I had a fling the other night. Only, I wouldn’t quite call it a fling. And I wouldn’t quite call it happening at night. It was pretty much unplanned and unexpected, even though there were some sexually charged jokes flying around between us and some other friends. That’s the thing. He’s kind of a friend. Not the kind of friend who I would feel comfortable showing up on his doorstep at 3 am if I had nowhere to go even though he is definitely the kind of guy who would open the door at 3am, but he’s a friend I’ve known for a long long time, maybe 15 years or more, who I thoroughly enjoy being around. To me, that’s the best kind of sex. I think sex with friends is great as long as nobody makes it weird, because you know that person and that person knows you, even the not so pretty parts. So there’s no putting on airs or pretending to be someone you can’t stand just so they will like you. I guess ideally that’s the person you would end up having a relationship with, right? Someone you were friends with first and then slept with? I don’t really know the ins and outs of relationships so I won’t venture to guess. But like I said, it just kind of happened. It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t mentally or physically prepared for it. And quite frankly, I would say that it probably could have been better…. on both ends. I wasn’t at my best. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t at his best. And now I feel like I’m being weird. I’m overthinking my underthinking. Normally in a situation that involves sex, I would be very nonchalant and I wouldn’t text or call. The ball would be in his court and if he didn’t text or call, that’d be fine with me because, well, such is life. But like I said, we are friends, so now, I kind of feel like if I don’t communicate, it’s going to make me look like a dick, which I would never be to him because I like him, genuinely, as a person, and I don’t want to seem like I am an asshole, but if I stop and think about sending him a text, I feel like I’m just going to make things awkward. Then there’s that problem where I try to be funny to mask my discomfort with a situation and I don’t think that’s any good. So, with no logical resolution at hand, I’ve decided to just stay true to my gut and not try to force anything and not try to be weird.
Needless to say, that 90 hiatus is over. I don’t think there will be any more hiatuses. I really don’t know why I even agree to those things. I know myself well enough to know that I need physical affection and a lot of it and if I am not seeing anyone, which I haven’t been, then it only makes sense that I will use sex to get the physical closeness with someone that my body craves. I know, I could push it to the back of my mind. I could possibly even go pay to have a massage. Or stand in the hot sun for two hours giving free hugs. Maybe that would work, but sex is also free. At least for me it is. And fun. And feels good. Until you wake up later and still want to feel someone stroking your hair or rubbing your arms and realize that your moment has passed and you are back to laying in your bed alone, just you, your laptop, and a head full of words that you know you will probably regret putting out to the universe as soon as you hit the post button. But I don’t care. In a world filled with 7.28 billion people, surely I’m not the only one who isn’t quite sure exactly what they want, but know that sometimes it’s peace and quiet and solitude, sometimes it’s laughter with friends, sometimes it’s love, pure honest passionate love, sometimes it’s just talking with someone who thinks you are funny and smart and can contribute the same to a conversation, and sometimes it is just the need to feel another human being naked and vulnerable next to you. I’ll be the first to admit the way I think is quite fucked up, but I accept my jacked up way of thinking. I accept the way my feelings and emotions change as often as the Tennessee weather. But I’m currently starved for attention. I need touch. I’m alone 90% of my day. Unless I go downtown or hang out with friends, I’m pretty much always by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m ok with that. Until I’m not. I think I’ve probably said that before.
You want to know how I know I’m touch deprived? Of course you do because it’s borderline hilarious, borderline mortifying. My boss was sitting in my chair today doing something on the computer and I was standing behind him and I briefly rubbed his shoulders for like two seconds before I thought to myself, “what the fuck, Ang?” And quickly changed it to an “atta boy” kind of pat and walked away. I don’t think he actually noticed and luckily it’s a laid back kind of place so no worries that I’ll be slapped with a sexual harassment charge or anything, but it would probably be frowned upon if I went to work offering to give massages to everyone. Then again, maybe not. They do lift granite slabs all day long. I might end up a hero. Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe I should put a massage chair and a tip jar in my office.
Seriously thought, my point is, although I’m fine being alone, I currently just want to touch and be touched. My kid is too old to cuddle with, my dogs don’t cuddle back, and all the guys I’ve had in my life that I could quite possibly call are all one sided pricks and I would be doing all the touching and never a finger would pass through my hair or over my skin, so instead, I guess I’ll just sit here and sulk while awkwardly running my fingers through my own hair until I snap out of it.
RouletteWeekend 