When sexy turns desperate turns culpable

WEDDING SEASON SERIES

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WEDDING SEASON SERIES |

Men always say that women can get laid anytime they want. This really isn’t true. While, yes, if we played a numbers game, we would probably always, eventually find someone who’s willing, but that doesn’t always guarantee that they are able to perform. And unfortunately, because men do not always prioritize women’s pleasure, if their dicks don’t work, then usually the hookup is no longer on the table.

Another misconception from movies and pop culture is that bridesmaids always get some. I have been a bridesmaid seven (7) times, and for four of those, I was single (and one of the only single ladies there). I had sex 1/4 of those times (see the first time my husband saw me naked). And that is not for lack of trying.

I think weddings are no longer a place to meet people because they’re so fucking expensive and that impacts the guest list. It’s typically limited to family and close friends; and because male friendships are rife with “no-homo” culture, it’s uncommon that a bunch of single dudes make the final cut for attendance. So, as a single woman, you’re left to choose from family members of various ages, starting an affair with a man who came with his date, or hoping that at least one of the groomsmen is coming stag.

A couple months before I got with my now-husband, I was a bridesmaid for a longtime friend whose fiancé had a groomsmen who fit that bill and was someone I’d slept with before. Our dynamic was pretty chill: we would hook up occasionally when we would see each other in the larger group, but not always, and we never actually went on a date. But he was nice enough, the sex was enjoyable, and I had a good time talking to him before and after.

At this point in my life, I had been single for a long time (as in no relationships, but I was “dating” and hooking up with men occasionally), and I was in a bit of a dry spell leading up to this event. So I was definitely looking to get some.

It was an out-of-town wedding that included hotel stays for the weekend. We saw each other at the rehearsal dinner the night before, we talked a bit, and I learned that he was single (nice). Typically, our hookups occurred after a night of drinking and / or drug use, but now that I was sober, the events unfolded a bit differently. I wasn’t hanging out all night with the boys because I was tired and the bride went to sleep early to prep for the following day. I was gonna have to actually make some moves if I wanted this to happen rather than having it fall into my lap like it normally did.

I do this thing to ensure I remain cool in situationships where I delete the guy’s number and any text or call history from my phone so that I can’t initiate any conversations. If they hit me up, then sure, I’ll respond; but I can’t trust myself to actually not contact them.

And of course, women can’t contact men because it’s seen as desperate, crazy, needy, annoying, etc. So we have to wait to be wanted and play coy so that we appear more desirable. It’s fucking stupid. Yeah, I need attention occasionally … big deal!

So on this night before the wedding when I wanted to have sex with him, I had to figure out how to make this happen without the normal course of events and without having his phone number. We were also no longer friends on Instagram or other social media sites (same thought process), but I wasn’t blocked or anything. So I resorted to a message request. I sent it at around 9:30:

Hey, you wanna fuck tonight?

Sexy, assertive, chill. Straight to the point, little expectation. I can see his face lighting up literally and figuratively when he sees it displayed across his phone, surrounded by his friends who are unaware of this new, dirty secret.

The message remained ignored for too long. I continually checked it to see if I was left on read (I wasn’t). But maybe he just looked at the request and denied it. When you do that, the sender does not know that it’s been read. Or maybe he just hasn’t seen it. Maybe I came on too strong. Follow up at 10:15:

Just thought it could be fun since we’re both here, have had sex before, and are single.

More crickets. It was now almost 11:00. I should be asleep — I have to get up at 6:00 and I am fully sober and exhausted from driving out of town earlier that day. It’s almost midnight:

Okay, well I’m gonna go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow night. See ya.

I shamelessly get out of my dress that has mocked me for the last two hours and put on cotton briefs and an oversized tee. I feel so dumb. What’s gonna happen tomorrow? I roll my eyes and get into the bed.

At around 12:30, I hear a ping:

Hey, sorry. I didn’t have my phone all night. We were in the pool. You still down? I could come now.

I’m already in bed, I’ve washed my face, and replaced my chic look with grunge pajamas.

Sorry, I’m already in bed. Let’s hang at the wedding and see where the night goes tomorrow.

Would’ve been the better response. Definitely less desperate. Instead, I wrote:

Oh, no worries. Yeah, come on over. My room is #### :]

As if that isn’t cringe enough, I jump out of bed, change into sexier panties, and put on some concealer and mascara.

He takes an obscenely long time to arrive at my room. I annoyingly sit at the edge of my bed, waiting for him to knock. I’m debating if I should have taken this time to do more about my appearance, but I didn’t know this would even be an option. When he finally gets there, my horniness has subsided significantly and I’m teetering on irritated.

I can immediately tell that he has not stressed about this encounter an iota of the amount I have. He says a quick hello then goes in for the kiss. I attempt to clear my mind of the last few hours and get into the moment. My desire slowly starts peaking again.

We move to the bed and I can feel his enormous erection pressing against my leg and I’m now flow blown horny. Who cares what occurred before? This is what I wanted and it’s happening.

After some intense making out, he takes off his pants and starts dry humping me getting me primed for the penetration. I’m so fucking ready for it.

Again, this is taking longer than it should. I ask if he’s okay. He sighs and looks down at his less-hard penis. “Sorry, I’ve been drinking a lot tonight and I wasn’t really expecting this.”

I wait while he tries to reharden. “Can I do anything for you?” I ask, moving myself closer to him.

“No,” he says exasperatedly, still trying to create an erection. “Just … give me sec!”

I wait, awkwardly on the bed, half-dressed and silent. Eventually, he stops stroking and I see his mostly-flaccid penis. My disappointment is palpable.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting this tonight! You should’ve messaged me earlier, before I drank so much!”

Oh, this is my fault now.

I stay quiet. At this point in my life, I am more confident in my interactions with men (still lacking full self-assurance of course), so I do know that this is not something that he’s going to blame on me. The silence makes him uncomfortable. He mumbles something about needing to go to bed, puts his pants back on, and tells me goodnight.

The next day, the vibe was too far off to even attempt another go, so I left that weekend unfucked.

We are taught that being forward is sexy, but too much is desperate. Be into sex, but don’t forget that you’re still only there for the man’s pleasure. Yes, his dick did not cooperate, but there was never an offer to provide me with stimulation so that at least I could get off. Far too often, I have had sex without finishing because when the guy comes, and that marks the end of the tryst. Women can have multiple orgasms in a single encounter, but we’re often left with none.

I initiated this, and he was game, but then it became my fault that it didn’t happen because I sprung it on him. My messages, though more than I probably needed to send, were the balanced way of initiating this to not come off too forward (find him at the pool and start making out with him in front of everyone) and also not too subtle that he doesn’t understand what he’s signing up for (“you wanna hang out?”); but it still wasn’t the right move.

As a woman, it’s impossible to know the outcome of any sexual rendezvous, so that age-old statement of women can get laid anytime they want really needs to be reexamined. And this doesn’t even include the obstacle of slut shaming! But, that’s for another time.