narrative.

I've never particularly worked in an office... but I'm pretty confident that if and when I do, I'll find myself the office slut. I wouldn't be surprised. Might have something to do with the way I seem to invite mischief... I swear it's unintentional...



Luckily, I have a square head on my shoulders and take the time to think things through... I don't do anything rash.



Then again, it might have something to do with my pliability... I can be convinced to do probably too many things. I enjoy the rush...



Yes, I would definitely be the office slut..



Happy HNT!

Patterns.

All right. Three times in the past four weeks makes it a pattern, I think.

First, there was a call from nonboyfriend that was unexpectedly friendly and even fond. He sounded almost sad when I spoke about how happy I am these days. (Of course, I didn't mention that I was also exceedingly happy when I was with him, and my contented state now still probably doesn't compare. Best not to let on too much. Because while that all is true, I'm not pining for him.)

Then there was Edward, who forced his way back in my life with a series of emails and then phone calls, usually lasting multiple hours. The sentiments were as I expected - he misses me, he loves me, so on and so forth. He made some effort to guilt-trip me that I make no apologies about having been with other people since I was last with him more than a year ago. He wants me to believe that he hasn't had sex with anyone in that entire time. Now, I generally take whatever he tells me with a grain of salt, but this is just an outright lie. One of the reasons he and I are physically compatible is a comparably insatiable sexual appetite. Just like I couldn't abstain for a year without some damn good reason to do so, neither could he. And considering before this month, we hadn't spoken since last year, there's no chance he has, either. I stubbornly refused to be guilt-tripped, pointing out that he never even discussed anything remotely resembling a relationship, let alone monogamy with me. Granted, had he done so, I more than likely wouldn't have agreed, but that's beside the point.

And just this week, a boy I was dating over break (one of the three, and the only one things definitively ended with when I left. There was a goodbye date and all) sent me a facebook message telling me he can't wait to see me again. And that he misses me. And when will I be home?

I'd noticed with this third guy that about a week earlier, his facebook relationship status had changed from "in a relationship with..." to "single." And then, like clockwork, came a message to me.

Nonboyfriend told me as much when he called me. At least there, I appreciated the honesty.

And Edward, in our last phone call, told me that a girl he'd liked as "more than just a friend" had just revealed to him that she has a boyfriend.

So, what do we have here? Three recent (but past) lovers. All suddenly single or momentarily unhappy in their relationships. And who do they call? Me.

At first, I was actually flattered. Remembering back to when I was in exclusive relationships, whenever things were going sour, the first thing I'd always think of was the last person I was happy with. So in one sense, I'm flattered to be that happy memory. I took it as a testament to the fact that my honesty and genuine attempt to be easy-going has gone over well and left much better impressions than previous monogamous relationships where I tried to be whatever my partner wanted me to be.

But somewhere around the third consecutive time this happened, I started just feeling like I'm everyone's backup. Like I'm the reinforcements. The B-team you bring in when those you really want are unwilling or unable to play. And that's much harder to take as flattering.

I'm probably making too much of this, but nevertheless, I do think it counts as a pattern. And essentially, it comes off that I'm not quite good enough to be anyone's first choice. Which sucks, no matter how enthusiastic a second choice I might be. Perhaps some of this is residual issues with nonmonogamy and having trouble moving so much that I never settle down enough to establish a "primary" relationship with any partner(s). I'm always the secret, the second-hand option. Most of the time, I'm happy to be that. And to be fair, this street goes both ways. These people aren't my primaries, either. (Perhaps with the exception of nonboyfriend, who I didn't see anyone else when I was with, not because I wasn't allowed to but because I genuinely didn't want or need to.)

Still, sometimes you just want some love. And to not be a secret. Maybe that's why the cuddling with the Viking was so surprising to me. I haven't had that in some time, either because I couldn't open up enough to be comfortable with it (Jacob is always willing to cuddle, to his credit, but I have intimacy issues with him) or because people would be silly and do things like never spend the night or insist they couldn't sleep and be touching at the same time. (Again, to nonboyfriend's credit, despite his restless sleep habits, he'd make a concerted effort to keep an arm around me. But I haven't been in bed with him in almost a year, also.)

I suppose I haven't really made any shocking revelations here. I just keep saying over and over that, well, it sucks. Because it does. I don't want to always be a backup. I think I might deserve better. Someday, I hope.

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.