My ad on Nerve said I was looking for "sexual experience with mutual respect and human connection." I got 25 responses the first day-Peninsula tech geek, Oakland motohead, Mission gym rat.
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("Only one at a time please, ladies!") After a totally wild all-nighter at my place, we vowed that was the end of that.įive years later, we are happily married. We made out in the bathroom of a bar on Castro Street until we were asked to leave. Ihad a one-night stand with a devilishly handsome, and romantically attached, acquaintance. Three minutes later, I lay there thinking: I am definitely not cut out to be a cougar. When he laid me on my back I relished the thought of my reward. He didn't have to ask me to service him for 20 minutes I wanted to. Can I come up and see your place? You bet. Ithought I hit the booty jackpot when a new 25-year-old acquaintance with the body of a god started texting my world-weary 39-year-old self. I smoked that cigarette thinking, they probably had nights like this. So I got back into bed, rolled myself a cigarette and turned on the TV, settling on a History Channel documentary about 1920s Paris: jazz musicians, writers, artists, all seeking to break from convention and live on their own terms. I noticed she forgot her tobacco and figured if I had until 11 a.m. An exchange of numbers, a kiss good-bye and she was gone. If there's anything better than hotel sex, it's anonymous hotel sex. In my head I felt like Woody Allen, looking at the camera, mouthing to the audience, "Can you believe this is happening?" But my disbelief evaporated within moments of entering the room: Clothes here, bodies there, two strangers misbehaving the way two strangers do when they get a hotel room just for the hell of it.
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I tried keeping my cool as we trolled North Beach searching for a hotel. The longer we talked, the more the desire grew. We covered the plight of the outsider, consumerism and conformity, the individual versus society. She was at the table next to me, deep into a tattered copy of The Brothers Karamazov, an easy conversation starter.
![one night stand story one night stand story](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/233765897-352-k210277.jpg)
We were sitting at a cafe on Columbus Avenue. My cognitive abilities had been frozen by her flowing strawberry-blonde hair, and Alexis might as well have asked me about the subprime loan crisis. You ever get a hotel room just for the hell of it?" At first I didn't realize that her question was actually a suggestion. The next day I received a text message asking if we could be "just friends." Not wanting to equal a unicorn, I respectfully declined. Sex with a nonbeliever was, apparently, out of the question. After I condemned his world view, Andre and his unicorns left in a huff. No one-night stand should involve an ideological debate about unicorns, but there you have it. "You're covered in unicorns," I said, shielding my eyes. He turned toward me, and I was faced with the "MY FRIENDS = MY UNICORNS" tattoo again. The fey steed was surrounded by the usual trappings-rainbows, a rushing waterfall, twinkly stars. Wrong! On his back, an enormous, full-color tattoo depicted the mythological creature in all of its mood-killing splendor. Was it a gang tattoo? Was there a gang called the Unicorns, like the Sharks in West Side Story? Confused, I pulled him into my bed and turned him onto his stomach, thinking I wouldn't have to contemplate unicorns that way. "Uh-huh," said Andre dreamily, kissing me.
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"My friends equal my unicorns?" I said, stunned. That's when I saw it: Across his chest, in a menacing gothic script normally reserved for gang tattoos, was the bold statement, "MY FRIENDS = MY UNICORNS." The removal of one garment led to another, and soon we stood naked. After a bit of unseemly public canoodling, I took him home to my place in Duboce Triangle.Īndre and I groped at each other wildly. My better judgement had drowned in a tumbler of vodka about an hour earlier, so I sauntered up to his sweaty, sparkly person and suggested we pair off. I approached this blithe hooligan one evening after a performance. The kind of boy you might bring home to mother, as long as your mother didn't want to talk about books. It can be disastrous, it can be hilarious … it can even lead to love.Īndre was part of a glitter-smeared dance troupe that performed gleeful, sexually confusing choreographed numbers in an SFMOMA variety show inspired by the art of Weimar Germany. Three of the most exciting words in the English language: one-night stand.