A casual encounter--seriously! Part II

The Internet is full of sex. That's what it's for. But can you use it to actually get some? That was my experiment. And when I last left off (Part I) I had seemingly missed my chance. I had meant to post part II right afterwards, but I've been far too busy having sex. And while Katie is a pretty good sport about most everything I've subjected her to, she's pretty adamant about me not blogging during sex. I can't even briefly check my mail on the laptop while she's going down. Consequently I've had to chose between the internet and sex, and while there's rapidly less and less that the internet can't replace, I'm less optimistic in my waiting on my 1990's promise from Dennis Miller:

Scientists estimate by the end of this century, via the means of virtual reality, a man will be able to stimulate making love to any woman he wants through his television set. You know, folks, the day an unemployed ironworker can lie in his BarcaLounger with a Foster’s in one hand and a channel-flicker in the other and fuck Claudia Schiffer for $19.95, it’s gonna make crack look like Sanka, all right.

Kinda makes you want to sing along with Conan O'Brien, "In the year two-thousand..." Damn scientists had better get cracking, as the demand curve for the Claudia Schiffer market get's a touch slimmer every year. Anywho, sex, craiglist, the promise made complete...

Sunday, February 12 I wake up mid-morning after having gone out to a bar for a casual encounter that did not come to pass. I finish up the last 20 pages of "Life of Pi" and trying to decide whether there's something compelling me to get out of bed. There really isn't, but I'd drug my laptop to bed with me the night before to write Katie her apology for having inadvertently stood her up. So I decided to check to see if I got a response. For better or worse I had. It was neither forgiving nor accusatory nor reconciliatory nor anything useful. It was in summary this:

This is getting vaguely ridiculous and we need to either meet in person to decide if there's enough of a spark to actually fuck or stop emailing altogether...

Not exactly the most flowery of erotica and a strange ultimatum to say the least. But who am I to pick a fight at this point. She continues:

Ideally what will happen is you'll call before 11:00, I'll give you directions to my apartment, we'll meet, joke around, the sexual tension will be palpable, we'll fall into bed for a while, and I'll still have time to go to my meeting.

The only way to make a casual sex ultimatum hotter and less stressful is to impose a deadline. But the ideal, as described, is what happened. Well, more or less--but as far as unrealistic ideals go, I'd say we came reasonably close. Okay, she did miss her meeting for one, but let me back up...

The plus side to meeting your potential insignificant other during the daylight is, as Katie pointed out, that CSI cases don't take place during the day. The downside, as became glaringly apparent throughout our encounter, is that the goddamn sun is shining. Now I don't know what your experience with blind dates is, but there is virtually nothing you can do to get around the fact that it will be really awkward. This was the first time for me to be on a casual encounter (well, a planned one). It was her first blind date ever. So how do we meet? I have to phone her to come out to my car because the visitor code on the gate won't work and then drive her in the Ohio cold back to her apartment. Really hot.

So we're sitting on the couch discussing Ohio politics, what we want to be when we grow up, and generic small talk. It's fun, but palpable sexual tension doesn't quite describe it. Again, the daylight didn't help. Then there's the issue of the fact that we were completely sober. Don't get me wrong, Katie's a cutie and I'm... uhm, fairly tall.

Unable to block out the sun, we attacked problem #2 with shots of cheap vodka while we talked. Aside from the problems aforementioned we were developing another one; we sorta liked each other. Not a liability, per se, but not very conducive for casual sex. Time was running out as her meeting for work was looming. We were very awkwardly cuddled on the couch and on our third shot of vodka. I'm not quite sure the direct quote, but her sentiments were something to the effect of "this is as drunk as I'm going to get, so this is your last chance to make anything happen." I think I flinched, or maybe was trying to get comfortable on the couch. Whatever it was, she was moving my way, so we hit face to face and started making out.

Not to "yada yada yada" through the sex, but it's not as if anything ever works well enough to commit the script to memory. It was good fun: nervous anticipation of kissing, stripping a partner's layer, kissing some more, repeat until naked. Nothing kinky, nothing to throw anyone for a loop, nothing out of a traditional order, and nothing that would cause anyone to flip out. That said she only flipped out a little.

She was, by her own admission, fearful of anal sex. Fair enough, it's never really appealed to me either. But now it appeared to extend to an entire fear of me catching a glimpse of her butt. Oh well, a few little quirks are cute. Anyway, we were having sex missionary position, the theme of the afternoon being nothing that would offend the sexual sensibilities of a devout Catholic (other than the random hook-up of two people who'd formally met 90 minutes prior). At some point however, she'd suddenly hit her limit and threw on the brakes mid-coitus. Not that the sex was bad, or at least that wasn't her complaint, but had just sobered up too much and was dismayed by the ridiculous situation she'd found herself in. (I would later find out that she'd finished off 1/3 of a bottle herself before I'd opened the door.) We stopped short, put on some pants (our own pants even... still keeping things customary), and went back in the living room to see what we could make of the mid-afternoon.

Sobered up and settled down, we decided that the sex was at least as fun as it was awkward, we liked each other's company, and that we weren't bothered with love or marriage or commitment. It was thus agreed that we should try our hand at the casual encounter thing again, and maybe mix it with date or something similar.

So is it a craigslist fairytale? Didn't quite fit the casual encounter ideal, but I'm counting it as a success story. Not only that, but one to be continued...