I always thought you need to really feel connected to someone to truly enjoy sex. I presumed chemistry was a rarity in this world, shared only with a select few.
Then I boned a rando, and I freaking loved it.
Going from only sleeping with (two) boyfriends, to a one night stand was quite the leap for me. In my rager-filled youth, I rarely had the urge to do anything more than make out with a stranger. A little spit-swapping and feeling up on the dance floor used to hit the spot and then I’d usually just peace out and spend the night with my true love–pizza. But suddenly, a new curiosity emerged: what would sex with a stranger be like?
I assumed it would be awkward, gross, painful, brief– standard fare. No, thank you. I don’t know if I hit the one night stand jackpot but my experience was nothing like that.
Let’s call him The Greek. He was a handsome lawyer with luscious locks and Clark Kent eyeglasses, who I met at a cocktail party for the Apollo Circle at the Met (the only way I was convinced to become a pricey patron of the arts, was the guarantee of countless open bars). Over cocktails, we chatted about the Punk to Couture exhibit and eventually migrated to the Four Seasons with a group of our friends to keep it classy. I don’t know when I decided that he was the Chosen One, but I could feel myself not being able to resist the temptation to finally discover what this whole hit it and quit it behavior was all about.
I suggested we leave our nice friends and head to our respective homes. “We can share a cab and make out a little if you want,” I nonchalantly suggested as if carpooling and french kissing were natural partners. The Greek was amenable.
We hopped in the (not long enough) ride from midtown to SoHo, and I straddled him. Oh yes, I love a good makeout slash straddle session in a taxi. It’s surprising, sexy, and pressing my butt against the backseat TV is better than watching it. When we first got in the cab, I told the driver we were making two stops, going to my Tribeca apartment second. (I’m SO hard to get). But as I ran my hands through that beautiful head of hair, it was at that moment I decided– this is it, we are going all the way.
All of a sudden, I had a thought– is this safe?? Wholly unfamiliar with all one-night-stand protocol, I pulled back from our liplock and asked The Greek two pivotal questions:
1. Are you going to serial kill me?
2. Do you have STDs?
After I felt comfortable I was going to emerge from this undertaking alive and disease free, I was ready to get down to business. And down to business we got. The night was just SO FUN. I remember falling asleep that night and thinking OH MY GOD- WHY HAVEN’T I BEEN BONING RANDOS ALL MY LIFE??? I suddenly understood why everyone was so slutty.
Then the morning came. We parted ways, and like the little bozo I am, I thought this clearly wasn’t a one night stand. I mean who wouldn’t want to have sex like that OVER and OVER again?? I patiently waited for him to text or call me. (And, maybe we will fall in love??) All day at work, I was beaming with the joy of just indulging in the most ravishing and unexpected night I had encountered in a long time.
Well, he never called. But the best part of having a one night stand for the first time at age 29, is that it is OKAY. I wasn’t devastated, I wasn’t appalled. I was zen. I still loved the sex we had. I would have happily re-boned, but alas, this was a lesson. Good sex is out there, not just with people I love. What a twist!!