What I Actually Think During A Random Hook Up
Alright cool, we’re hooking up. I found you at the bar, you do something in marketing, and you’re wearing Sperrys. You’re pretty much the epitome of dudes I hated in college. I hope the sex is worth the last hour I’ve spent listening to you talk about how you’ve met The Black Keys. You’re not the hottest person I’ve ever kissed, but you’re okay, and you’re nice, and you’re a pretty good kisser, so I mean whatever. Bite my lower lip. Yeah that’s it. Do I smell alright? I got this perfume from my last ex, ha, bet it would be weird if you knew that. Man, I’m drunk.
Woo, you’re getting handsy. I’ll kiss your neck, I guess, because you kissed mine so you’ve already guilted me into kissing yours. Okay, let’s make out again. Why are your eyes open? Who the hell kisses with their eyes open? Now my eyes are open. We’re looking at each other while we’re kissing. Am I the only one who thinks this is really weird right now?
You’re trying to take off my bra. No, I don’t want to sit up while we’re making out, because then you can see the lines in my stomach (and they ain’t from a six pack) as my pudge rolls over the top of my jeans. Why is it so difficult for guys to undo a bra? Fuck it, I’ll just take it off myself. You want to take my jeans off? Alright, fine, I hope my underwear isn’t all bunched up on the sides. These are lace, these are hot. I hope I don’t have any razor burn. I hope I’ve even shaved recently. Okay, I have, good.
Is your name Mark or Mike? You clearly want me to take your pants off. Ugh, so much work. Can’t you just take your pants off yourself? It’s so awkward when I have to pull your pants off of you. You’re a grown man. Undress your own damn self. No, but seriously, just take your pants off because you’re making me feel weird. I hope you don’t expect a blow job because unless you have a 10-inch wiener, it’s probably not going to happen.
So you’re attempting to finger bang me. I’m pretty wasted, so I’m going to pull my best Mary Carey shit. You like those moans? I deserve an Oscar for this performance. A Tony if my vagina could detach itself and dance around this bed. That would be so fucking weird. I’m going to say an M-name and hope it’s the right one. I’m touching your dick because I want to know if it’s big enough to stay awake for. What the fuck time is it? I feel like it’s 4 a.m. Holy shit, it is 4 a.m. Your dick is alright. If you have condoms, we’ll bang. If not, we won’t. Ugh, I need a nap.
Your hand isn’t doing anything for me at this point, so I guess we’ll give your dong a go. Condom on, socks off, put it in. Okay, it’s in. I wonder what’s going on with Afghanistan right now? It’s really sad Ryan Dunn died. Um, seriously, don’t jack rabbit me. What’s with your face? Your sex face is really weirding me out right now. I’m definitely going to text my friends about this tomorrow when I’m sober. Sure, you can do me from behind, whatever. This sheet is nice and cold on my face.
Welp, you flipped me back over. We’ve been doing this for like ten minutes, and my review of you is pretty much whatever. Everything about this is whatever. Your pecs are nice. Do you really have a tattoo on your hip that says “Lucky You??” Are you serious? I can’t wait to not talk to you again.
You’re making that weird face again. This was better when I wasn’t facing you. Woooo, those kamikazes feel awesome sloshing around in my stomach! No they don’t. You get off. You make a really weird noise. You sound like a mix between an old jalopy starting and a radio with bad reception. You collapse on top of me. Sir, we are not close enough for you to lie on top of me. How is it that I hate when strangers touch me on the metro but I love banging strangers I met at the bar an hour ago? Thank God we’re at your place so I can leave. You’re still lying on me. Get awwwwffff.
I smell like your sweat and the barf-worthy aroma of latex condoms. Walk of shame time! Does it count as a walk of shame if it’s at 4:30 in the morning? That’s still like last night, right? I didn’t give you my number, but I’ll probably look you up on Twitter. I probably won’t find you because I won’t have the right name. This cab driver definitely thinks I’m a whore.
Birds are chirping. Fuck those birds. In bed. Too lazy to shower your sweat and my make-up off my body. Your sex face is burned into my retinas. I’m laughing as I pass the fuck out.
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Our generation boasts some of the most successful young entrepreneurs in history, and many of these millionaires never finished school, opting out to get a head start on their ventures. Even if you aren’t the next Zuckerberg, know that there are so many ways to learn and consume information in today’s world.
So many of my relationships in life — when I was more insecure, when I didn’t like myself, when I didn’t think I deserved much — have been about proving, over and over again, that I am okay.
Today I began an essay: For as long as I have known how to be, I’ve been ashamed of my body. My publications all live within this same confessional territory.
Almost there. But not quite.