New Year, Same Me, Except Maybe A Little More Whorish

I rarely make New Year’s resolutions. If I do, they are usually silly ones, like Try To Use Better Grammar When Instant Messaging or Stop Wearing Socks or other things of that nature.

This year, I resolved to Never Wear Pink With Maroon. Awesome.

I would have, for the sake of this blog, added in some resolution re: boys, but I had a hard time coming up with something I’ve done that I am ashamed of. Until New Year’s, that is.

Now look, I won’t go into the whole backstory between me and John and how we first met, that’s a story for another blog, but rest assured, it’s good. What you need to know is the reason I slept with John in the first place: Revenge, a good and healthy reason to sleep with anyone.

I had been dumped by a guy who was little more than a fuck buddy. Dan was an arrogant asshole and completely did not live up to what he promised in the sack. I had fully indented on replacing him, as the sex was hella bad, but he got to me first, dumping me via facebook chat. And that pissed me off. Like whoa.

So, I slept with his boss. John, his fat, not very attractive, somewhat white trash boss, fully expecting this to be a one night stand. And you know the interesting part?

It was the best sex of my life.

I’m serious. This tubby guy with bad hair and a small….ahem….was amazing in bed. I’m talking multiple orgasms, tiny ones and big ones and sweat and groaning and biting and moaning. A-maze-ing sex.

Problem was, I didn’t really like John. We had a tentative agreement to not get attached, easy to hold up on my part, but for a long time afterwards, he would call or text or message me at least once a day. We had to have the We’re Not Dating talk a few times before it really sunk in. He finally stopped texting me every day and things were good.

I went up to his house a few weeks after our first encounter, under the pretext of helping him cook for the holidays. We didn’t have very much to talk about. I felt like I was always explaining things to him. He didn’t seem to get any pop culture or historical references I made, nor did he like any of the musical cds I had brought to play. He mostly talked about his dead-beat dad and actually dead mother. So I guzzled some alcohol and we had fantastic drunken sex, three times.

Point of interest: this was the first time I’d had sex, from start to finish, completely in a bed. FYI.

Fast forward to New Year’s Eve. He’s throwing a huge party with lots of people attending who I don’t get to see very often. So of course I have to go. Douche-Bag Dan was there, with his new girlfriend. They were culinary students and made a huge pot of very disgusting spaghetti sauce which I had to fix. (spices in sauce? no way!) I mostly ended up cooking, which is pretty standard for me and large parties. I almost always ended up cooking. John stopped in often, making enough gestures and rear-end pats to let everyone know, who didn’t already, that I was claimed. We even kissed at midnight.

Now there was this guy there. Adam. Tall, cute as a button, in the Marines. Cut like glass. Incredibly sweet. And hitting on me. In John’s house. In John’s kitchen. And I completely and utterly hit back.

That’s not so bad, you say. It’s ok to flirt with someone, as long as…oh. Yeah. You see the look on my face?

John and I eventually went upstairs and had carnal relations. Just as good as usual. John goes outside on his balcony to smoke a post-coital and I put most of my clothes back on, as we intended to rejoin the party. Instead, the door opens and Adam walks in. Sees me on the bed, en deshabille. Sits down next to me. We start to make out. A lot. There’s bases being reached and fast. On John’s bed. On the bed in which I slept with him not ten minutes ago. And I’m close to coming again.

We hear a creak of the floor boards on the deck. I push Adam off. He smiles, gives me one last kiss and leaves. My pants are half off. John comes back in. I rip off my shirt and we go at it again. I’m too drunk to feel guilty.

Later, I get mostly dressed and stumble out to the bathroom. I open the door. Adam is there, his head buried between some girl’s legs. He looks up at me. I wink. He winks back. I go and use the downstairs bathroom and go back to John.

I’m still not sure how I feel about all of this. John hasn’t called me since, thank god, cause I’m not sure if I could keep a straight face about all of it. Adam I’ll probably never see again. As for the girl, hot damn, I’m envious, cause from the look on her face, combined with what I felt while making out, she was having a Real Good Time.

So I suppose my New Year’s Resolution is to Not Be Such A Whore, but I can’t help thinking I’m gonna break that one. And soon.