Transplanted Life
Thursday, November 13, 2003
Gave the "not just sex" thing a shot
Don't know as it's for me, at least as long as I'm in this body. Not that I've got a lot to judge by, of course.

It started, as most Wednesday nights should, with a trip to the Allston Cinema for some bad kung fu. Jen & Carlos met me there, this being the first time her boyfriend has come along for the Ass-Kicking. The movie itself was... well, dreadful in every way except for the fight choreography. What was even funnier was that it was set in San Francisco, and even filmed there, but apparently even the Americans couldn't speak English.

At the bar afterward, I advanced the theory that even the black and white people in this movie were actually Chinese guys who has been somehow transformed into other people or had their brains swapped, which made Jen and Carlos and Hamish laugh. "Under normal circumstances," Hamish said, "I'd say that's impossible, but after seeing that..."

(Hamish had joined us when noticing that Jen & Carlos were doing the couple thing where a third person starts getting ignored, and that the third person was built like... Well, like Michelle Garber. He'd been one of the other ten people at this woefully-underattended screening of Dragon Fight.)

After a while, Jen and Carlos had to go home, but Hamish and I hung around. His Scots accent never got nearly incomprehensible, so I guess he has a pretty good tolerance for alcohol. Sometime around eleven-thirty, he said he probably should go home, but I suggested that my place was only a short walk.

He wasn't the champion sexual athlete that Steve was, but he did all right. Steve and Kurt had both spent a lot of time on my breasts, and that's understandable - they are sort of the feature attraction - but Hamish almost completely worked around them until the suspense was killing me. Really, a bit too long, like he was trying to prove how not-shallow he was, but I'm not sure you should be trying to prove something in the sack - just do the stuff, you know?

When I woke up in the morning, I was kind of disturbed by his presense. Not shocked, like I'd blotted the night before out. I wasn't disgusted by him as a man or individual. Nor is it some self-esteem thing, where I can't believe someone would avoid bolting as soon as possible. More that I realized I'd brought him to my place without knowing much more than that we liked the same kind of bad movies. I'd been pretty careful Friday to make sure we spent the night not-at-my-place, so that I could just vanish, not having to worry about someone getting attached. And there's a safety thing; even Hamish has a few inches and thirty pounds on me. If I misjudge and pick up a psycho (and I doubt I inherited any sort of woman's intuition), I don't want him finding me, especially if he reads this and feels like he's done something distasteful.

But, there I am, stuck with Hamish knowing "my" name, address, and birthmarks. I get showered and dressed, then poke him, telling him I've got to head for work. He doesn't quite get the hint of me trying to push him out the door, and asks what I'm up to tonight.

I waver. I've got what I feel are perfectly good reasons for not getting attached right now, but two one-night stands in one week is unusual for me even under the best of circumstances. Besides, he seems like a nice guy, and at this point I'm not sure which is the bigger departure for me - the dating men or being promiscuous in general. I say, sure, I'll meet up with him after work.

Long story short, it's not fun. We meet some of his other grad-school friends, and they're all talking geeky stuff that I'm relatively conversant in and I actually enjoy talking about, but...

It's the way Hamish acts. When he's talking, it's never about something that I've said. And from the way everyone's wink-wink-nudge-nudge-saynomore-ing, it's pretty clear he told them what we'd done last night, and is doing nothing but showing me off.

After about an hour, I decide I've got to get into work early and take my leave. Hamish follows me to the door, asking if I'm free any time this weekend. I tell him that I had fun last night, and I'm not ashamed by the sex at all, or even really by the showing me off, but be straightforward about it - don't bring me into a social situation and treat me like an ornament. It's just a waste of my time that could be used for something better.

He, of course, says I've got some ego to think he was showing me off, but that's to be expected. I let it go, but he starts acting like we've got some kind of obligation, and I just walk to the subway.

What it comes down to, right now, is this - I like sex, more than I expected. Maybe it's because, even though guys and girls get the same lectures in health class, women also grow up with the message that sex has more consequences, and it's something they "give up". Not to say guys see sex as something to be taken - there are a lot of men with that attitude, but most learn better - just that the world gives guys more of an "enjoy the orgasm for what it is" message than it does girls. And right now, I'm still enjoying the orgasm, especially in the plural. I'm not comfortable enough with the social aspects to enjoy the games that go on around it, and I don't think that makes me any of the things Hamish called me. It just means I like sex but don't want to get attached, and I'll have to remember to be clearer on that if the opportunity arises again.

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