The Honesty Orgasm
Today I went on a “thinking walk” around the neighborhood behind Taboo. A “thinking walk” is an advanced technique in entrepreneurial creativity one employs when one cannot abide sitting behind one’s fucking desk one minute longer. It may or may not result in productivity, but with “thinking” in the title, it definitely counts as work.
My flagship store and office are situated only a few miles from where I was raised, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to find myself in front of a house I visited frequently in the mid-nineties. It’s where I actually crashed when my parents thought I was down the street, where I consumed an embarrasing amount of Boone’s Farm, and where, for first and only time, I was seduced into sex by false promises.
There’s an important distinction to be made here. I’ve been seduced many times, and it’s been wonderful. I’ve received my fair share of false promises that in no way influenced my decision to have sex. This person, however, intentionally and skillfully deceived me with the specific goal of getting me out of my Jncos, and it worked.
It worked because I was 16. He was a little bit older, super-cool, and had been with a bounty of my acquaintances. I probably would not have slept with him had I not been thoroughly flattered and misled. It’s disgustingly typical, but par for the course when you’re young, and I harbor neither blame nor regret.
It’s not often that I get approached for sex these days. I blame it on my wedding ring, or maybe the fact that the club I frequent most is book club. The last time I got hit on, I was pushing a double stroller and it went a little something like this:
You got a man?
Where you stay at?
(not pointing) Over there.
You coming back this way?
So you wanna get together?
I simply declined, but what I should have done was thank the gentleman for expressing his intentions in an honest and straight-forward manner. He was so real, my one-year-old probably knew what he was after.
My single friends aren’t so lucky. It seems you don’t have to be in high school to lie for sex. Because the people I surround myself with are a bit more worldly than I was at 16, they rarely fall prey to such deceit. Still, the fact that anyone attempts this kind of blows my mind.
I’ve found that if you work hard for something, you have a good chance of getting it. If I set my sights, for instance, on a scrumptious slice of blueberry pie, I research recipes, compile an accurate grocery list, and get to baking.
Okay, #honesty, I go to a pie shop. But what I don’t do is coax a bushel of apples into my car and scour Craig’s List for ice cream churns. If you’re looking of for a lady who’s down for a one nighter, then present yourself as a person who’s also in the market for a one nighter. The only reasons I can fathom that you wouldn’t are the following:
You’re a masochist. You don’t want to be bothered with her tomorrow, but part of you gets off on uncomfortable situations and being stressed out and annoyed. Why would you want to spend a Sunday leisurely brunching when you could be hiding behind a bush across from your apartment, cursing at your phone?
You’re a sadist. Oh, those sweet, sweet tears! Giving and receiving the most intimate of pleasures is only a gateway to ripping someone apart. Let’s go ahead and get you institutionalized, shall we?
You’re incredibly unappealing. Ninety-nine times out of 100, you ain’t gettin’ lucky. Fudging it a little is the only way to up your ratio to 85:15. And you haven’t discovered the Fleshlight.
You’re (mentally) still 16: The desire for casual sex is by no means exclusive to youth, but the urge to compulsively collect partners is. If you’re 38 and chasing pussy like a rabid dog, it might be time to put a leash on it and contemplate your end game.
Even if you just met your potential partner five minutes and six Cranberry Crushes ago, she deserves honestly and respect. Even if you don’t agree with that, you deserve the benefits of a mutually satisfying sexual experience. Nothing is better than making love with someone who loves you back, except for maybe fucking someone who is aching to fuck you back.
It’s been 20 years, but as best I remember, here’s what went through my head during the sex I had in the house behind Taboo:
Why there isn’t a sheet on this bed?
His faux-bone choker is so cool.
His chest is kind of small.
I guess we aren’t doing foreplay.
Here’s my best guess at what was going through his:
It’s no wonder our first time was our last time. Our minds were so far apart, I’m surprised our genitals met. He briefly climaxed. My pleasure had apexed while we were still dressed. For a lot less time and ingenuity, a man could find release like that in a take-home tool from Taboo.
You don’t have to love someone for the sex to be fantastic. Some of the time, that doesn’t even help. What’s more valuable is sharing a common goal with a partner who is present. When you aren’t burdened by a role or a fib, you’re free to move the way you want, ask for what feels best, and come with your eyes open. And tomorrow, with her or without her, you brunch.