“Glaciers melting in the dead of night,
and the superstars sucked into the supermassive”
– muse –
There’s no need for a lengthy intro; this chapter is about one of the best one night stands I have ever had, befitting for a chapter numbered XXX.
As I approached my last few days in London, I was telling myself to become celibate as I wanted to focus more on spending quality time with some new friends I made and visiting the many breathtaking museums spread throughout the city. But we also know that I’m a compulsive liar and an efficient bitch who loves multitasking, so I made several shameless attempts at checking my online dating apps while simultaneously adoring the exquisite artifacts inside the museums and on my phone. I know… to quote Muse, I’m the “queen of superficial”. But hey… I was just trying my best to experience everything that London could offer me, and by everything, I meant every willy (yeah, I also cringed when writing this).
With that being said, I was pretty exhausted near the end of my London trip and my last few days were rough, to say the least. But if there’s something you should know about me, I’m a hustler and I thought, “hey… I might as well go on Grindr while I’m recovering. My two hands and holes are still fully functional anyway”. That’s how I ended up meeting the 5’11”, twenty-something years old main hero for this chapter. I could tell from his shirtless bathroom selfie that he took care of his body. In any other situation, I would have dragged my ass into the Tube and headed straight to his place for some sweaty bedroom exercises, but unfortunately, my constant sneezing would become a major boner killer in the bedroom. So I told him that we could meet in a few days and he replied with a smiley face emoji as a sign of approval.
Let’s fast forward to three days later. People around me were still, understandably, stupefied by my sporadic loud sneezes but I definitely felt much better. Since I knew I had already planned to attend this farewell party on a boat by The River Thames with some friends that I made during my stay, I knew I needed to get my shit together so I wouldn’t spend my last night in London sobbing to Adele at midnight, alone. But before we continue with the regular segment where I shamelessly share another story about my careless sexperience, I wanna say hello to one of my best friends in London whom I met on this trip. Well… Now you know what transpired after I abruptly and drunkenly said my goodbye *wink*.
I told my potential suitor about my entire situation and he was, surprisingly, very chill about everything, suggesting that we could meet after the farewell party. I even brought up the fact that I was a disgusting human being with an excessive amount of mucus in his respiratory system, but he was pretty adamant about getting a feel on this peach and disregarded the possibility of himself getting sick. In his final attempt in convincing me to taste his baguette, he told me:
“Don’t worry, I have a pretty tough immune system. I’ll be OK ;)”
And convince me he did.
One thing that I kept forgetting during my London trip was how much the Brits love drinking. As I attempted to gracefully enter the boat while concurrently giving awkward smiles at my fellow party goers, I heard one of the party organizers mentioning the phrase “open bar” and at that moment, I knew this would be a party I would forever remember. I just hoped I would make it out alive for my flight back to the States the next day. That’s all.
To be perfectly honest, the main reason I came to the farewell party was because I wanted to be 100% sure that this one cute guy was only being overly flirtatious with me and not trying to get into my pants, before I moved on with my “option B”, aka the guy with the strong immune system. But hey, was I wrong to think that this muscular Jewish boy was into me when he got me a beer? Was I wrong to think that he’s trying to get into my pants when we bonded over our love-hate relationship with Calculus and our obsession with Pokémon? I was literally drooling over him all night long. Or maybe it’s the overflowing amount of alcohol that clouded my judgment. I mean.. why didn’t it cross my mind that he was using me to introduce himself to my female friends? Don’t you wish you were a mind reader sometimes?! But hey, I ain’t no dummy, and I wasn’t gonna risk the guaranteed dick for a slight chance of tasting a piece of fine-ass Kosher meat. With the help of my dangerously high blood alcohol content, I decided to ditch my Kosher sausage for the baguette patiently waiting for me under the sheets.
Explaining my sudden departure to my friends was a challenge, but exiting the boat was even a bigger challenge for me (I literally fall twice during the process of leaving the party). My friends couldn’t even convince to join them for more drinks (as if they hadn’t had enough…) as I already set my eyes on my farewell gift from my London lover. Nevertheless, with the help of Google Maps and Jesus, I managed to get to the nearest tube station and hopped on the Circle line train, shamelessly sitting in the train rocking my Asian glow. I thought, “this is my last night here and I am going to get the D no matter what!” To quote Jamie Foxx, you can blame it on the alcohol.
He told me he would be waiting for me at the corner of his street. I know we shouldn’t be celebrating men for doing the bare minimum, but I had been accustomed to the shitty treatments my previous lovers gave me and this was a much-appreciated change. When I finally met him for the first time, he gave me the warmest hug, a hug so warm that it could melt the Antartica. I was immediately directed to his room as he didn’t want his roommates to be disturbed by a stranger entering their sacred ground, and I flirtatiously replied, “ha, let us see about that!”
I know this might come as a surprise to you all, but we didn’t immediately jump into the main event; instead, he spent some time on his computer playing some Pop Rock music while interrogating asking me about my experience in London. We had a very pleasant conversation but let’s be honest here… my judgment was clouded by alcohol and my eyes were fixated on his shorts that were slowly creeping up, exposing his slightly hairy, muscular legs.
I could feel the sexual tension between us building up as we were flirtatiously bantering while giving each other some “accidental” touches here and there. Just like an active volcano about to erupt its enormous amount of lava, I could feel that we could explode into a steamy make-out session at any given moment. Out of nowhere, Supermassive Black Hole permeated the air through his computer speakers and I don’t know if he had planned to play this song at this specific moment. And if he did, kudos to him. Just like that… the final wall of my barely existent defense was torn into pieces by the soulful strums of the electric guitar as he slowly placed his hand on the collar of my shirt, sensually unbuttoning it while giving me a seductive gaze.
Next thing I knew, our shirts were already on the floor as we were giving our lips and tongues a lesson in human anatomy, particularly the reproductive system. I couldn’t quite figure out anything specific he did that transformed my body into a giant piece of dry meat in desperate need of some marination actions, but below are some of the things he did that I wholeheartedly did not oppose:
Having excellent choices in the music to accompany our lovemaking session. Seriously, the right music can turn a once boring dry humping session into a wild slip and slide moment. Bonus points for playing songs with double entendre (by the way, I refuse to equate my peach with Supermassive Black Hole. It ain’t that massive and it certainly ain’t that black).
Giving constant affirmation/flattery and asking for feedback. Sex is a two-way street (unlike your asshole) and communication is the key to optimal pleasure with minimal pain. At one point when he was plowing me from behind, he whispered to my ears, “I love the tiny muscles on your back”. That shit really turned me on. No wonder some people can be obsessed with Telenovelas. Passion is addictive, Mi Amor.
Ensuring there’s some sort of body contact at all times. This is vital for me as there’s nothing I hate more than feeling like a human fleshlight during sex. I guess this stemmed from dealing with toxic masculinity my whole life. I can tell you that men, in general, are in desperate need of body contacts. To all you straight men out there, give your bros a hug once in a while; you don’t know the shit he goes through sometimes (let’s be honest here, I don’t think straight guys read my blog). It ain’t gay unless his dick is in your mouth, and if it is, there’s nothing wrong with that. This is the 21st century, people; toxic masculinity is out and bro job is in.
If there’s one thing I can remember is that I had an amazing time with this guy. It’s probably the culmination of a week of hardcore teasing that turned our lovemaking session into something that resembles an epic sex scene on an HBO show. We weren’t even grossed out by the thought of sleeping in a pool of our own sweats (yeah, the London boy, unfortunately, did not have an air conditioner in his room) as he laid me by his side and held me close to his bare chest. And just like that… our last night turned into a melancholic love story as we became two lovers who were spending their last night in each other’s arms, fearing the heartbreakingly inevitable farewell.
I woke up the next morning to the obnoxious sound of my phone’s ringtone and a stiff object poking my bum. When I was finally able to reach my phone, I was greeted by my friend’s texts, worrying about my whereabouts as I had missed the check out time at my accommodation. Did I immediately head back to my accommodation to avoid the late check out fee, you might ask? Absolutely not. I mean… can you blame me when I had a hot naked guy next to me (emphasis on naked) aggressively attacking my neck with his lips? So yeah, we ended up having a morning quickie before I clumsily bid my farewell to my temporary lover. He gave me a kiss and wished me a safe flight back to the States before I embarked on my walk of shame back to my accommodation.
In retrospect, I don’t think the morning sex was worth the £100 late checkout fee, but I have zero regrets. I lost £100 but I gained an experience that I still remember to this day, and that to me, my friends, is definitely worth the money. My best friend once told me, “you can always look for money, but you can’t always buy an experience”. And for once, I am proud to say that she’s right.
SquirtTale 