Let’s all make love in Austin?

I am the queen of almost getting laid.

This happens more often than I’m totally comfortable with. I can be completely naked with a heterosexual male, ready and willing to bounce up and down on his cock like cocks are being discontinued…yet somehow, ne’er the twain do meet. When it’s an intimate coke and poetry party that transcends the physical, that’s one thing…but more often than not it happens in a casual encounter the sole purpose of which is getting both our rocks off.

Which leads me to the night before last’s events. I met Judd* through a mutual friend I didn’t know too well while walking down the street one day last fall. Despite the frumpy paisley carpet dress I was wearing, we exchanged “I find you attractive” glances. I told him I was on my way to get my car from where I’d parked it the previous night, and he expressed surprise, as people often do, that I have a car in the city.

“I know it’s kind of silly,” I said, “but I like knowing I can leave here whenever I want to. I get kind of antsy sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, flashing me a grin of boyish mischief.

I didn’t see him again until months later. My mom was visiting the city with her boyfriend, and I met up with her for a drink at a fancy Soho bar/restaurant. I ordered a vodka tonic, and the bartender asked me what kind of vodka I would like. This question surprised me, as the bars I usually frequent do not ask such questions. After thinking for a second, I chose Stoli at random. I am not a classy drinker.

One of the waiters caught my eye. Did I know him from somewhere? Or did I just wish I knew him? The apple-cheeked, thin, young fellow with the swooshy hair was grinning boyish mischief across the room at me. I asked the bartender:

“Is that guy’s name Judd?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“I know that guy!” I said, a little too enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah?” said my mom, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging, “just from the neighborhood.”

I tried to pay attention to what my mom was saying—the details of their trip, all the neighborhoods they’d visited, meals they’d eaten, jazz musicians they’d checked out—but I kept staring at Judd across the restaurant. When he came over to the bar, I said

“Hey, what’s up? I think you owe me a drink at Cheers.**”

“What are you doing later? We should hang out,” he replied, still grinning.

We exchanged numbers, and I could tell my mom was proud. The shy little girl who used to stay in and do homework on weekends had picked up a ridiculously smashable guy right before her very eyes.

A week or so of various “let’s go to Cheers” texts went by before we finally met up around 1am on a Wednesday. He told me he was going there with his roommate, so I brought my friend Beth*** along.

We arrived to find his roommate was the hottest wingman ever. All parties satisfied, the four of us set about getting completely wasted. Between tequila shots and Tecates, he told me he was from Austin, and moving back in two days to complete his final semester of college. I told him I was going to Austin in March, and he said I should definitely stay with him. He’d show me all the best places and get me good deals on drugs.

He then proceeded to talk at me for a solid half hour about the Russian literature he was studying, how great it was and why I should read it, and why UT has the best program around. Besides telling him I had also majored in English, I could barely get a word in edgewise. He didn’t even ask where I’d gone to school. I showed him my Yeats tattoo, and he hugged me awkwardly around the middle and told me it made me even sexier to him. I told him my aspirations as a writer, and he launched into a diatribe about why English majors are the best thinkers.

“Blah blah English blah Turgenev Foucault Yeats Dostoevsky Nabokov blah blah you’re sexy blah.”

Ok, I thought…he’s probably just drunk and nervous. I talk too much when I’m drunk and nervous, too. Not in this particular instance, but only because I couldn’t.

“Our library has, like, six Gutenberg bibles. If I wanna touch a Gutenburg bible, I just tell them I’m an English major, and they’re like, ‘here ya go!’” He mimed putting his dirty little hands all over a Gutenberg bible.

Dubious as to whether this was true, I tried to change the subject. It didn’t work. He continued to talk. Then he stopped himself.

“You’re probably totally bored,” and then he kissed me.

I don’t usually make out with guys at Cheers. I see it as more of a home base, a place to run into friends, start out my night, etc. But it was late and besides us, there were only a few older strangers in the bar. So I sucked face with him.

Eventually the bartender said “last call,” and the two dapper fellows insisted they’d “walk us home.” It turned out they lived quite near me anyway, and it was a mild night for January. We walked loudly and drunkenly, alternately pairing off into boy-girl and girl-girl pairs. The homo-social moments on this walk were pretty great…Beth hugged me and told me she loved going on adventures with me, and we laughed at the absurdity of it all. The boys embraced, punched each other, and communicated in some odd, screechy Texas language.

Back at my place I left Beth and Hot Wingman passed out on the couch in the living room and brought Judd into my room. He said some embarrassing yet nice things to me, like “your lips are so soft, I could kiss you all night.” But I knew that wasn’t what he really wanted to do, as he removed my shirt, bra, and pants with only a moderate level of booze-induced difficulty. When I closed my eyes, I felt like I was kissing him on one of those carnival rides that spins every which way at once. I was going to have sloppy, spinny sex with Judd to spirit him on his way to Texas. Giggity giggity.

He put my hand on his cock and I rubbed it for a while. He felt pretty hard, so I went to get a condom and he put it on. But no sooner did he get it in me than the entire operation went limp. It was like trying to fuck a water balloon. Not pleasant at all.

“Just wait til I get hard and I’ll fuck the shit out of you.”

He made me bounce on his water balloon dick for a few seconds, then,

“I’m so drunk. How about we do it in the morning?”

All I could think in my head was, EPIC FAIL.

He proved to be good at cuddling, but what use is that kind of closeness when you’re moving to Austin the day after next? I wanted to give him some quick and dirty lovin’ to ponder on the plane. I wanted him to spend the next two months anticipating the flash flood of fucking I’d bring with me to Austin. Perhaps he still will, but if I were him, I probably wouldn’t get that turned on recalling the girl I was too drunk to fuck. Embarrassment (assuming he was embarrassed) rarely gets one happy in the pants.

I managed to fall asleep with him touching me (something I can’t usually do), and dreamed I was out with him in bizaro-Williamsburg. I saw the poet from my last post sitting with his girlfriend on a bench across the street and got scared. I didn’t want him to see me with Judd, but was prepared to share a knowing glance with him, undetected by our current inferior lovers. Instead of acknowledging my presence, though, he started making out with his girlfriend, and I melted into the ground. This was dream number two in an as yet unbroken three-night string of dreams about him.

The next morning I was too nauseous to even think about sex. As Judd retrieved his clothes from various places and got dressed, I told him halfheartedly I couldn’t wait to visit him in Austin.

“Yeah, about that…I have to ask my mom…it should probably be ok, you know if you don’t have anywhere else to stay.”

I don’t know about you, but I try not to fuck guys who live with their parents.

He left without so much as a kiss, and I shut the door behind him cranky and horny, but a little glad we didn’t actually have sex.

Fucking impotent hipsters.

–Eve

*not his real name

**not the bar’s real name, but descriptive nonetheless

***not her real name, either…I’m going to stop doing this now. Just assume I’m changing shit around.