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Gooshy
by Sarah McKinley Oakes
The problem with casual sex is that it never works. No matter how many times I tell the hot young stud I've just picked up that all I want is a one-nighter, he starts getting all gooshy eyed at me the moment he comes. I'm lying there, all sweaty and satiated, wanting nothing more than a cigarette and a good book, and he wants to talk. Often, he wants to talk baby talk while cuddling me. If I'd wanted conversation, I certainly would have chosen someone with more going for him than nice muscles and perfect cheekbones.
And of course, when I do find someone who agrees with me that sex and emotion don't necessarily go hand in hand, they never believe that I feel that way. I once had a very satisfying time with some guy whose name I can't remember. Afterwards while getting back into my clothes I said "that was nice, we should do this again some time." Meaning, of course, if we ever run into each other we should come a lot and again fail to exchange phone numbers. He misunderstood and talked for thirty minutes about how I was getting too attached. I almost missed the last metro home.
The thing that pisses me off most, though, is that after I have some guy, he always acts
as if I've done him some big favor, sacrificed some major part of myself in the name of his pleasure. Big hint here guys: I like to come, if I've just met you, I don't care if you come or not. And the only reason I bother with you is I'm horny and never really mastered vibrators.
That is, of course, all only if I don't decide I like the guy. In which case he damn well better not act like it was all just casual.
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