What I needed was sex.
It had taken until today for me to realize just how long it had been since I had last had sex. My last relationship had ended over eight months ago, and there hadn't been any time for anyone to fill the gaps between now and then. For the most part I was fine with it. My body had needs, but I was mostly able to satisfy myself when the urge came.
But today was different. It wasn't the urge for release that I craved, it was the complete and utter need for
sex;
loud, rough, tender, emotional, dirty, sweet, quiet, ravenous, intense sex.
As soon as I had smelled Cassandra's perfume on my shirt, when I was alone and safe in my home, I knew exactly what I had needed, and what I had wanted. I realized that all of my frustration and anger I felt for letting someone, another woman—a strange other woman—so handily disarm me of inhibition, wasn't because I was angry; I was horny.
Why hadn't there been more? Why couldn't it have been more than the teasing touch of skin on skin? Why couldn't there have been lips, and tongues and hands; pressure from our bodies touching, lying naked together, her fingers once more stroking my hair—why hadn't there been so much more?
Sitting on a chair in my living room I looked through the contact list of my phone. It was a Thursday evening, so I figured most of the people I knew would probably be home. I scrolled through the list a couple of times to see what was there, and then chose.
Dan, a good male friend of mine that I had met when I was at the local college, seemed like the perfect choice. We didn't hang out very much, and almost never one-on-one, but that was most of my friends. More importantly than not knowing him very well, I knew that he had kind of liked me when we first met and probably would be willing to do just about anything I asked if I seemed crestfallen enough.
So I called.
Crushingly, he told me he was having a date night with his girlfriend.
"You have a girlfriend?" I almost yelled it through the phone I was so shocked. I hadn't even realized that he was seeing anyone, and a part of me felt awful for calling him, for trying to use a friend of mine like that. I tried, as smoothly as I could, to explain that I was perfectly okay and his being busy wasn't a problem, even though he repeatedly told me that if I needed something he could be there in a minute.
And it was very tempting to let him come over. But I knew if he came over, despite my best intentions to not jump him, I almost certainly would, and he wouldn't stop me. I would really like to tell you that I didn't invite him over because I consciously chose to take the moral high road; that I would never have violated my friendship with someone else at the expense of another person. But honestly, the real reason I didn't invite him over, knowing that he wouldn't stop me when I came on to him, was because I knew he was too sweet of a guy to not tell his girlfriend, and that would crush me to see happen to him.
After we hung up, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and seriously considered abandoning the crazy ideas I was having for a nice hot shower. A nice long, steamy shower would probably clear everything up that I was feeling. But as I thought about how a shower would feel, I imagined Cassandra there with me, massaging my breasts under the jets of warm water; kissing me under the steam, exploring every inch of my body as I did the same to hers.
Even before I opened my eyes I was looking through my contacts list again.
The next name I chose was Carl. He was, easily, the best looking guy friend I had and the only reason I hadn't called him in the first place was because he was almost always involved with someone, and very rarely was it the same person twice in a month. I let the phone ring until it hit voicemail and then hung up. Part of me really, really wanted to leave a message just in case he picked up later, but the small rational part of me that was still functioning said "leave no evidence".
I was starting to feel desperate. I don't have a lot of guy friends who fit the criteria for what I was looking for. I needed someone I was close enough to that I felt comfortable, but not so close to that I actually valued their friendship and would be devastated if one night ruined everything. I know that I am attractive in a comely way, and most of my guy friends, if I asked, would probably give me a night of passion if I asked (though to be fair, I think most women have that power)—but I wanted a specific type of guy for tonight.
I scrolled nervously through my contacts one last time and saw Bobby. He wasn't really a close friend, but, more than a year ago, we had fooled around a couple of times. I thought about it carefully, analyzing the pros and cons of our previous encounters. It was a long time ago, but I couldn't remember much about it, good or bad.
I shrugged. He would have to do. I dialed and it started ringing.
"Hello?" it was a woman's voice.
Immediately I began to panic.
Oh my God, if I hang up now she'll think he's cheating on her.
"Hello," I said nervously. "Is, um, Bobby there?"
"I think you have the wrong number," she told me. "Who is this?"
"Oh, thank God," I sighed with relief. "I felt awful! I thought I was calling him, and then you answered, and I didn't want you to think I was some kind of home wrecker, or something!"
She laughed and we talked for a moment or two. She told me she'd had this number for a couple of months and that she still got some messages and calls from other girls who were looking for someone named 'Bobby'.
Eventually I hung up, and sat alone. The black screen of my phone stared back at me, unblinking. I was locked in a staring contest with it, and it was there, looking at me, wrapped in its stupid purple case.
It was just daring me.
"Alright," I said out loud. "Fuck it!" I closed my eyes and scrolled wildly up and down through my phone, waited a few seconds and then pressed my thumb down on a random part of the phone, swiped and hoped I had called someone who wasn't my mother. I kept my eyes closed until the phone was pressed against my ear, careful not to reveal the identity of the person I had just called.
If it works, it's meant to be,
