I discussed with my girlfriends the possibility of me going home with Guy from high school. It was a big decision, quite possibly a moral dilemma. It would be my first post-separation sex…and my first time having sex with someone other than my husband. So I said in a hushed voice, “He wants me to go home with him. Should I?” And they whispered loudly, “Yes!” Decision made. Moral dilemma averted.
We got in his car and I have no idea why but I told him, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. But I was kind of a nerd.”
He said it was okay, but was he really gonna get upset when we’re on the way to his house to take a disco nap? I don’t think so. So we got to his house (which was actually his mom’s house because he lived with her, but she wasn’t there) and he opened the door for me, picked me up, and carried me up the stairs. He carried me up the stairs! If I hadn’t already decided to put out, that would’ve made my decision for me. Does it get any more Rhett Butler than that?
We got to his room and clothes started flying off and there was a lot of kissing. And then for the next two hours I proceeded to have the best sex of my life…twice. Granted, he was only the second person I’d ever had sex with (I don’t count the unsuccessful attempt in high school, if it doesn’t go all the way in, and nobody finishes, it’s not sex). I was with my husband for a total of 10 1/2 years; there was a lot of sex in that time period. But it was never like this. I didn’t know sex could last so long! I didn’t know I could bend into so many positions! I didn’t know there were so many positions.
I ended up staying the night and when I got home and my parents asked how the party was and what time I got home because they didn’t even hear me come in, I told them I stayed at my friend’s house. I realize that I’m a grown woman and they weren’t checking up on me or going to scold or punish me, but that was, like I said, my first post-separation sex and it had only been a month. I felt a little slutty. But I didn’t regret it. I went back for seconds. And thirds. I eventually called him my three-night stand guy, but my friend told me that more than two times makes it a “fling”. I like that because a fling sounds way less slutty than a three-night stand.