The last one night stand I ever had happened in North Carolina. I know. Fancy. I say
“last one-night stand” but maybe I should have said “third and final.” I grew up in
Georgia. I’m a prude and I’m not ashamed of it.
I was at a line dancing bar and met a guy. We were having a great time and I decided to invite him back to my hotel. I knew I was leaving early the next morning so if it was awful I would never have to see him again. Come to think of it, maybe this was incentive for him as well. We had been drinking all night so the sex was not good. And by not good I mean it was hard to even get going. I can only compare it to having sex with a wet noodle…if it wasn’t wet…or appetizing. After desperately trying to get him aroused I gave up. And so did he. Even though he never even tried to actually please me. Not going down on me was a real testament to his investment in my happiness. But he was a good kisser and I figured that was good enough. I had to be up at 5am to leave for the airport so I snuggled in to his chest and attempted to get a few hours of sleep (dreaming of my vibrator at home).
At 5am I grabbed my suitcase and left the hotel room. I told him it was nice to meet him and to just leave the room when he woke up. As I was making my way through airport security I saw something that, to this day, I still can’t believe I saw. I saw my guy, my lackluster one-night stand, running into the airport.
When that happens several things go through your mind. Is he here for me? Does he have a flight too? Did he lie about who he was? Does he love me and this is my
Jennifer Garner romantic comedy moment? Is this how our story begins? Does he
want to have sex with me now that he’s sobered up and prove that he can get a hard on? Do they even allow erect dicks through airport security? I know they allow
vibrators. Why didn’t I pack mine? Those were just a few of the things running through my head. So I did what any woman would do, I ignored it and pretended like it wasn’t happening.
As I was putting on my shoes and taking my luggage off the belt, the TSA agent said, “ma’am this man would like to speak to you.” He looked at me and I looked at him. I thought, “what do I say if he asks me to marry him? Does he even know my name? Because I certainly don’t know his.” Mostly because I never had a chance to cry it out during the dry heat of passion.
I braced myself for his testament of love. He took a deep breath, looked me in the eyes and said, “did you steal my wallet?”
Your brain can’t go backwards that fast. It’s very difficult to put a car in reverse when you’re going full speed down a highway hearing wedding bells. “Open your suitcase,” he said. I was in such shock I complied.
This man didn’t want to marry me. He didn’t love me. He thought I was a prostitute. A poor prostitute. That stole his wallet after I couldn’t get him off. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t charge me” he must have thought. How dare you! I bought the drinks at the bar mother fucker! You owed me at least one orgasm. I didn’t even get half an attempt.
I finally snapped out of it. “Listen dude. I know we don’t know each other very well. Or at all. You don’t know who I am or what I do, but I’m doing ok. I’m successful. I don’t need $7 and a Which Wich loyalty card. So you need to get your hands out of my bag and your face out of my sight before I take my own wallet and stick it up your ass. Your very fingerless ass.” He left.
I couldn’t believe it. I also couldn’t believe how quick he got to the airport. He was no less than five minutes behind me. He went from zero to “stole my wallet” faster than he normally cums while watching stepdaughter porn (I can only assume).
Anyway, there was actually $10 in the wallet so I got to buy a meal on the plane. All
wasn’t lost. And at least the “sex” was finally worth it.
The moral of the story is, bring your vibrator when you travel. It’s a cheaper date and always worth going home with.