His Place Or...His

There are three things I love about one night stands: the excitement, the discovery and the utter irresponsibility.

And three things I hate about one night stands: the condoms, the next day, and the unpleasant surprise.

Which could be anything from discovering that he’s married and his wife is out of town; to his CDs are arranged and alphabetized according to genre, and the only ones that you’ve even heard of are things you’re not in the mood to hear. Or even admit that you like. Remember your answer from last time, when he asked what kind of music you like? “It depends what I’m doing,” you replied. And maybe I’m just weird, but I don’t like screwing to the sound of Patti Smith. “Have you got any Jem? Or Garbage?”

“No.”

Silence it is, then.

Silent and taciturn. A little reluctant? Uncertain, maybe? You return his kiss warmly but tentatively, like this isn’t something you’ve done too often in the past. If ever. It’ll warm up, of course, but he does the warming with insistent lips and tongue that demand some reciprocation. Yes, he’s still taking the lead and that’s how it should remain. Later, you can show him what you’re made of. But there are still a few hurdles he needs to leap first.

Where you end up depends on a lot of things. Who lives closest; who has transport; who has roommates. And there’s a bit of blind faith thrown into that as well. Do you really want a stranger knowing exactly where you live? Even though he’ll be somewhat less of a stranger by the time you say goodbye? Probably not.

But do you want to go back to a stranger’s house, not knowing anything more about him than whatever information he may have volunteered this evening...and the fact that he seems to spend his nights chatting up strange women, and then taking them home? Like I said, blind faith. Usually tempered by the fact that if you’re horny enough to be considering those options, it’s probably too late to back down.

His place. You can always run if it looks too creepy.

That awkward moment when the front door closes, and he’s undecided whether he should offer you a coffee, or rip your clothes off right away. The coffee is always the best way to start - it gives you the chance to quickly check out his home, to still that nervous voice in your mind that might be wondering where he’s buried the rest of the bodies, but is more likely looking for signs of recent female occupancy.

“Which way’s the bathroom?”

Instant coffee. Of course it’s instant coffee. Who wants to wait around for the percolator to perc? Couch or bedroom? He steers, you let him. He starts to undress you, you finish the job.

Three more things I love about one night stands. The first time my hand’s on the front of his pants. That split second of tussle with buttons and zips. And the knowledge, once I’ve done all that, that he is breathlessly awaiting my hand on his cock. Which is where I leave him. Distracted by a kiss, or a breath or a moan, my hands are on his back now, and if he’s still on his feet, he’s lurching a little as his pants begin to slide down of their own accord. He stops for a moment to pull them off. If you’re lucky, he’ll lose his balance a little, and that little giggle will bring you closer together.

A quick sideways glance as he tugs his briefs down. Okay, we have a winner. Except he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t have a clue that all you really want to do is grab that cock and pull it close, and then ram it into whichever hole feels it needs to be jammed full first. Because you have done nothing at all to indicate that. And why? Because you know, deep down, that he doesn’t want that either. Because this is where he wants to make a good impression. With the emphasis on Good.

Fact. (Or so I read some place.) More men experience performance anxiety with a long time lover than they do with a total stranger. Maybe it’s because familiarity breeds...not contempt, but maybe less of an urge to let everything go. Women are different. So long as the relationship is healthy, and the sex remains something you are both having fun with, the longer we’re with someone, the more fun things we think of to do. Guys tend to flip that equation around. The first night is the wildest, and the first night’s the one where he’s (un)dressed for success. And once flesh is on flesh, and his mouth’s on your breast (thank goodness for nipples - Nature’s own ice-breaker), his biggest concern is to convince you that he’s the greatest lover you’ve ever met.

Well, that and when would be the best time to slip on the first condom?

Not yet.

His lips leave your breast and he is kissing down your body. You part your legs just enough for his tongue to join that first finger in your pussy. Not too wide, though. But you let out an encouraging moan and watch as he adjusts his body more comfortably. Which, more often than not, will leave him stretched out head to toe alongside you, in the hope that you might be in the mood to reciprocate.

Which, of course, you are. But not yet. No less than during the initial courtship, no less than during the dance, everything needs to be taken slowly. The faster you respond, the faster he will go. His cock is close but not alarmingly so, and maybe you’ll reach out a hand and gently stroke, in time to the lapping of his tongue, or the insistent thrusting of his finger...or is it now fingers?

He moans into your wetness and shifts again. He’s moving closer, hoping for more. You’re inspecting the goods, making certain there are no odd lumps or lesions, that his hygiene is good, that there’s nothing untoward. And, of course, you want the timing to be right. Waiting for that moment when he decides that maybe you’re just not into sixty-nining, no matter how neat the meat may be. At which point you squirm and pull him over your face, and give that sucker a resounding slurp.