I don't think I've ever tittered before. I'm not even sure what a titter is. But when the question hit me, that's what I began to do.
"Why don't we just have sex? Right now."
Clint and I don't have sex. He and his brothers live down the street and serve as my surrogate family at the Jersey shore. I realized early on that it was much more important for them to serve that role in my life. Sex changes everything...doesn't it?
We had just finished surfing and a storm was fast approaching so we jumped in my truck and raced back to his house by the bay. While driving, I told him about a sexual dream I had that morning that starred a surfer we knew.
"Everything was so open. It was like there were no...rules around sex. You just saw someone and had sex with them. So when Justin [the surfer] appeared in my dream, I went up to him, unzipped his pants, lifted up my skirt and climbed on top of him. It was all very easy, free."
Clint sat silent and tense in the passenger seat. For a moment, I wondered whether telling a male friend intimate details about a sexual dream is a little different than telling a female friend.
When we got back to his house and out of my truck, the black sky tore open and unleashed. Already wet and in our bathing suits, we stood in the pouring rain for a minute or two, enjoying the feeling. This is a perfect summer moment, I thought. Just this.
We grabbed some towels and dried off under the deck, looking out over the bay as the rain came down harder. Then I noticed a strange sensation; it was if the air had become electrified, bouncing back and forth, through me, through him. Everything felt very alive yet very still at the same moment.
Then zap!
Clint turned to me and said, "Why don't we have sex? Right now. For the next hour. Or two." He didn't sound totally serious...but not totally unserious.
That's when the tittering began - a high-pitched, girly laugh that I don't ever remember emitting in the the entirety of my life.
"Really, that's what people would do in this situation. They'd have sex."
"It's true...they would" I managed to say.
Strangely, "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" began playing in my head at full volume. I took a wet barefoot step toward him. That easy, sexual dream version of me was in full agreement with his suggestion.
Why wouldn't we have sex? We spend a lot of time together, we know each other very well, we're kinda hot. We're straight. We only live once. Besides, everyone already thinks I sleep with him and his brothers anyway. Let's give them something to really talk about.
Then the head interjected, reminding me of all of the stupid and annoying things Clint has said and done in the past, how careless he's been with my feelings, how terribly...dudelike he can be. If we did have sex, it would suck afterward. He'd potentially tell others how he "tagged" me. Or he'd share with me in detail how much he likes the ass of some chick on the beach, later that very afternoon. And I'd feel disgusted and annoyed. Definite step back.
But what are these stand-in, placebo boyfriend types for anyway? They just kind of hog up time and space that could be dedicated to someone you really like. Why not at least use them to their maximum capacity?
Another step forward.
Filler men can be so frustrating. So much feels right and natural. You have nothing romantically invested in a faux boyfriend, so you relax and truly act yourself. Sure, we all want to believe we're really "ourselves" with our significant other but there's a special lack of concern for a stand-in boyfriend that feels pretty good. I call Clint a moron whenever I damn well please, for instance. He tells me to shut the fuck up when the urge hits him. Easy like Sunday morning.
So why mess up that magic? There's no undoing sex once it's been had.
Step back.
"I need to...iron my clothes."
Step back.
"I need to...iron my clothes."
" You need to what?"
"You heard me, moron. I have ironing. To do."
And with that, I walked left.
Later that day, Clint would introduce me to his friend as his "surfing buddy and neighbor" (which, trust me, he would have done, even if we had sex.) I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't made a sexually grievous error. Placebos are made up of sugar and have no real medicinal effect whatsoever. But I guess if you don't know any better, placebos can do the trick. Unfortunately, I know better.
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Margaret Hawke
500words
Beth Winegarner
BellemeadeBooks
Are You Talking French?
Lisbeth Cheever-Gessaman
Salon.com
Comments
and I'm going to use that thing about the ironing.
My take on this: if you have to discuss having sex, you shouldn't.
Good call, you.
I've only had a couple of placebo-yfriends, and in retrospect, they were mistakes. I think you made a good call.
I've lost more than I've ever gained sleeping with boys who are friends. Even when you wish you could, you can't ever quite completely stuff that sex genie back into the bottle. Even worse when you continue to stuff...stuff.
It's complicated, isn' t it.
Well done as always.
Rated for restraint.
I think I know what I would have done and since I don't even own an iron...
Funny, funny...but you know, you lose more friends that way!!
But here's a truth: I have never, ever in my life heard a man share intimate details about sex with someone he really cared about. Women share everything, whether the guy's a one-night stand or the love of her life. What's up with that?
wonderful read:)
"That's when the tittering began - a high-pitched, girly laugh that I don't ever remember emitting in the the entirety of my life."
Ha! that's when we (us normally non-tittering women) know we're really in a pickle.
Plus, your ability to present a relatable situation so vividly that we could feel the electricity . . . well . . . fuckin' A, Beth . . . you rock. Now if only the rain would start around here . . .
I think you chose right!
rated
Strangely, "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" began playing in my head at full volume.
You are a fascinating creature, Beth, and I'm having a great time getting to know you. A VERY titillating (but not tittering) post.
Having never actually toppled over in such a situation, nor been toppled upon, I've come to regard the near collision as one benefit with friends. You get to breathe a little harder for a while without actually changing anything.
and i totally love the tags and the song they reference. am going to play it right now, 'knock on wood.' very clever, beth.
Ric, I think you made an excellent point. It's true. And again, my pieces are not the gospel truth or even my final opinion. Just a point of departure or a moment in time. I'm very happy to have guy friends in my life. It's a good, positive feeling, for the most part. And always a growing experience.
vzn, nothing is more annoying than someone starting off with "don't take this personally" or "no offense." almost bound to be a dose of passive aggressiveness. how simple minded you are, to read a piece like this and jump to conclusions about my sex life. do you believe soap operas are real too? do you yell at the villains if you see them walking down the street? you just like shaming women for having sexual urges. go talk to your mommy about that.
night all! off to the brothel!
A work colleague told me she and a male friend decided to have sex just to see what it was like with no romantic overtones. "Fun" and "nice" was the verdict and it was never repeated.
Haven't looked at the comments yet but surely someone has drawn comparisons to Friends With Benefits.
b) A women telling a single guy friend about her sex dream is like pouring gasoline on a fire. Do you know how hard it is for us poor schmuck male types to keep our hormones in check (even at my age)? Do you have any idea how much effort a guy, who really *does* just want to be your friend, must exert in order to not start thinking about sex in the presence of an attractive woman? And if that woman is wet, and in a wet suit, and is telling you about her sex dream of the previous night, and is about to spend the night at your house? I mean, c'mon!
Yeesh; you women really *don't* understand men, do ya? Thank God for my Sami!
R.
Funny and wise you are. Clint will thank you later.
I wish sex were simple. Never is. ....I come to this conclusion through painful experience.
I have had one pseudo boyfriend (a rather mystical Rabbi, no less!)....who was superb. All the rest? Studies in awkwardness.
GREAT as usual, Beth.
If Clint is your friend, would he ever be as unkind toward you as this post imagines?
Did you see it the time his surfboard hit him in the head ?
I guess you're in a category all by yourself. faux sex positive, wink =)
something for you to ponder.. why did your experience directly/perfectly contradict your dream? what the heck do you think was in your subconscious to create such a dream? what is the meaning of it? for you? or do you think the dream was meaningless?
in psychology I guess nowhere is it more true that a "little knowledge is a dangerous thing" =)
Less than a year ago, you were willing to have sex with a man you know is confirmed narcissist and world-class jerk.
http://open.salon.com/blog/beth_mann/2009/10/27/kissing_my_devil_goodbye_one_last_time
Yet you were unwilling to have sex with a man you clearly value enough to hang out with regularly (this current post) because he might brag to his friends about it afterward.
In the "Devil" case, you completely bought in to the Rescue-the-Bad-Boy fantasy. In your surfer friend's case, you completely rejected the possibility of making your dream real.
The two most reasonable explanations for this I can come up with are:
A) You matured a lot in the past 9 months . That's seems unlikely.
B) In both cases, your subconscious mind made the decision ("I want Mr. Devil. I don't want Mr. Surfer") and your conscious mind attempted to build a quasi-rational framework for your decision.
Perhaps, to paraphrase Malcolm Gladwell, you shouldn't be so quick to come up with explanations for things you do not have explanations for.
Rated and enjoyed.
I was thinking last night about my mistakes. And the night before. And just this morning. Oh, where is The One?
The rest, I'm sorry, sounds very ex post facto rationalization of something not very rational.
Some guys are friends with benefits, others friends. No reason to get all weird about either. Clint sounds like the later.
Next time tell him you would only have sex with him if you were married.
Then see what happens.
Whether or not you fucked Clint seems incidental. What is striking about your story is witnessing a guy riding in the car with his “neighbor and surfing buddy” while she shares a very personal dream with him in what might just have been one of the truly intimate moments of his short witted life and his response is: make the moment be about him.
Had you dreamed of drowning would he have taken you back down to the beach and held you under a wave?
Had you dreamt of flying would he have offered to push you off a cliff?
In another moment of the perpetual embarrassment that is maleness, our hero sacrifices an opportunity to know you more intimately for the chance pleasure of exploring the structure of the skin that you occupy, in absentia.
Had he been present in the cab of your truck, the conversation, if any, would have been much less contrived after that beautiful moment in the rain.
Sex is easy. Intimacy is something that merits reconsidering the urgency of ironing.