Sunday, June 7, 2009

Walking Out on Sex

So there's this guy that I kept running into at a local live band bar.  We danced... we chatted... we parted ways. Well, at least that happened a couple of times before I drove us to his house.  I didn't actually know much about him other than that he was undisputedly handsome and chiseled everywhere but in his mirthful eyes.  He was polite as I eased into his space and observed photos of his Navy buddies.  But it didn't take long for him to hustle me upstairs where his room of spare furnishings consisted of a desk, a fish tank, and a bed comprised of enough mattresses to make the top edge level with his groin.  

So clearly this was someone used to getting laid.  Excellent.  

I had been in a bad relationship, so mostly just wanted the guy to have some talent in the sack.  He was, in fact, technically sound.  But as I (eventually) lay on my back and he huffed above me, I realized I didn't want to do it anymore.  He had all the right elements:  intelligence, looks, kindness, good sense of humor... but he just wasn't for me.  So like most women in my position, I figured that I'd let him finish and start fresh the next day.

But then I had an epiphany...  Why let him finish?  Not once has a man ever made sure that I've come before we stopped having sex.  And if I'm letting him have sex with my body when I genuinely don't want to anymore, couldn't that be tantamount to willing rape?  Why would I do that to myself so that this guy, meaningless in my life, can be sexually satisfied?  So I stopped him, hopped the extra two feet to the ground, and said, "Thanks, but I'm done."  I assured him that his technique was fine and gave him apologies (that admittedly were more courteous than caring).  

Not surprisingly, he was incredulous as I dressed, looking for explanations.  What did surprise me was his dropping to his knees, grabbing my waist, and begging me to let him finish.  I suppressed a giggle at both the comedy of the scene and the giddiness of this power.  I left that house feeling almost as good as if I'd had a two-minute orgasm (I'll guarantee my gait was the sexy one in the Belgian study).  I now think every woman who sleeps with men should do this (preferably with a man that is inconsequential in their life); they should walk out in the middle of it and recognize how wrong it is that the sex act is always considered done only when the man has finished.  It will change her attitude about sex forever.


  1. Love it Dani, thanks! I will try that next time I sense that its all about him for him. However, that hasn't been my experience lately, as I am getting better at choosing better lovers.
    Your blog picture is so beautiful!
    Love, Sonia

  2. You're generally unpleasant.

    I know you'll brush off this comment, but still... Ew.