I Need More Stories In My Life That Don’t End With The Phrase “…And Then I Slept With Him.”

Sometimes, sex with a guy isn’t so much meant to be as it is inevitable, inexorable even. You don’t really want to have sex with them, but Fate or Irony or Whatever brings you together and, somehow, you end up naked.

I met Joshua at a bar. He had spiky hair and a lame slogan t-shirt. He chain smoked, had the beginnings of a beer belly and a sneer the size of Texas. He was an asshole, so naturally I had an immediate hate-crush on him.

He wasn’t quite as douchey as his friend Dan, a black guy with no trace of accent who claimed to be from Haiti. Dan also has a tendency to claim it is his very last night in town, in hopes of scoring pussy or at least a free drink. It hasn’t worked for him yet. He also has a foot fetish. More on that later.

Joshua was a different kind of douche, the kind who gets so drunk you can tell he’s gonna black out. He danced like a seizure patient. He wore knock-off jeans. And his hair was too spiky.

We met at least six times before he finally remembered my name. I despised the way he hung on to the stick figure brunette with the oh-so trendy hat. I laughed at him when she literally put her hand in his face and walked away. I gave him death looks as I got into the taxi with Wendy to go back to her house and detox. I promptly forgot him as Wendy and I talked gossip with Bubba the cab driver and made fun of all of the drunk ass people he toted around on a nightly basis. We dished about Dan and his foot fetish. Joshua didn’t come up.

We were back at Wendy’s house, in our pajamas, when she got the great idea to call Bubba back and get him to go buy us a case of beer. Surprisingly, he agreed (he really is a lovely man) and when knock on the door sounded, I went to open it, expecting Bubba and beer. Instead, Dan and Joshua were leaning oh so casually against the door frame. I laughed maniacally and slammed the door, whirling around to tell Wendy about the hot mess on her front porch. After a quick conference, we agree to let them in, but under the condition that their asses are gone by 4 AM. In come the boys. Bubba arrives shortly after with the booze. We tip him well.

I knew Dan was hot for Wendy. He told us both as much on previous occasions at the bar. He’d even visited her house before, as sat across the room licking his lips at her. Literally. I assumed he was here to get in her pants and Joshua had been drug along to keep me busy. Dan moved in on Wendy, I went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water and begin the bothersome task of sobering up. I closed the fridge door and turned around. There was Joshua, a half grin on his face, asking me if we had any more beer. Apparently, he though Wendy and I were sisters, and that the house was mine, also. I disabused him of this, laughing, but handed him a beer anyway.

Five to ten minutes later, I was up on the kitchen counter, his hand in my shirt, my hand down his pants, listening him go on about how big he thought his dick was and how long he had wanted me to see it. I laughed at him. Home boy was rocking a very average-sized cock. But I let him crow on about it. And the longer I sat there, the more he nibbled my neck, the more I wanted to rock this guy’s world, wipe the smug smile off and replace it with something else, something darker.

We ended up in the spare bedroom, on the deflated air mattress and pile of blankets where just two weeks ago I had given another guy a b.j. I’m so classy, sometimes I can’t stand myself.

Anyways, we’re going on at making out pretty heavy, there’s touching and licking and whatnot. After the prerequisite breast strokes and handy jobs, we settle down to business and I can tell right away this boy is more drunk than he knows. His precious manhood wasn’t going to stand up unless I did something fantastic.

In the near-dark, I take to watching his face. A million things cross it, delight, surprise, small moments of pain and pleasure and want and anger. I go slow and his eyebrows raise, a slight curl to his mouth. I sit down hard and fast and his brow knits, lips pulled into a grimace. I watch him, his eyes closed tight in passion, and wonder what he’s thinking. So I ask him. Out comes a river of dirty talk, most of it insensible and repetitive, but oddly endearing.

It doesn’t take long to realize I’m not going to get anything out of this and Joshua is most likely too drunk for any happy endings. Or is he? I twist one way, his head turns the same. I bite his ear, his breath rasps harder. I begin to coax him. I shiver and moan and gasp and, in short, fake it, and do a very good job of it if I do say so myself. But somewhere in my performance, something real started happening. He’s going to come, he tells me so, and I just might go along for the ride.

He shudders. I can feel the pressure building.

Wham, wham, wham!

Wendy bangs on the door. Apparently her time with Dan is going poorly. Dan had sucked on Wendy’s toes, had tried to get his hand in her pants. She regrets ever taking off her socks and wants them to leave.

Joshua sits up and pushes me to the side, cursing. I run my fingers through his now damp and not so spiky hair. He looks at me, and I mean really looks at me. He kisses me. I try to kiss him back. But it’s gone.

We were just two naked people, then. There was no magic connection, no brilliant flash of heaven or pangs of love. There was only him and me, mindful of the stupid things we had whispered to one another and the absence of something hovering between us.

We get dressed, he goes to the bathroom to take care of certain things, and fifteen minutes later, they are gone, and Wendy and I are alone, eating leftover pizza with amused looks on our faces.

Wendy tells me about the incident with Dan, then asks how it went with Joshua. I shrug. We decide to watch Buffy reruns.