SHORT STORY: GDL DRIZZY
When we hugged goodbye (two hugs because we couldn’t decide if it should be more than a hug), it started to rain as if the Universe wanted to delineate an end or “washing away” of this experience. Experiment?
Jesus and I had only met four hours ago. I had come to Mexico for an artist residency. As a social worker in my “real life,” I had never found the time to paint in a way that I had aspired to. My goal for this residency was to explore what it would be like to push the boundaries of my typical palatable-to-the-common-viewer art. But then I thought, “Why stop there?” I’d push the boundaries of my palatable-to-the-common-viewer life as well.
Back home, I was always doing something within praisable limits. My current endeavor was studying for the LSAT because applying to a PhD program wasn’t enough, I needed a JD/PhD joint degree. A few years prior, for example, I got certified to be a yoga instructor instead of liking yoga and taking classes like a person who has already learned to love themselves and be satisfied. This is not to say that I do not thoroughly enjoy studying (and drinking tea with a good book cuddled up with my cat), but I finally realized, you don’t get a gold medal for being a grandma in your 20s. Why not do something crazy for once?! “Real” artists have wild stories. Fun aunts have wild stories. And being an artist and an aunt were the two things I did that made me feel the most free, regardless of praise.
Before opening my HInge app to change my location, I thought, “Do it for the art. Do it for the nibblings.” I was going to have my first hookup in Mexico. I had never had sex with someone I was not dating. Firstly, I thought it impossible to do without catching feelings. Secondly, why would I increase my body count for some random guy? Although, like many feminists, I found myself utterly repulsed by the idea of a body count, the concept of virginity, and the need for patriarchal societies to control women’s sexual pleasure and bodies. Nonetheless, I was still choked by these pervasive beliefs that held me since I was a mere baby girl.
In a moment of clarity, I thought, “I should only hook up with someone who has dealbreaker qualities for me so that I don’t catch feelings.” I’m such a genius. On a hunt for “Moderate”, seemingly very “Christian”, and/or not-living-in-my-home-city men, I found someone. Jesus.
Jesus was incredibly attractive. He had chai latte brown skin and thick, curly, silky Mexican hair like he lived in a conditioner commercial. He had a clean shave which is usually not my type. Men are uglier when you can actually see their whole faces. He was muscular- not too buff, just fit. He could definitely lift me up against the wall. If I’m going to do something as wild as hooking up with someone I’m not dating, it had better be the best sex I’ve ever had; so wall-pinning abilities were an important quality. It was astonishing to me how easy it was to be straightforward about what I wanted. He was totally down to just hook up and was also not looking for anything more. I had forgotten for a moment that people have hookups all the time, and only I would be offended if the roles were reversed and someone was asking me for just a hookup.
With that, our texting quickly led to sexting. Jesus first asked me about what I liked and disliked and made it clear that he wanted to respect my boundaries. I appreciated that.
No choking- who gets turned on by not being able to breathe?
A condom is a must
No tongue kissing; just lips- I don’t enjoy drinking someone else’s spit and having a wet face. Save the tongue for elsewhere on my body.
No feet stuff
No asshole stuff- for the life of me, I can’t understand the hype.
Don’t murder, kidnap, or rape me.
Once the “Don’ts” were out of the way, we were able to begin talking about “Dos.” He sent me long narratives about what he would do to me once we met in person.
As soon as we close the door, I’m going to rip your clothes off with my teeth. I’ll lay you down on the bed and kiss you, first softly, then hard and fast. I’ll start at your mouth and then make my way to your neck, then your boobs for a pit stop. There, I’ll suck on your nipples a bit before making my way to your stomach and then your inner thighs, teasing you a bit before I finally, gently lick from the bottom of your pussy up to your clit.
At this point, I was in my bed, under my covers, the light from my cell phone shining down on my face, as I blushed and felt my panties exit their drought. The experience reminded me of being a little kid and reading under my covers with a book light. But now, I was not a kid, and this was not a Junie B. Jones book.
It amazes me how being horny can cause sudden-onset amnesia. I had forgotten about my pure, perfect, low-body-count identity as a civilized woman who does not “hookup” with random men. I was now a savage beast who went out and took what she wanted. Like Westside Boogie, I was just a “nigga wit needs.”
If it normally takes you 20 minutes to cum, give me 10. After I finish making out with your pussy, I’m going to rub my hard dick against your clit and tease you by sliding in just the tip and pulling it right back out until you beg me for it. When I finally go all in, I’m not stopping until you cum at least twice.
Who even gives a fuck about low body count anyway?! Conveniently, my most feminist thoughts came to the surface. Body counts are just a tool utilized by the patriarchy to control women’s sexuality and I WILL NOT BE CONTROLLED.
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A few days later, I decided to visit the capital city, where Jesus was staying, to visit the art museum and the market. Hearing about the popularity of the culinary scene there also did not escape me as I boarded the bus for my one-hour ride. Tacos de papas and jamaica? Yes, please! On the bus ride, I listened to the audiobook of Man’s Search for Meaning. My cognition was flowing in and out of making meaning of the tragedy that was the Holocaust, and getting my back broke by Jesus. We had finally planned to meet that day and I was a little wary, just because men are always less attractive in person than their online presence. Accounting for the difference, I figured, he’d be fuckable, but not attractive or charming enough for me to catch feelings. Perfect!
We met outside of my hotel. Damnit! He was more attractive in person, and hearing him speak to the hotel staff in fluent romance language did not help. His skin was the color of desert sand and he smiled a smile as warm as said desert as he laid eyes on me for the first time and greeted me. He used his hand to push back the silky, black curls that had fallen onto his face and he reached out for a hug with the other hand. He was attracted to me too. I saw him sneak a glance at my ass as we walked to the store to get condoms.
We made conversation as if we weren’t nervous. Just two adults doing an adult thing. That made me feel more comfortable until we got to the store. This was my first time being in the store with a guy buying condoms and it was so embarrassing. Now everyone at the store knows what we’re up to. “At least they also know we’re responsible,” Jesus said with a chuckle. Whatever, let’s just get this done so we can go back to the hotel, I thought. And we did.
We took off our shoes and laughed at the pamphlet on the hotel shelf. It was a catalog of sex toys! Suttle. We thought, “What kind of place is this?” but we were too horny to care. As our giggles ended, I’m sure he made some corny joke about the connection between the catalog and what we were about to do. Then, he pulled me in for a kiss on the bed. We started making out. Not too much tongue- he remembered. Then, he started to take off my clothes and… well, exactly what he said in those texts happened.
I tried sucking his dick, and he let me for a few seconds before stopping me. Usually, when men say that they get turned on by pleasing me, they want to get head for longer than they give it, and they cum in 2 seconds. Nuh uh, not this guy. He meant it. He went back to eating me out.
We continued to play out the scene of the narrative he had written in the texts beforehand. He flipped me into different positions, me cumming each time before he flipped me into the next. Once we finished, he rolled over on his back, our chests rising and falling in sync as we took a second to catch our breaths. We turned our heads to look at each other and smiled.
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Clothed, we left the hotel and continued our only-in-rom-coms day. First, we went to the popular art museum in town. With the art being underwhelming, we got to know each other for the first time. Jesus told me about his career goals and his new apartment back home. I told him about what I do for work, my guilty pleasure of Whole Foods crème brûlée, and the subject matter of my paintings. He then shared that his mom is a painter and that sometimes they paint together. First of all, that’s what you lead with! Second, the thought of him painting with his mom was too endearing- another blip in the plan to not catch feelings. More inspired by the situation I found myself in than the art, we left the museum and continued walking through the city.
After passing hundred-year-old cathedrals and tripping on cobblestone streets, we arrived at the main market in town. At that point, we were speaking in Spanish only, which would continue for the rest of the day. Why wouldn’t we speak in Spanish for the rest of the day? That’s the more romantic option when galavanting through an old city with a drizzle in the forecast.
At the market, we got fresh fruit juice from one of the stands. I made the mistake of getting spinach in mine which was blasphemous to the middle-aged lady running the stand. She belted in laughter and made up her mind that I was a lunatic. Jesus joined in on the laughter. The lady even offered me ice to make it better, as if she felt bad that I had to drink the juice that I ordered. Jokingly, I offered some to the lady. Repulsed, she let out a gag-laugh combo and we left the stand giggling.
Settling at a restaurant for some late afternoon tacos, Jesus and I continued chatting, recapping the day. Jesus mentioned that he’d be in my city for a few days when I got back, for his friend’s wedding. We’d planned to meet up again for round two. But it wouldn’t happen. This story was for Mexico only.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the specific dates and as he did, his crumpled-up boarding pass fell out. I picked it up without looking at it and tossed it back to him. July 26th, Flight AM 2803 to Mexico with a stop at LAX- what I would have read if I’d looked at his boarding pass. While he checked his phone, I cupped my hands under my chin, wishing I could go back in time to July 26th at 5:09 am, when I first arrived in the city. Time was going by too fast and I’d sell my soul to rewind it. I wasn’t ready to go back home to LA. I still remembered my arrival flight number, which I set to a tune to memorize so that I could check the departure status boards at the airport. Flight AM 2803: ON TIME.
