Some nights before I passed out, I tried adding up how many guys I’d slept with. I didn’t mind losing count. I liked the idea of being “experienced.” But looking back on things, I don’t think that’s how I came across. It’s pretty safe to say – availability was the main message I projected to any young man who stumbled drunkenly onto my path.

I preferred guys who drank heavily. It was familiar. That’s how I did things. With a beer in both hands, I felt much more confident and qualified to even be considered fuckable. Booze got my foot in the door and encouraged it up the pant leg of whoever seemed interested in helping me not feel so inadequate.

I brought sketchy behavior to each and every intimate encounter I was involved in. I was manipulative. I oversold myself. Plus, there was always the insecurity I felt about my body. Sleeping with me was a complicated transaction that so many boys came to regret. There were so many boys.

And as for the speed, that shit kept me on the clock for longer periods of time. I covered more territory, looking for that special anyone who was interested in my particular brand of entertainment. Which was… whatever.

Hey, you. I have something you might like.


I suppose I thought I knew what an orgasm was. I could have sworn I’d been having them all along. Sex was fun. It was a thrill to take my clothes off and be with another person in such a unique way. I longed for immediate closeness. I suppose that was my goal. If I could ever see clear enough to have a goal, which I didn’t. Nor did I realize that physically, there was more. An extra prize at the end.

Until the orgasms started happening – quite by accident, really. But seeing as though I was always high and half in the bag whenever I got laid, I never quite understood what I’d done to create that mysterious feeling. Or how to get it back again. Or if it even happened to begin with. I wasn’t sure. With so little information and an obvious lack of focus, the results were hit or miss.

Instead, I continued to put on quite a show. I made noises I thought were appropriate. I tried to lay still when we were done, so he could sleep. My partners praised themselves, and I thanked them. Even though it often felt like I was doing most of the work.

I just wanted him, whoever he was, to stay with me.

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