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We walked the few blocks to his place, smiling but barely speaking, the giddy nervousness vibrating in my brain at such a high frequency that it became a drug. I felt warm and far away, and it wasn't just the whiskey. Then we were in his room, on the bed which occupied almost the entire space, kissing. Him on top, then me. He was trying to unfasten the hooks on my shirt, which are hard even for me, so I undid them, slowly, giggling, and when I was about halfway down, I stopped to ask him something I shouldn't have.

"How many girls have you had sex with?"

"One," he replied.

"One?"

"One."

I stopped undoing my shirt. I stopped doing anything. "With the girlfriend?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "That a problem?"

"No, but can I ask why?"

"Didn't see the point. Sex wasn't making other people happier. It didn't seem like it would make me happier."

"Okay," I say slowly, not wanting to be anything less than clear on this point, "but it makes me happy. You understand that, right?" I was afraid he was one of those guys who considers twice a week adequate. I'd been there before, and it sucked. (Although, admittedly, I was at the other extreme.)

"No matter who it's with?"

"No! But it's expressive and . . . interesting. In many different . . . contexts."

"Okay. I understand that."

"And you understand that I've had sex with eleven more people than you have, and have hooked up with a number exponentially greater than that?"

"I really don't give a fuck," he said, laughing dismissively and pulling me down next to him.
If this were the movie it started out as, we'd have amazing, mindblowing, sweaty sex.
"Okay, do you like sex?"

"Are you serious? Of course."

"And do you want to have sex with me?"

"Definitely."

"But why, if not with other girls?"

"Things have changed in my life," he said. "I really like you. And you're beautiful."

I still didn't entirely understand. He only had sex with girls he really wanted to have sex with. But how could you only want two people in twenty-five years? I told myself that for now, I was one of them, and that's what really mattered.

"So, everything's cool?" I asked, unzipping his fly.

"Very cool."

If this were the movie it started out as, we'd have had amazing, mindblowing, sweaty sex. And we tried. But when he put the condom on, it wasn't working. So I said, "Fuck it, let's go without," because I couldn't do anything but want him. He said that was a bad idea. For a second, I figured he thought I was trashy. But he was just being responsible. I ended up going down on him and waking up with his arm around me, his hand in my hair, and The Shirt on top of the computer. It was morning. We had to go to work. We walked to the train station holding hands, and at the corner, where he went one way and I went the other, he kissed me and said, "I'll call you this afternoon, okay?"

And he did. He called, and I realized that for the moment neither of us were going anywhere. If he's not my "boyfriend" yet, he will be soon.

Like possibly every other girl in the history of the universe, I imagined that if there were a match for me, it would be some fiery, sullen rock star. I envisioned sex fueled by anger, vicious cheating, bottle throwing. (I don't know where I got any of this. I think the babysitter let me watch Sid and Nancy once.) But that's not Jack.

Once, I heard that having a boyfriend isn't about auditioning guys for the role; it's about finding someone you care enough about to write the role for. Here, I've found a specific person, but what's getting in the way isn't my idea of what he should be. It's my idea of who I am: unfettered, of loose morals, wild, restless. I’m learning, though, that these qualities don't preclude me from loving someone, no matter how hard I'd throw a bottle at someone who suggested otherwise.  n°

Every Friday we bring you some of the best and most controversial pieces from the Hooksexup archives.





           


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
is a Manhattanite by birth and breeding. Still, she has lived in a lot of places and done a lot of things, and will probably live in others and do more. She is pretty sure she graduated from Columbia, but they never sent her a diploma.
 

12 Comments

Whatever happened to Carrie Hill Wilner? She was my favourite Hooksexup writer.

JF commented on 09/04

This was a magnificent read. Especially the "Unconsummated flirtation is inhumane" line.

BR commented on 09/04

Wow, this was an utterly beautiful reading experience. Perhaps the best thing I've read in my discovery of Hooksexup. Bring back Carrie Hill Wilner.

AB commented on 09/04

love live the Hooksexup archive

yo commented on 09/04

"I still didn't entirely understand. He only had sex with girls he really wanted to have sex with." Wow--Jack sounds a lot like me. Great article.

nb commented on 09/04

Wow, beautiflly written and witty. "I have, for whatever reason, faith in my fondness for you." and "Uncomsumated flirting is inhumane." and the best lines.

SDS commented on 09/04

If only the new writing were this good...

jl commented on 09/04

This is awesome. Are all the archives going to be this good? Please?

NB commented on 09/04

Deeply thoughtful.

BPT commented on 09/04

Glorious, witty, and a pleasure to read.

DR commented on 09/04

Most of the articles in the archives are this good. Now, we just need to get newer stuff like this on Hooksexup!

jct commented on 09/05

I adoooored this article. Unbearably sweet.

enj commented on 09/08
 

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