(no subject)
Last night I did something I've never done before.
A little bit of background on me, for the uninitiated:
-I greatly enjoy the Los Angeles goth/industrial clubbing scene.
-I go out to dance, and rarely do I ever talk to anyone.
-I've been a fairly regular attendee for about seven years now.
So, I went out to a club last night, up in LA proper. I had talked a friend of mine into trying this club again, as it had gotten a bit better since the last time we went.
Arrived, hung out, ran into some people I hadn't seen in a bit, exchanged the usual small talk, and went on my dancey way.
Somewhere in all of this, I noticed a decently attractive, well-dressed man on the side of the dance floor. I think he was watching me dance, but I don't wear my glasses when I'm dancing so I don't really know. I terribly near-sighted.
But I noticed him. And thought to myself, "Well, why the hell not?" He carried himself well, had a lovely jacket on, seemed pretty self-confident, and had a glass of wine in his hand as he strolled around. This used to do nothing for me, I admit, but after having gone out with a perpetual wine drinker a few weeks ago, I've begun to find it attractive.
Unfortunately, last night was rather warm, so I was unable to dance as much without overheating. Fortunately, this meant I was out on the smoking patio way more than I normal would be, which means I was actually talking to people.
Yeah, I know. Me talking to people I don't necessarily know at a club. I surprise myself sometimes.
So I'm out on the smoking patio, sitting on part of the roof that extends down into it, drinking my water, enjoying the evening and the too-beautiful church tower a few buildings down. Without looking, I feel him considering me. I continue to sit, not even making eye contact in encouragement, looking at the sky, eavesdropping on my neighbors.
He walks in my general direction, then leans on the roof next to me and joins in the conversation of the people standing nearby. I am, of course, listening. If he's a dipshit, I'm just going to write him off and go back to dancing.
But he's not. Eventually, I hear him, for whatever reason, bring up the movie Grease 2. And I can't control the laugh that slips free. There's a scene in that movie where the main character takes his motorcycle for a leap over a pool at some college dance party... thing.
This man hears my laugh, of course, turns to me, and inquires as to if I've seen Grease 2.
"Yes. It was awesome. He jumped the shark."
Jumping the shark, for those of you not in the know, is a Happy Days reference. I'm not going to explain the episode (which also involves a motorcycle and a body of water), but when someone is said to have "jumped the shark" it translates to "epic win".
So it was a two-point reference made in this man's general direction. Because I'm witty and can do things like that.
That last sentence was a lie.
Anyhow, we start talking. Most girls, I've found, when they flirt, tend to be coy, overly sexual, and/or have lots of body language innuendoes.
That's not me.
My version of flirting involves as much witty, snarky banter as I can fit in. It involves seeing if the man I'm talking to can work with me, flow with me, keep up with my general thought process, if we can establish that connection. I like smart men. Intelligence is a turn-on for me. When you get a smart man who is also socially confident, and fast on his feet... you get the type of guy I normally go for.
It's really not as much fun without the banter. The teasing. The ribbing. It's my mating dance. Basically saying: "Are you worth sleeping with?"
Yes, I do engage in banter with platonic friends. No, it will never take the level it does when I'm flirting.
So we go at it. And I will admit that I overshot him enough times to make me go "myeh". But there were other times where it flowed smoothly, even once that caught me off guard for a second (quick recovery, though).
Please note that even though I was engaging in said behavior, I also did take the time to apologize for abandonment and go dance. I have to have my priorities.
By the end of the night, he was asking if I wanted to go grab some food with him. And trying to get my number. Which he succeeded in doing, because I wanted his. Not because I have some great urge to call him, but because I like the contact info of the men I sleep with in case I turn up pregnant or with some dread STD. Fortunately, I've yet to get an STD. (And, in case you are wondering, the only reason I would want to inform someone if I was pregnant would be because I believe that if I'm going to have an abortion, the father should at least know, and have some say in the matter. Not that I'd keep a kid at this point in my life. No way in hell.)
Anyhow, returning to topic at hand.
So I dance to the last few songs, say good bye to my friends, and follow him to a Denny's closer to the westside, where we both live.
Now this horrified me a little bit. We get to Denny's order food, receive said food, and he just tears into it. Like... no manners. Just scarfs it. Makes a mess, food everywhere. I inquire if he was a marine at one point. No, he wasn't.
It was a little disconcerting.
I'm not Miss Manners or anything, but usually my food makes it to my mouth, stays there, is swallowed, and I wipe up any messes.
So I'm a bit torn. Do I let the few hours of amusement we had go because this man cannot eat like a mildly cultured human being? That's awfully picky of me. I continue to debate this for awhile.
Eventually the meal is completed and we walk out to our cars. He does the usual, "So... what do you want to do now?" line. So unoriginal, so standard, so typical. Again, would've respected him more if he said, "Want to go back to my place and bone?" or anything along those lines.
Straight foward communication, people. Do you speak it?
I rock back on my heels a little bit, contemplating him, what I know about him. Do I really want to be one of those girls that hooks up with guys from clubs? Is it really worth the risk? He's not that attractive. (I'd give him a three here, by the by.)
So I basically tell him this. Except for the attractiveness bit. I'm not mean. And we talk about it a little bit, him tossing out various lines about does doing it once really count? who has to know? is it that bad? Standard fare. Just bounces right off me.
And then, of course, I start grilling him (in a friendly way) about his sexual history. His partner count, his experience, how often he's tested. He's so vague about it all, it's like pulling teeth. Eventually I get out of him that he's slept with somewhere between 100-150ish people, four in the last year or so, and that he was tested last December and turned up clean.
Myeh. I do admit that I like it when someone has slept with more people than I have. It makes me feel not so seperate from everyone else when it comes to sexuality, partner count, and desire. So that was nice. But I'm still on the fence about if I want to go home with him.
So after that awkward (for him) conversation, I decide that I'm going to keep talking to him until he either does something that I won't hang with, or until he makes the first move so I can at least see how aggressive he is and how he uses his mouth.
No, I don't mind making the first move. I do it about 50% of the time, if not more. But as I've said before, I get sick of being the hunter.
Eventually, he realizes that I'm not going to do anything. I'm going to stand there and think about it, chat with him about it, but do absolutely nothing. So he has to take initiative.
He does.
Oh, and look at that- he's a little dominant. Oh wait... he's a lot dominant.
After about fifteen minutes of grinding, biting, hair pulling, moaning, and general hijinks in the parking lot, leaning against his car, I decide that I could always use more dominant men in my life.
I follow him back to his place. A wonderful little duplex right by Venice Beach. He had amazing couches. Purple, lush, soft looking... I was so jealous.
After taking off my boots, I pad into the kitchen where he is pouring himself another glass of wine. I hate the taste of wine. I'm leaning on the counter, the lights are mostly off, and he slides between my legs, grinding light on me before setting his wine glass down on the counter, grabbing me by the hair, and pulling my head back.
As I've mentioned before... play with my hair, pull my hair... if I'm at all on the fence and you do it right- I'm yours.
So I drop my head back and let him go to town on my neck and chest. He's a bit rough and I love it, though I'm concerned about showing up to a friend's the next day with teeth marks all over my neck. I'm moaning anyhow, rubbing my hips against his, and he stops.
"You like it rough?" he asks me.
"Oh god yes."
"How rough?"
"Very rough."
"Meaning?"
"If you do it right, my body is your playground."
And I promptly get dragged back to his bedroom, most of the way by his fist wrapped in my hair.
A little bit of background on me, for the uninitiated:
-I greatly enjoy the Los Angeles goth/industrial clubbing scene.
-I go out to dance, and rarely do I ever talk to anyone.
-I've been a fairly regular attendee for about seven years now.
So, I went out to a club last night, up in LA proper. I had talked a friend of mine into trying this club again, as it had gotten a bit better since the last time we went.
Arrived, hung out, ran into some people I hadn't seen in a bit, exchanged the usual small talk, and went on my dancey way.
Somewhere in all of this, I noticed a decently attractive, well-dressed man on the side of the dance floor. I think he was watching me dance, but I don't wear my glasses when I'm dancing so I don't really know. I terribly near-sighted.
But I noticed him. And thought to myself, "Well, why the hell not?" He carried himself well, had a lovely jacket on, seemed pretty self-confident, and had a glass of wine in his hand as he strolled around. This used to do nothing for me, I admit, but after having gone out with a perpetual wine drinker a few weeks ago, I've begun to find it attractive.
Unfortunately, last night was rather warm, so I was unable to dance as much without overheating. Fortunately, this meant I was out on the smoking patio way more than I normal would be, which means I was actually talking to people.
Yeah, I know. Me talking to people I don't necessarily know at a club. I surprise myself sometimes.
So I'm out on the smoking patio, sitting on part of the roof that extends down into it, drinking my water, enjoying the evening and the too-beautiful church tower a few buildings down. Without looking, I feel him considering me. I continue to sit, not even making eye contact in encouragement, looking at the sky, eavesdropping on my neighbors.
He walks in my general direction, then leans on the roof next to me and joins in the conversation of the people standing nearby. I am, of course, listening. If he's a dipshit, I'm just going to write him off and go back to dancing.
But he's not. Eventually, I hear him, for whatever reason, bring up the movie Grease 2. And I can't control the laugh that slips free. There's a scene in that movie where the main character takes his motorcycle for a leap over a pool at some college dance party... thing.
This man hears my laugh, of course, turns to me, and inquires as to if I've seen Grease 2.
"Yes. It was awesome. He jumped the shark."
Jumping the shark, for those of you not in the know, is a Happy Days reference. I'm not going to explain the episode (which also involves a motorcycle and a body of water), but when someone is said to have "jumped the shark" it translates to "epic win".
So it was a two-point reference made in this man's general direction. Because I'm witty and can do things like that.
That last sentence was a lie.
Anyhow, we start talking. Most girls, I've found, when they flirt, tend to be coy, overly sexual, and/or have lots of body language innuendoes.
That's not me.
My version of flirting involves as much witty, snarky banter as I can fit in. It involves seeing if the man I'm talking to can work with me, flow with me, keep up with my general thought process, if we can establish that connection. I like smart men. Intelligence is a turn-on for me. When you get a smart man who is also socially confident, and fast on his feet... you get the type of guy I normally go for.
It's really not as much fun without the banter. The teasing. The ribbing. It's my mating dance. Basically saying: "Are you worth sleeping with?"
Yes, I do engage in banter with platonic friends. No, it will never take the level it does when I'm flirting.
So we go at it. And I will admit that I overshot him enough times to make me go "myeh". But there were other times where it flowed smoothly, even once that caught me off guard for a second (quick recovery, though).
Please note that even though I was engaging in said behavior, I also did take the time to apologize for abandonment and go dance. I have to have my priorities.
By the end of the night, he was asking if I wanted to go grab some food with him. And trying to get my number. Which he succeeded in doing, because I wanted his. Not because I have some great urge to call him, but because I like the contact info of the men I sleep with in case I turn up pregnant or with some dread STD. Fortunately, I've yet to get an STD. (And, in case you are wondering, the only reason I would want to inform someone if I was pregnant would be because I believe that if I'm going to have an abortion, the father should at least know, and have some say in the matter. Not that I'd keep a kid at this point in my life. No way in hell.)
Anyhow, returning to topic at hand.
So I dance to the last few songs, say good bye to my friends, and follow him to a Denny's closer to the westside, where we both live.
Now this horrified me a little bit. We get to Denny's order food, receive said food, and he just tears into it. Like... no manners. Just scarfs it. Makes a mess, food everywhere. I inquire if he was a marine at one point. No, he wasn't.
It was a little disconcerting.
I'm not Miss Manners or anything, but usually my food makes it to my mouth, stays there, is swallowed, and I wipe up any messes.
So I'm a bit torn. Do I let the few hours of amusement we had go because this man cannot eat like a mildly cultured human being? That's awfully picky of me. I continue to debate this for awhile.
Eventually the meal is completed and we walk out to our cars. He does the usual, "So... what do you want to do now?" line. So unoriginal, so standard, so typical. Again, would've respected him more if he said, "Want to go back to my place and bone?" or anything along those lines.
Straight foward communication, people. Do you speak it?
I rock back on my heels a little bit, contemplating him, what I know about him. Do I really want to be one of those girls that hooks up with guys from clubs? Is it really worth the risk? He's not that attractive. (I'd give him a three here, by the by.)
So I basically tell him this. Except for the attractiveness bit. I'm not mean. And we talk about it a little bit, him tossing out various lines about does doing it once really count? who has to know? is it that bad? Standard fare. Just bounces right off me.
And then, of course, I start grilling him (in a friendly way) about his sexual history. His partner count, his experience, how often he's tested. He's so vague about it all, it's like pulling teeth. Eventually I get out of him that he's slept with somewhere between 100-150ish people, four in the last year or so, and that he was tested last December and turned up clean.
Myeh. I do admit that I like it when someone has slept with more people than I have. It makes me feel not so seperate from everyone else when it comes to sexuality, partner count, and desire. So that was nice. But I'm still on the fence about if I want to go home with him.
So after that awkward (for him) conversation, I decide that I'm going to keep talking to him until he either does something that I won't hang with, or until he makes the first move so I can at least see how aggressive he is and how he uses his mouth.
No, I don't mind making the first move. I do it about 50% of the time, if not more. But as I've said before, I get sick of being the hunter.
Eventually, he realizes that I'm not going to do anything. I'm going to stand there and think about it, chat with him about it, but do absolutely nothing. So he has to take initiative.
He does.
Oh, and look at that- he's a little dominant. Oh wait... he's a lot dominant.
After about fifteen minutes of grinding, biting, hair pulling, moaning, and general hijinks in the parking lot, leaning against his car, I decide that I could always use more dominant men in my life.
I follow him back to his place. A wonderful little duplex right by Venice Beach. He had amazing couches. Purple, lush, soft looking... I was so jealous.
After taking off my boots, I pad into the kitchen where he is pouring himself another glass of wine. I hate the taste of wine. I'm leaning on the counter, the lights are mostly off, and he slides between my legs, grinding light on me before setting his wine glass down on the counter, grabbing me by the hair, and pulling my head back.
As I've mentioned before... play with my hair, pull my hair... if I'm at all on the fence and you do it right- I'm yours.
So I drop my head back and let him go to town on my neck and chest. He's a bit rough and I love it, though I'm concerned about showing up to a friend's the next day with teeth marks all over my neck. I'm moaning anyhow, rubbing my hips against his, and he stops.
"You like it rough?" he asks me.
"Oh god yes."
"How rough?"
"Very rough."
"Meaning?"
"If you do it right, my body is your playground."
And I promptly get dragged back to his bedroom, most of the way by his fist wrapped in my hair.