January 29, 2014

SEX ON THURSDAYS: (Don’t) Talk Dirty to Me

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Welcome back to Ithaca, everyone. I would pretend to be happy about my return to my lovely apartment far above Cayuga’s waters, but given the number of times I’ve almost wiped out from the slush on the ground and the number of hours I spent screaming myself hoarse during recruitment, I won’t even bother.

Coming back to campus, this column was certainly looming over my head. Originally, I wanted to write about the guy I was seeing over break (“seeing” used loosely) but decided to honor his request to leave him out of this. Given that he graduated and all his friends (including my brother?) still read this column I considered it a fair request. The question remained: If he was out, what was I going to write about?

Lucky for me, my quarter-life crisis solved itself last Thursday night with some flirty texts from a guy I had been interested in last semester. I was laying in bed having a sloth night (by that I mean I watched Scandal for four hours straight … don’t judge me), when all of a sudden a “want to grab a drink?” text popped up on my phone from said male. I was 99 percent sure he was hooking up with someone else and, considering he called me jailbait one night last semester (… I had to look that one up and apparently it isn’t a term of endearment), my response was the very typical “in bed watching TV, no drinks for me.” Apparently I’m trying really hard to pursue this whole SWUG thing.

Well, it seems he’s no longer hooking up with this other girl (exclusively, at least), and apparently I am no longer considered jailbait because he ended up in my bed as I finished the last six minutes of the episode of Scandal I was watching. Shortly thereafter all our clothing came off and — as my kind, understanding and nonjudgmental roommate put it — he began to “shake our house.”

My initial excitement about the whole situation quickly dissipated when he opened his mouth. There I was, giving him head, when “do you love sucking my cock?” came out of his mouth. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this. Should I stop blowing him and respond? Should I shake my head? Was I even supposed to respond? The whole situation was so confusing that an unenthusiastic “yeah …” came out of my mouth.

I figured that would be the end of it and the dirty talk would cease, but nope, he spoke again. “I can’t wait to fuck you so hard, I’m going to fuck you so hard.” At this point my thought process was: “Is that statement really necessary?” So I stopped giving him head and let himself turn his words into reality. The sex was great. Really fun, actually. But then … he kept talking.

“Can you handle how hard I’m fucking you right now?” Really. That happened. Yes, obviously I can handle it because I’m not screaming out in pain nor am I asking you to stop. In fact, I actually think I’m showing verbal signs of pleasure throughout this whole ordeal so WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING. But obviously all that came out of my mouth was a disgruntled moan to convey my range of emotions.

Well, I finished and he hadn’t. It was one of those all-right-this-needs-to-end-soon-or-someone-needs-to-find-some-lube moments when he began a very intense monologue about where on me he was going to finish. More dirty talk. No. I was done. The condom came off and I let him finish in my mouth. Finally, there was no more talking.

I am not saying dirty talk can’t play a role in the bedroom. Honestly, it can be really fun if both people are into it. But here’s the thing about dirty talk: You need to be on the same page as your partner and, honestly, it’s not usually appropriate for a first-time hookup. I don’t care if we’re friends, I don’t care if we sext — reserve your very aggressive dirty talk for someone you know is going to be into it.