The Virginity Monologues

I went to my new building last night to pick up the keys from the super. I was standing at the door waiting for the habitually lazy super, when a guy walked in. Just my type. He had the mouth that I love and everything. I was in an irritated mood (my other roommate meeting me was late AGAIN), so I wasn't as friendly as I could've/should've been. But I did smile. A flirty smile. He smiled back and continued on his journey into the building. He turned around and looked at me a couple of times. Can I talk about how adorable he was? And he lives in my building! What's the possibility, I wonder, that he'll be around tomorrow to help with the moving? Do you think he would be interested in christening the new place? Crap, I have got to get a bigger bed.

Tonight. I could party with the ex and friends or get a head start on the moving and take stuff over. I can't decide. I should probably avoid the ex. It's been a stressful week and I'm not in a stable enough place to handle his presence plus alcohol. It's a disaster waiting to happen. I say that, but in reality, I would never do anything. I would keep all my emotions carefully concealed under my "Everything's Great!" veneer. He will never know how much I ache for him.

In the absence of any really good stories (I doubt that y'all want to hear about the chocolate cell phone gift from the mail room guy), let me tell you the men that I would love to create a really good story with. The list. Men who I would give it up to without hesitation.

1. Derek Jeter. I love this man. I love the way he stands in the batters box, with the cocky, arrogant look, that practically dares the pitcher to strike him out. I love the way he lifts his left leg to get more power in his swing. It's poetry, my friends.

2. Jeremy Piven. I actually saw this man on the street one day, and nearly fell over from the shock. I would have said something, but I was acutely aware of the fact that I was having an ugly day and he was talking on his cell phone. But he's beautiful and hysterical, the perfect combination, folks.

3. Joaquin Phoenix. He's amazing. Did you see Gladiator? 'Nuff said.

So, that's the short list. I'm sure there's more, but these are the ones that come first (actually, hopefully they'll be more gentlemanly than that. ha!)

The boys in the mail room are their own breed of men. Every time I go down there, they've got the hip-hop blaring and very little work is getting done. What do they do all day? One of them is a beautiful, beautiful man, I'd totally make-out with him, but he's attached to a lady, so I'm attempting to keep a distance from the hottie with a body. Because I am moving, another mail room associate is saving me empty boxes and lovingly bundles them together and puts a handle made of tape on them for me to get them home with ease. It's cute. But there's a third one. The one that actually delivers my mail to me everyday (I know, I'm a corporate snob. Boo-effing-hoo). He is incessant with his flirting and attentions to me. Today he asked me when I was going out with him. And he was serious. I have no idea how to play this one off. I have never been good at rejection, giving or receiving (ha, you could substitute "oral sex" with "rejection" in that last sentence and it would also be true!). I gave some sort of laughing response that he couldn't handle me, which is probably true, and sauntered off. But now it's awkward and I can't resume my flirty friendship with him because I don't want to encourage him. I'm too flirty. I flirt with everyone- the gay guy next to me and the straight girl on the other side of me. It has previously and continues to get me in trouble.

St. Patty's day in NYC is pure insanity. There's a parade and there's drinking. Heavy drinking. The kind of drinking that has you worshiping the porcelain shrine by 7 pm. The Irish are out in full force with their crazy accents and their unbelievable ability to pound back the alcohol at alarming rates. I found myself at a bar with some girlfriends from work, drinking my usual cranberry and vodka and stealing sips of Guinness from the girl next to me, location- East Village. The trouble with going out with smokers is that they frequently will leave a person to go have a smoke. It was during this vulnerable alone time that I was approached by a couple of loud, outgoing and adorable Irish guys. Conversation ensued. One of the first questions out of their mouths was, "when was the last time you had a fuck?" Rounds of laughter when they heard of my virginity status. Laughter of disbelief, but I assured them that I was being honest. When the question was turned around to them, the answer was, "This morning, of course!" They're nutters, they are. Well, they stuck around until the wee hours of the morning, and then opted to come back to a girlfriend's place with us. I had no ulterior motives. I needed to pick up some stuff, then just wanted to hop onto the comfort of the F train and make my way home. We rounded the stairs to Michelle's apartment, and the strain of the climb combined with severe drunkenness had me exhausted! I leaned up against the wall to catch a breather while the door was being unlocked. The next thing I knew, Crazy Irish Guy was moving in. I had neither the strength nor the will to resist, and so I stood there in the hallway, making out with Crazy Irish Guy. Holy crap could this guy kiss. I went from 0 to 60 in no time at all, with his hands on my face and in my hair. Oh men, if you only knew how much we love the hands in the hair. It turns me on faster then.... well, it just plain turns me on. He started to get grabby real fast, but I did not have the energy to be passionate and sexy, so I pulled away and mumbled that I needed to get home. I went inside grabbed my bag, got kissed a little more by Crazy Irish Guy in a desperate plea to get me to stay and do the no-pants dance, but I didn't have any rhythm and just wanted to get the heck out of there.

I've never been the kind of girl to pick up men in a bar. I don't really understand the whole concept of getting funky with people I don't know. But it's becoming a weird theme lately and I can't help but kind of run with it.

I backslid last night into the warm, dark depths of my heroin. Dinner was perfect. Activities afterward- oodles of ease and familiar fun. It was comfortable and heart-wrenching. I love that I am the truest version of myself when I am with him. There is no editing of words or thoughts. I can let them all tumble freely from my mouth without fear of recrimination or condemnation. I can tell him the complete story. I walked away with the same refrain resounding loudly in my head of "why are we not together?"

The answer is complicated and involves that dastardly word- compromise. Neither one of us is willing to do it. End of story. Well, obviously not really the end of the story as we still hang out, and I still long for his lips (and other places too, I'll admit). Also, pride would never allow me to make a reconciliation attempt. I am a vain, vain woman and a rejection of that magnitude would irrevocably damage my already fragile self-confidence.

Maybe the anonymous, cheap interludes is a better course to run. Its so much less emotionally taxing. But it's also so cold and empty and quite frankly- unsatisfying. So, I guess I'll just keep my clothes on for now.

Labels: The Ex

I had my first fairly genuine Sex in the City moment a few weekends ago. Having just signed a lease on a new apartment, I was recently in the midst of apartment hunting hell, getting screwed over left and right. It's enough to make a person drive a rusty nail through their head just to end the suffering. Well, having just taken it up the ass again by a landlord, we were back on the hunt again and had booked ourselves with appointments all day Saturday. At one point, our appointments overlapped, so I continued on with one broker, while my roommate went to meet another one. We'll call this broker, Jeff. Now, Jeff was hot. Seriously hot. Make my toes curl hot. Almost the second that we were alone, the flirting began. It reached such a frenzy that we were in an apartment and I was looking around and he apparently could not keep his hands of me for one second longer, and he backed me up against a wall, stuck his hands inside my coat and made the move to kiss me. What the shiz? Thank goodness for quick reflexes! I dodged the persistent lips, but let him keep his hands where they were. This messing around continued in the hallway and a little more in his car. They are some of the hottest moments of my life (fully clothed, that is.) I'm so attracted to assertiveness! I shouldn't have, but I loved every second of our clandestine hallway petting. He dropped me off, gave me his card, and told me to call him. Later that day, I sent him a text message, telling him that I wanted him, thinking that I would never see him again. He called back immediately, but as I am a chicken, I didn't answer. Later events of the day revealed that we should be looking for a 2 bedroom instead of a 3 bedroom (long story) and had to start back at square one.

The next morning, I called Jeff. Did he have any 2 bedrooms he could show me (and possibly his while we were at it? I didn't say that, it's just what I was thinking.) Using the excuse that I was coming from church (I really was), I wore my sex kitten heels. We looked at apartments, did some more hallway grabbing and then we were outside the realty office. He took the keys in while I waited in the car. He came back out and said, "So, you wanna go back to my place?"

YES, PLEASE.

I am not a tease, though. I made it very clear to this manly man of a man that I wasn't going to have sex with him. He said he was fine with that, so I told him to get a move on, we had things to do!

A few unimpressive hours later (hello, did you ever hear of a laundry basket, or a clitoris for that matter?) I was back home and in desperate need of a shower. Just because I'm not going to give it up for someone, doesn't mean I don't appreciate an orgasm as much as the next person.

Lesson learned- if it comes to easy to them, they never learn to be good at it. Also, men are pigs.

I'm 27. 27! And am a sad, pathetic virgin. BOOOOO. In actuality, I have no right to complain, as it's completely by personal choice. Religious reasons have carried me this far, and now I'm stuck with this millstone around my neck that I just can't get rid of. I've had opportunities, but none have been appealing enough for me to take that jump, despite that constant nagging in my head that says, "LOSE IT, already!" What's it going to take, you ask? Well, I claim that I am waiting for marriage (and I probably will), but if someone came along that loved me, and I mean REALLY loved me, and I loved him, I would do it. I would! (If I say that enough, I might convince myself.)

There's only been one person that was ever a viable option. The ex. Oh, the ex! Man alive, did I love him. It's wacky. I had a serious boyfriend in high school and then part of college (of my similar religion, so sex was never part of the equation), but I never had even a fraction of the feelings that I had for Mark (the ex). Our time together was short, but intense. It ended as I expected it to, he gave me the 'have sex with me or we break up' ultimatum and I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't selling myself so cheaply. The really stupid thing is that if he had been a little more patient and given me a few more months, he probably would have gotten what he so desperately wanted without having to force my hand (or... any other part of my body). But, it doesn't matter. Our fate is not to be together, even though I still love him. I think a part of me always will. I should probably stop being friends with him. But I can't help it. He's heroin to me. I've tried a couple of forms of methadone, but I just keep coming back to the good stuff. As I write this we are planning dinner together tonight and even though I know a better course of action, I will not take it. I have no self-discipline. Boo to me.

So this is my quest. My endeavor, if you will. To lose my virginity. Enjoy the journey.