coffee break

ne night stand. quickie. fuck and run. the kind that does not require a last name, or even a name. just a smile, nod and wink and boom! your bed, or his whichever is nearer and available.

hat is so casual about sex? letting that person in your apartment, giving glimpses on how you live. you walk pass the living room, complimenting the big ming dynasty vase you inherited from your angkong; trying to make small talk in an akward moment going to your room. inside, a perfectly made queen size bed with a hypoallergenic, 500 count egyptian cotton bedding and goose feather pillows you ordered online. sharing a bed with another person, in a confined space adorned with stacks of books you’ve collected your lifetime and tall zen lampshade wrapped in recycled paper with dried leaves and wild flowers. you locked the door, from behind he reached for your waistband, promising in your ear a goodfantastic shag while slowly working your crisp, white, italian linen shirt off your body. joni mitchell singing in the background from the day when you were reading your book of the week while sipping a glass of pinot, set to muffle the would be sounds made.  and it start, nibbling ear lobes, sweet, tender kisses that turned into passionate kisses, eager hands exploring each other’s body. all clothes are off, 2 naked bodies in unison. no pretensions exist between, only the wanting and lust. kisses led to moans, and to another, and to another until you reached pure bliss. for a brief moment, you showed this other person your most vulnerable; reaching your climax. lying in bed, sweaty against the cold breezes of the air conditioning unit beside the bed. you both get up, and started to get dress. the guy saw your pictures by the vanity of your recent trip with your boyfriend, hands wrapped around each other, kissing. he asked where it was taken while zipping. zurich, you said while putting on cologne from one of the bottles beside the stack of cds at the vanity counter near the armoire. in 2 minutes, both of you were completely dressed. making your way downstairs, pass the living room, to the main door, in complete silence. and he was gone.

ow casual is sharing a bed with another person? it’s difficult to tell, i can not speak for other people. the casualness passed at the time when you let other people in your life. when other people knows something about you, those small details that make you you-how you tie your shoe lace, your ref magnet collection, that patch of hair on your right thigh-you have crossed the line of being casual to, something more than casual. it’s iffy, he knows too little to be a friend but a lot to be just acquaintances; the in-between. but for most people the casualness of a quick fuck is not knowing the other person and the probability that they’ll never see them again. is that it? are we now reduced to wishful thinking of inexistence? haven’t that guy just gave you the best eff-ing of your life? to some, it’s perfectly sane to exchange dna, not names.

guess that is why i am still celibate. i will not be a notch on someone’s list. nor will i be a wishful thinking of inexistence. some people have casual sex because they can, to some it’s about living large. me, i don’t see anything casual in sex. only the illusion we want it to be casual that we believe it to be. smokes and mirrors.

listening to:
Affirmation – Savage Garden: Two Beds And A Coffee Machine