Decidedly Unawesome Revisited

The thing about sleeping around when you live on a small island, is the inevitable awkwardness of running into your exes every time you leave the house. This is one of the reasons I never slept around during the summer I lived on Martha's Vineyard. The other reason I was chaste when I lived here is because of the sheer volume of people on this island who I've seen scratching at their genitalia. Apparently, the only thing that spreads faster than a rumor here, is crabs.

Back when I used to surf Craigslist for...inspiration, I'd occasionally find an entry on the Boston site from some poor schlepp on The Vineyard. If I still had my car, and the old Grub Tub I used to have moored on the Cape, I'd have made the journey just to pity fuck the poor guys. No. No, I wouldn't. But I'd have thought about it.

When I still lived on the Cape, I'd occasionally fling with someone from the Vineyard. They'd have to make the trip over to a very descript bar near the Ferry (please leave your bad fairy puns out of my comments section), where we'd have drinks and see if we clicked. We, usually, did not. But one time a couple of times every once thrice in a while, I'd meet someone I clicked with in several different positions.

One of these occasions was Jordan.

After our Solarcain & Vicodin filled fuckfest, Jordan faded to little more than a sunburnt memory. I forgot his name, the sound of his voice, how cute his hair looked when it was disheveled, pretty much everything about him. Until this afternoon.

My father's wife was dragging us to our third Christmas party in two days. I love his wife. She's sweet, smiley, effervescent...shit, if they made Efferdent in grenadine flavor, they'd have to call it Corrine.

Last night's party was...not so good. I tried to socialize, but apart form one guy who kept telling me about his son, the writer, I didn't have anything in common with any of the super WASPS in the nest.

This morning, we went to my step-grandfather-in-law's house for some of the best scallop chowed in the world, and a few polite conversations.

This evening was another social gathering at the house of someone I'd never met. Or so I'd thought. Turns out it was the guy who's son was a writer, and his son, the writer, was home for Christmas.

"Hi." His son, the writer, said. "My name is Jordan. You look really familiar. Did we go to highschool together?"

"No." I said, not yet able to place him, but knowing I-- *danger* *danger* this is someone you've shared an awkward sexual encounter with, take evasive action. God, bless, my little synapse-alert switcher.

"Huh. I'd swear--" And I saw it in his eyes. "Right, you didn't use to have that beard. I met you" don't say over The Internet. Don't say over The Internet. "a couple of years ago at a poetry slam."

"Oh. Yea." I said. "I do those a lot."

"I bet you did." Asshole. "I used to do them all the time. Not anymore, though. Maybe once a year."

Was he talking about Internet hookups, or was he actually talking about poetry slams? "Still writing?"

"Yea." He said. We sort of stood there for a minute until his father, or my father, or my father's wife, or his father's wife, or someone said something. Unfortunately, what that person said was, "Why don't you show Safey that article you've been working on."

"Awesome." He said. Yeup, it was him. "I've got a copy in my room."

Did the bitch just wink at me? In front of my dad? Oh, hell no. "Ok, why don't you bring it down? I'm going to go get a Coke." And pour some of the Captain Morgan I have stashed in my flask into it.

His article sucked. It was about "Why I write". He used the word awesome four times.

"Cool." I said. Then made a mental note not to say it again. "Where are you publishing it?"

"Oh, I don't get my articles published. I have a little folder I keep them in. When I'm famous, I'm going to put them into a book of essays."

"Great." I was running out of non-committal adjectives. "I'm kinda tired. It was nice seeing you again, and talking to you, but I think I should go home."

"Want me to walk you there?"

No. "Uh, ok."

Most of the walk was idle chitchat about living on the island, and the year he'd spent in Japan, and then "I've never kissed someone with a beard." Christ, dude, shit like that was cute when I was 21, and you were 23, but you're 30 now, and I'm not that gullible.

"So...no Tom Cruise, then?"

"Tom Cruise doesn't have a beard." He said.

"You mean, besides Katie Holmes?"

"You're so witty." He said. I was thinking that was about as stale a pop culture reference as I've ever made. Still, it was in the service of keeping him from kissing me.

"How often do you come visit your Dad?"

"Oh, every year or so."

"You should really come more often." He said.

"I know." I replied. "I feel bad about not seeing my Dad, especially now that he's retired and his wife is--" And then he kissed me.

Fuck.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/163581.html

Decidedly Unawesome

Jordan was twenty-three, sunburnt, and had the sort of hairstyle that can only come from sitting on the top deck of a boat on a very windy day, which made sense, he'd just taken a ferry over a small island not too far from where I lived. He was a writer. I was to discover, later, that he was a very awful writer, but I was twenty-one year old wannabe writer with an erection, a drawer full of condoms, and a refrigerator full of beer, and he was an attractive...writer.

Jordan's sunburn was a Speedo sunburn. Only his cock and his crack were left unlobstered. This, he said, was the reason he had to take a few Vicodin before we fucked. It's also the reason we had to stop at CVS and buy him some Solarcain on the way back to my apartment.

"Oh, yea." He said, as I sprayed the Solarcain on his back. "This feels awesome." If he was this easy to please, I had the feeling we were going to be in for a night full of -- "Ow. Ow. My back is...ow...careful." or not.

After three beers, and two shots of Tequila (plus three Vicodin for him), I decided to make my move. "Easy." He said. "I still kinda...oh yea." I, gently, very gently, put my hand on his face and begin kissing him. His lips were cracked. It wasn't too noticeable when I closed my eyes and kissed him, but when he started kissing down my body, I got a sensation I imagined not dissimilar to having my stomach licked by a cat. While his tongue seemed pretty adept at giving head, his lips caused the little man in charge of my brain synapses to push the button marked "Chafing! Chafing! Avert blowjob!"

I pulled out of his mouth, and pulled him up on the bed, where I began to--"Do you want to 69?" He asked.

"Uhhhh...ok."

I had a plan. I would let him think I was into 69ing for about five seconds, and then I would knead and/or spank his burnt ass. Surely, this would cause him to..."Oh, yea!" He yelled after the first spank. "This feels awesome." What kind of writer says this feels awesome to every physical sensation they feel. Oh, right. One who's been popping Vicodin all day. My spanking was not going to produce the intended result.

"Have you ever...fucked a guy?" He asked.

"No." I said. Which would have been true had he asked "Have you ever...fucked a guy...today?" I was taking artistic license.

"Want to?"

I smiled the way I imagined virgins smiled. "Yea."

"Awesome." And he laid his head down on the pillow and stuck his ass in the air. A position, I've since learned, isn't exceptionally comfortable even when you're not 90% sunburnt.

I strapped on a condom, and "Ow. Ow. Yes. Ow. Yea. Ow. Awesome. Yea. Ow."

His little ow symphony started to grate on me. "Ow. Yea. This feels. Ow. Awesome. Ow." So I started pulling his lower body toward mine, like I was giving his inner thighs The Heimlich. "Ow. Yes. Ow. Ow. STOP!"

I stopped.

"Ow. Ow. Ahhhhhhhhh. Thanks."

The hell? I'd stopped, thinking he was in pain from the way I was gripping his thighs. He rolled over, revealing several unmistakably sticky spots on the blue sheets.

"That felt awesome. I'm gonna, like, pass out, though. Those Vics...yea, I'm tired. You can keep fucking me until you're done or whatever, but I'm..yea, don't worry about it. It feels awesome."

While I admired his desire to make sure I got to come, I was a little leery of fucking someone I know regarded as a comatose drug addict, even though I, clearly, had his consent. "How about until I wait until you wake up."

"Yea." He said. "Whatever."

I pulled a sheet over him, propped a fan in his general direction, and went downstairs to get another drink. He was still out cold when I was ready to fall asleep. I debated whether or not to crawl into bed with him. On the one hand, he was cute. On the other, he was liable to say "Ow. Awesome. Ow." every time I touched him. On a mythical third hand, I didn't know him very well, and didn't want to discover that he was kleptomaniacal drug addict after he left my house. So I climbed into the spare bed. "Mmmmmm." he said. If this was followed by an awesome, I was going to punch him very hard in the middle of his peeling back. "Change your mind?"

"Huh?"

"You gonna fuck the Sleeping Beauty?"

Eww, dude. "Only after he wakes up."

"I'm awayyyy...ow!" He said, rolling over to face me. "Do you know where I left my Vicodin?"

On the nightstand to his left. "No."

"Oh, then maybe, we'd better wait. I feel kinda..." He was getting pukeface. Code red! Code red! "Where's your bathroom?"

I pointed. Then decided to take action, and have him lean on me, as I half-dragged him into the "Bluhoooooruk." bathroom. He didn't make it to the toilet. Close, though.

While I toweled up the puke, Comatose No Longer Beauty went back to the spare bedroom, popped a few pills, and put on his clothes. "I'm gonna....yea, I'm sorry about the puke, but...I think I'd better go. I don't want to miss the last ferry. I've gotta...you know...work tomorrow and stuff."

"No problem." I said.

He ambled over and leaned in to kiss -- "Dude, you just threw up on my floor."

"Right. Sorry."

"I'll e-mail you tomorrow when I get out of work. Tonight was...awesome...until the whole puking thing. Again, sorry."

"No problem."

"Talk at you tomorrow then?"

"Sure." I said. "That would be...awesome."

original post: http://community.livejournal.com/bad_sex/2345421.html