Never having had a one-night stand, I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect this. Plenty of my friends have experienced casual sex. They’ve always described it as a quick fuck, sometimes followed by a sleepover. Either way, they’ve usually said both people wanted out the door as soon as possible.
And yet, in this moment, I don’t want our time to end. Last night was amazing. River and I were together in a way I’ve never experienced before, not just the sex and the multiple orgasms, but also his constant tender touches, the heat I felt everywhere surging throughout my body, his softly spoken words, and just our utter awareness. I find myself hoping that he asks me for my phone number and we see each other again.
Wondering if all new sexual encounters are this satisfying, I try to keep in mind that Ben and I were together for so long that our lovemaking became routine; dare I say somewhat expected. I also remind myself I haven’t experienced a man’s touch in a long while, so of course my sexual re-awakening thrills me.
Knowing I shouldn’t be comparing Ben to River, I do it anyway. I thought my sex life with Ben was fulfilling, but after what I experienced last night, it seems like it may have been a little empty. I think about how wrong it is of me to compare this very much alive and breathing man to Ben, who is no longer here on earth living freely.
Am I always going to make comparisons to Ben? I already know the answer is yes. But usually anytime I compare anything to Ben, Ben is always better. If I make stir-fry, I think: Ben made it better. If I read an article in the paper, I think: Ben would have written it better. Now I’m comparing sex, and I know it’s wrong. I have to stop this wave of thinking. I have to remember Ben was my life, but is no longer here, but River is. I also have to remember River is someone I allowed to seduce me for the sheer pleasure of having amazing casual sex.
I’m failing miserably at trying to channel the casual sex, one-night stand mentality because continually scrolling through my head are all of River’s endearing qualities. Qualities that include: his sexiness, his charm, his concern, his playfulness, and his awareness—our awareness of each other, he of me, and me of him. Seems odd to feel this connected to someone who I may never see again. Even now in the lull of our aftermath, I’m absorbing the sensation of his calm and relaxed breathing, and I know he’s sensing my satisfaction.
Trying to make myself stay focused, I forcefully return my thoughts to the list of things I need to do this morning. Things that include: finishing the interview, saying goodbye to River, getting to the airport, and boarding the plane destined to take me to the place so far away from this bliss.
His attention is interfering with my plans. It’s challenging my ability to focus. Thinking about the way he reacts to me and interacts with me; the way he makes me feel like he really cares is clouding my judgment. But then I remember my Google search. River appearing just as attentive in picture after picture with different women on his arm and that brings me back to my original casual sex thought.
Sitting up, I attempt to slip out of bed but River pulls me down and crushes me to the mattress as he leans over me. “Where you going?” he asks, smirking, his voice sounding raspy, groggy from lack of sleep.
With an equally raspy-sounding morning voice, I smile at him and gaze into his eyes, while indicating first the bathroom, then the window. “To the bathroom and then to watch the sunrise from this beautiful view.”
As he nods his head in response, I wonder how it’s possible that someone can look even sexier in the morning. Then he kisses me softly on the nose and releases me. “Coffee or tea?”
Pouting my lips and furrowing my brows, I wave my finger from head to toe, pointing to my very disheveled self. “Do I look like a girl who drinks tea in the morning?” And for added drama I say, “And please God, don’t tell me you drink tea!”