We drunkenly hooked up on a washing machine at a house party after knowing each other for 20 minutes.
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My parents left to pick someone up at the airport, and having already discussed the possibility of losing it to each other, Christian and I took an empty house as the perfect opportunity. It was a moderately awkward experience, although it could have been worse; we thought we were in love, and we were as good to each other as we knew how to be. We dated for over a year, and I didn’t get off once.
Mike, also on the list of men I’ve loved, opened my eyes to a lot of things, including having orgasms with other people present. He was a great communicator, gave great instructions, and to this day, I credit him with my ability to talk openly about sex. We loved each other in the naïve, passionate way that only people who date in high school and continue the relationship well into university can. We fought often, and ultimately weren’t right for each other, although we regularly spoke of a future together.
Also known as my first one-night stand, or “that random guy at that party one time.” We drunkenly hooked up on a washing machine at a house party after knowing each other for 20 minutes. My main motivation was to make one stupid choice the week before my 20th birthday, and he was more than happy to oblige. Against all odds, we ended up friends, based solely on a similar class schedule and the fact that I was a good writer willing to edit his horrifyingly bad papers.
One of my best friends, and after years of finding each other attractive solely while intoxicated, we slept together after one too many Coronas on his balcony. It had been a long time for me, and while the making out was great, bless his heart, he had no idea what he was doing. It was awkward for months, and we still make out sometimes at parties.
After agonizing for weeks about whether I should pick the “perfect” guy or the “hot” guy to date, I chose the hot guy: Chris. He taught me that killer abs don’t actually make for great sex by themselves, praised my blowjob skills, and still tells mutual friends that it was a surprise when he came on my face. It wasn’t.
At one point, I thought Adrian was the love of my life. We met while I was on exchange in Australia, lived together briefly, and had fantastic sex. Like, dirty hot sex. I almost moved to Australia to stay with him, but that was the biggest lesson Adrian taught me: I don’t have to give up the rest of my life for love. I moved back to Canada, and we didn’t speak for a very long time, at his request.
I could easily not have slept with Brett. He was a rebound lay after Adrian, and insisted it was my choice whether or not we had sex. Drunk and tired, I suggested sex because it seemed like the easiest way to get him off, although I ended up going down on him for the grand finale anyways.
We had been friends for years, solely due to mutual friends. We found ourselves single, attracted to each other, and intrigued at the possibilities. We slept together exactly once, after I went to his house to “watch a movie.” Let’s just say he was an awkwardly skinny guy, and the experience was underwhelming. To his credit, we were never awkward with each other, and he brought me as his platonic date to a formal event later that year. An event where I sat next to Robin.
I really thought he was it for me. Which, in retrospect, is ridiculous. We were good together, but never great, and it was mainly thanks to my efforts to make it so. He rarely got off, due to his very specific masturbation habits, and was silent when he did. Silent. Eventually, Robin got a job offer out of town. I was willing to go with him, having clearly not learned my lesson with Adrian, but Robin turned down my offer with the always-classy, “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
Currently, I’m facing an imminent perfect guy versus hot guy decision, so hopefully I’ve learned something along the way. Maybe the knowledge that good abs do not equal good sex will help.