I keep seeing those advertisements for those weighted blankets. Grey, heavy and that insanely soft microfiber made in a government lab somewhere by cloning kittens and angel skin. Sounds like bliss to the stressed and lonely.
I do have a body pillow I jokingly refer to as bae. It’s all I have right now, let me have my fucking pillow.
James Franco got to common law marry his Japanese body pillow Kimiko on 30 Rock, this is where I am headed people.
I am exaggerating for dramatic effect.
I have more than the pillow, I have ghosts and memories to keep me warm at night.
Ha…more jokes.
Ever been in a room when a ghost walks through? It’s just like the movie Sixth Sense, it is cold and a lil scary. Try sleeping like that every night. And living like that every fucking day. Haunted as fuck.
More truth to be told, I have slowly but surely began to navigate towards the middle of my bed.
Sacrilege! I’ve held that space for YEARS, decades, eons.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. Who is this girl who dares sleep in the middle of her own bed, wrapped around pretend pillow bae and a tiny dog all night long?
Me, she’s me.
I climbed the beanstalk a few weeks ago and slept at the house of the Giant. I am always allowed to sleepover but I use this privilege sparingly. Also, I love love love my own bed, even though he makes really good omelettes, good strong coffee and his sleepy morning face is the cutest. We slept bum to bum for most of the night, except the few times I rolled over and he took my hand and wrapped it around himself, and it was warm and good until it was hot and not so I rolled back over.
I love my mornings at home, I’m not alone, but Panda sleeps past me by an hour or two and knows not to talk to me too much too early. I love her for that and a million other things.
Where was I going with this?
Oh ya, people pillows, cushioning and bad sex.
I bet you thought I would never get there.
So, after Cruz and I broke up t’was Mercury retrograde. And I have learned the hard way, specifically the loss of Gelfling, that nothing good comes of tryna date during retrograde. Especially no one new.
But, I decided to remind myself. Wide eyed and with zero expectations.
Drove to London and had hot, high school-esque make out half sex session in a park with a guy we now refer to as the Biter. He left teeth marks for weeks on my inner thighs because he liked hearing me squeal.
He skipped leg day and was a little too domineering for my liking. Dominant, yes, bossy, no.
No great loss.
Then there was the one who I shall now refer to as Coach.
He had been gently asking me out for I dunno, like a year on Instagram. I said no for a few reasons. He was 22. He was associated with someone I had been with previously and then there was the work thing.
But he wore me down and took me out.
And it was a fabulous fucking date. There was tacos and late night walks and he picked me up and dropped me off like a gentleman. He was bratty as fuck in a way that pleased and teased me. He bought me ice cream. Like seriously…one of those dates you see in movies.
A week went by, he was busy with work, all good. But I had an itch that needed scratching, bad.
Remember, I was used to getting fucked at least twice a day for months, and 6 times on Sundays.
I knew I was not myself and I needed a Snickers.
So, despite our having to get up early and getting home late, over he came.
And we fucked, and it was bad.
Like real bad.
Like I haven’t had sex that bad since somebody’s parents couch in a basement after a party in high school.
And we knew it.
He laid in my bed after and I not so politely said ‘you gotta go, I gotta sleep.’
I didn’t even walk him to the door.
Took myself to the porch instead for a smoke trying to make sense of what happened.
It was only then that I realized I was covered in blood from my navel to my knees.
I knew I could not possibly have been that wet.
So I texted him. Told him to not pass go or pass out and get directly into the shower. We had a good laugh about it aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I never heard from him again.
Since we are telling all the truth, I was worried about running into him.
I had shame.
I haven’t had bad sex in 4 years and I knew some of the blame was on me. I was cranky, tired, out of practice and had been with one person for 8 months, I had gotten lazy and I knew it.
4 years of brilliant sex with these young uns, starting with Young Un the first and his incredibly talented tongue. Reaching out and touching the cosmos with Giant between my legs. Gelfling playfully putting out a smoke I had just lit because he wanted more. Wolfling and Drogo with their raw power and finesse. The Hulk with his playfulness that matched his size and a rhythm that matched mine perfectly. Even the epic liar that claimed to be a virgin proved he was most definitely not a virgin when we banged.
Then this.
I didn’t even know what to do with this.
So I kept quiet.
Until yesterday.
He posted something on Instagram and I said “hey”. Not expecting a response. Not expecting anything at all really.
And he said hi back.
And I said no hard feelings for anything at all because “good god damn that sex was bad”.
He said “I know right!?”
We agreed that it really sucked extra balls because we liked hanging out. Which led to an invite for Netflix and chill.
“Started from the bottom now we here.” Drake
And here was a good place to be. New house, new couch, new bed and no pressure.
We talked, snuggled, ordered pizza, and to fill the time we fucked.
So much better. We had nowhere to go but up. He praised my blowies and kept saying how sexy I am, and I’m inclined to believe him for the simple fact that he’d already told a hard truth, and he stayed blissfully hard.
