Blog Mash-up

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There are many blogs I try to keep up with. I like to read local ones, mostly because the places and events are more relevant. I had this idea to try to mash up two blog posts to make a more interesting and hopefully funny-to-read blog post. I figured I like mash-up songs, why not mash-up blogs? These are two writers I’ve seen pop up on my blog reader, telling of a night of intimacy/sex.

Toward the end of the night, the blonde sidled up next to me.

“So what are you doing the rest of the night?”

“Heading home in a bit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Where’s your friend?” I inquired, testing both her willingness to bail on her sister as well as the potential threesome waters.

“Oh, we talked it out. I won.”

We sat Indian-style on the end of his bed facing each other. We looked at each other and sighed. After polite how are yous, he kissed me. I still love the first kiss of each day.

“I need extra hugs and kisses tonight,” I said. “It’s been a bullshit-y week.”

Oh. Stroke my ego a little more. And my penis. Penis first. I quickly closed my tab and dragged her back to my place. Upon disrobing, she asked me to put on a condom.

Madeleine and I had stopped using those things months back, and I tossed laundry baskets and ripped open drawers in an Indiana Jones-style quest to procure one, tearing through my room like a tornado through Tuscaloosa until I finally lucked into one under my bed.

“What about me?” he whined. His trip out of town did not go as planned. As soon as he got back, he told me that he wished he had stayed and gone to my game instead.

“That’s right. Tell me about your trip.”

I drunkenly failed to get the thing on. With no other wrappers in sight, I did a quick cost-benefit analysis between losing my erection and smudging the truth. I chose the latter. The girl was hammered too, and I gambled correctly. She didn’t notice. Which was great, right up until the end.

We sat there facing each other Indian-style at the end of his bed talking. He told me about his trip and all of its disappointments. As he told me about his flight, I extended my hand to his thigh to comfort him. He reciprocated with his hand on my knee. As he reached to scratch his neck, he laid his left hand on my knee so we were always in constant contact. It was endearing.

“I’m about to come.”

He finished his story and sighed. I sighed as well.

“Okay,” she said, nonchalantly, not understanding the circumstances surrounding the situation.

“So tell me about your week,” he said.

“Can I come on you?” I said, believing, since I hadn’t had a one-night stand in some time, that asking was the gentlemanly thing to do.

“Ummm, why wouldn’t you just come in me?”

Well, now, there’s a brilliant thought. Oh wait.

“It’s just so… bullshit-y. I’m sorry there’s not a better word for it. Nothing bad has happened, just a lot of little grievances that added up. The work thing I told you about, it’s been three weeks now and I feel like nothing is resolved. Ugh.” I leaned forward from my spot on the bed and stuck my face in his shoulder.

“I just, I want to come on you,” I said, sounding like a 22-year-old with a stomach-jizz fetish. She rolled her eyes at me — rolled her eyes at me while we were fucking — then looked away and mouthed “Whatever.” I paused, remembering to pantomime pulling off the condom.

He patted my head. Then he fingered my hair. “I like your pigtails,” he said.

My face was still buried in his shoulder. “You do?” I said muffled.

While we were banging in the morning, after daylight revealed a stash of condoms just sitting by the bed, I remembered I’d only been single for 14 hours after breaking up with a very unpredictable girl.

“Yeah,” he twisted one of my pigtails and flipped it around. I don’t know what it is about pigtails that boys love so much, but every time I wear them, they always comment on them.

Fuck. What if she comes here to reconcile and I’m here screwing a broad? That’s movie shit. But with each passing thrust, it became less a remote possibility and more a definite problem until I finally just pulled out, looked at the girl and said, “we gotta get going.”

It was closest I’ve ever been to sex without having sex; facing each other and talking in the manner that we were was perhaps the most intimate thing I’ve ever done with my clothes on. Pillow talk is different. With pillow talk, it’s usually late at night and there are no other distractions. You’re usually post-coital and naked and vulnerable to a degree.

She looked confused, moreso when I constantly swiveled my head while skulking down the hall. And she definitely didn’t understand why I exhaled tremendously when I pulled the car out of my driveway. I, though, completely understood why we didn’t see each other again.

The darkness of the bedroom feels like a safe veil to disclose your secrets. This, this was lights-on, fully clothed, plain-view, conscious talk. It was an act of intimacy without the usual gimmicks that compose the situation, which, in itself, made it even more special. The act of intimacy, without being physically intimate, can be so much more.

These are quotes from two posts by Meeting Girls on Metro and He Loves Me Not, I think you can tell who’s the bold and italicized wriers. . If you like either entry, take a look at their blogs for more!

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