Location: New York City
Highest education received: Post-graduate degree (eg., MA, MS, PhD, JD, MD)
Religious affiliation: Anti-Theist
How religious are you? Not at all
Sexual orientation: Mostly heterosexual
How many hookup stories have you here posted before? 0
The Girl with the Dragon Attitude
How long ago did this hookup happen? 2 years
How would you best classify this hookup? Threesome
Tell us about your PARTNER(S). What did they look like? How well did you know them, had you hooked up before? How/Where did you meet them? How did you feel about them before the hookup? She was exactly what didn’t exist. A model, tall and overly thin with short but shaggy platinum hair and the kind of hipster, boyish getup of skinny jeans, floppy knit cap, and oversized tank top that only works on girls that stunning and that lacking in “give a shit.” She was playing ping pong when I first saw her, aggravated, flailing with the paddle but laughing because there were obviously more important things in her life than getting this damn ball over the damn net. She was someone used to getting looked at but never looking back, except perhaps with a stay-away glare or a vague smile if she thought there was something about you worth being amused by. In short, she was a gorgeous model with a bad attitude, androgynous look, and—as I immediately found out from a friend who knew her—lesbian proclivities only. I turned to my significant other and said “Her. Maybe I’m crazy but she’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in real life. She’s the one I want.”
How/where did the hookup BEGIN? What led to it? Was planning involved? Who instigated it? As soon as I decided I wanted her…panic. I left the room. I spent the rest of the night watching her, as if subtly, wondering how in the world someone like me, a curvy strawberry blonde with a boyfriend, could possibly ever land a girl like her. I’m hot, but a girl like that would think I was a Barbie doll. Boobs too big, hair too flowing, boyfriend too close by giving me kisses and telling me that my sudden, all-consuming crush on this badass creature was adorable.
Yet somehow, after ping pong, the universe does what it occasionally does and aligned. Some of the people in our group knew her group. She was rumored to be in a terrible fight with her girlfriend. She was touted as being huge in Europe but more prickly and standoffish than an ex-con thirty minutes out of jail and dropped in a debutante ball. Something like hope glimmered but as the groups decided to move together to the next venue, my wheels continued to race. How could I…? Could I even…? Would she ever…? Basically I spent the night wondering when I could get this girl naked in my bed and what the hell I would do with her once I did.
Later in the night, long after I’d given up hope of getting more than bored and passing glances from her, I found myself sitting alone in our favorite lounge bar, utterly despondent that I had seen but not even been able to approach my dream girl. And then there was a voice, lightly accented, deep and dead flat, coming from the now-occupied chair next to me…
“So?” she said, sunken down in the next chair, knit cap still perfectly flopping around her shag of platinum hair. “So,” she repeated. “What the fuck?”
I believe I managed to blink. I obviously needed a reply, one that was crisp but witty, sexy yet natural, direct while still mysterious enough to convince her I wasn’t the silly bombshell she must have assumed I was. I basically needed the line of my life. I took a long, slow drag on my electronic cigarette, looked her straight in the eye and said, “The first thing I told my boyfriend when I saw you tonight was that you were the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life.”
“No shit,” she replied. “You’re not very fucking quiet.”
What happened DURING the hookup? What sexual behaviors took place (e.g., oral, vaginal, anal, kinky stuff)? How did you feel during it? Did you have an orgasm? Did your partner(s)? How did they behave toward you? Were they a good lover? What did you talk about? How did it end? Pushing into the darkness of my alcove studio with her in tow took a while, not because of any reluctance on her part (“Well??” and “So??” were her main contributions to our initial conversation in the bar), but because of my sudden and complete about face on the entire plan. In short, I decided I couldn’t go through with it. Yet here we were in my apartment some time later, my significant other having gone to our local bodega for the Diet Cokes and cigarettes he’d promised to bring us during our breaks. You see, the plan was for him to watch. Period. She had made it entirely clear during the negotiation phase that boys were NOT allowed to touch her. Not him, not tonight, not ever—we were all quite clear on that being her overriding condition for going home with me. He could come, but arms and legs and other body parts would be summarily broken and hitmen summoned if he tried to fuck her. We were fine with that. Well, in theory we were. In reality I was standing toe to toe with her in my kitchen, her swaying slightly as if egging me on, but me still in a state of complete adolescence. Should I kiss her? Like, now? Should I wait for her to do something? She was the aggressive, bad attitude bitch after all. If anything, my anxiety amused her. She swayed in my kitchen, staring at me, the same way she’d swayed on the sidewalk outside the bar, shifting her weight from foot to foot, staring me down while I stood stock still with my little clutch purse and little knocking knees. At one point during the negotiations I even announced that the whole thing needed to be forgotten and we’d do it another night. I basically tried to bail, but apparently it was way too late for that. She was bored, indeed was in a fight with her girlfriend, and for some reason was attracted enough to me or to the concept of a fling that she wanted in and wanted to make damn sure I knew that I had next to nothing to say about it.
“What,” she said in front of the bar as I fumbled and stalled. “Nobody’s fucking nobody now? Where the fuck is the fun in that?”
I’ll tell you where the fun in that is. It’s where the fun usually is: the anticipation. Spotting your dream girl and going to places in your head is sublime. It’s safe, easy, sexy, and guaranteed to have a happy ending. Actually going home with your dream girl is fraught with questions we rarely have answers to. “Am I as good at going down as her girlfriend? I wonder if she’d prefer the Hitachi or the g-spot stimulator. What if she, god forbid, is the strap-on type? It’s a nightmare when you think about it. For me at least. I wanted nothing more in that kitchen moment than to be my boyfriend—a sex god who always seemed to be able to have one conversation with a girl and immediately size up what she’s going to love in bed, whether she knows it yet or not. I could simply ask her such questions, of course. But, as she would say, where the fuck is the fun in that? More importantly, where was the feeling of confidence and conquest we’re all seeking, perhaps as much if not more than we’re seeking some orgasm itself?
And then she took her shirt off. She was braless, of course, and as heavenly as I’d known she’d be. Long, flat torso. Adorably pert little A-cups. She unbuttoned her jeans and shimmed them down to the floor. They stayed around her ankles, so she stayed where she was. And somehow, through sheer will, I stepped forward and kissed her. She kissed me back. This was actually happening. I won’t say that I was feeling much aside from the pounding of my heart, but I was doing it and it was (at least in fantasy-fulfillment terms) fantastic.
Which is when the front door opened and my boyfriend walked in, smiled his smile, and said something along the lines of “Well, well. What do we have here?”
The next thing I knew…
It’s what people always say when their memories get fuzzy; when a situation takes such a dramatic left turn that you’re barely keeping up, let alone storing away important details—because the details of that night are all so clear to me, except for what happened next. He entered. She put her shirt back on in a hurry. He told her not to pull her jeans back up and somehow she didn’t. She didn’t flinch. Or flee. They talked while I listened and, quite entirely, blanked out. But somewhere in their discussion a challenged was thrown down. A challenge accepted. Maybe she was watching the clock; confused by me; turned on by him. But the next thing I knew he was throwing her over his shoulder fireman style and carrying her across my apartment to my bed. The “how” and “why” of her letting him do it remains beyond me to this day. But you’ll bet your life I followed them and peeked around the corner, watching them negotiate new ground rules, breaking the old ones, crossing various lines because chances were good we’d never see each other again. We all knew that.
And then his fingers were in his mouth, wetting them. And then they were in her, doing about the same. I watched, wishing to god I was him but so happy it WAS him, working her like a puppet on strings, only with more care and connection. I knew how good he was with his fingers and part of me was relieved that she was at least moaning and he was certainly warming her up for what I now wanted more than ever.
But perhaps some things aren’t meant to be? Perhaps some experiences are meant to be exactly what they are, no more, no less? Either way, she squirted. And apparently she never had before. Perhaps we should have warned her that squirting was what he was aiming for; what he’s known for; what he’s very good at getting girls to do for the first time. And here she was doing it and having exactly the same reaction to her first squirting experience as I did: total denial. No I didn’t. What was that? That wasn’t me. Etc. I crawled onto the bed and said something reassuring, but she was having none of it. She clambered up the sheets toward me and away from the wet spot, still denying that she had let a man touch her, let alone that a man gave her a breakthrough sexual experience. She curled up into a ball against me and gave one more weak denial with a small, satiated smile before whispering, “No more boys, no more boys,” and passing out in my lap.
What precautions did you take to prevent STIs and pregnancy? Did you discuss STI history? Not necessary, whether we stuck with the original plan or given where we actually went with it. If intercourse had been had, there would have been a condom. (He did diligently wash his hands in the kitchen!)
What were your REASONS for having this hookup? My significant other and I had been together for about six months, with him following an “open relationship” model and me, by choice, no longer seeing other men (or women, for that matter. He had become my everything and I was quickly becoming his). In a step toward opening up the relationship together, we had decided to explore having threesomes—and, as it turned out—this ended up being our first threesome in what was to be a long and very wild summer. The hookup might not have turned out exactly the way I wanted (I mouthed the words “Thanks a lot!” at him as she slept in her little ball against my legs that night), but it was a turning point for us in terms of my comfort level with approaching girls, wrapping my head around the jealousy issues, and deciding whether this threesome thing would “work” for us, as a couple. And boy does it ever.
Were alcohol or drugs involved? If so, how much? There were likely a few too many drinks on her part, but we are very careful about making sure that girls we take home for threesomes don’t get drunk for the sake of courage and end up with buyer’s remorse. She might have felt “remorse” of a kind, but her nonchalant mood in the morning didn’t leave us with the feeling that she had major regrets. The denial remained in place (she was reminded of the squirting but changed the subject to her missing panties), but we certainly didn’t feel like we crossed a line she wasn’t a grown up enough to handle.
What happened AFTER the hookup? How did you feel about it? What are your expectations/hopes for the future with this person? How do you feel about them now? Aside from a few Facebook exchanges, we never spoke to her again. We reached out several times and I ended up feeling like a bit of a stalker in my attempts to get her to give us another shot. Either she had made up with her girlfriend or she wasn’t willing to risk another experience she felt out of control of. Occasionally I’ll be sitting at the nail salon with a magazine and will turn a page to find her staring back at me from a fashion ad, which is trippy and fills me with a vague sense of pride. “We landed that. Even if just for one semi-botched night!”
To whom did you talk about the hookup? How did they react? Everyone I could find. I talk about her to this day as the one that got away and the one that, ironically, led us to find our correct pathway, which is specializing in taking home straight girls who have never tried girls or had a threesome before. Our rule, somewhat established that night with her, is that any girl we take home together needs to be into both of us. It still doesn’t always work out that way, with straight girls very often getting nervous with me and me stepping out of the encounter for their comfort level and enjoyment. But overall it works for us. And, because of us, a fair number of straight 22-yr-old girls in the city now know that they can squirt.
Was this a consensual and/or wanted experience for you? For your partner? See above—lots of nervousness on my part, but certainly consensual on everyone’s part despite her “No more boys” freak out after the fact.
Do you regret this hookup? If so, why? Not at all. My boyfriend still claims that I fooled around with her more than I remember!! If I regret anything it’s those missing details…hmmm…one will never know.
What was the BEST thing about this hookup? How about the WORST? Has this hookup changed the way you think about casual sex, sexuality, or yourself in general? The best thing was the doorways it opened up in my head, the bravery I started establishing, and the fact that I still have her in my memory bank as a subject of fantasy. The worst thing was that I didn’t know then what I know now. Given another shot at my Girl with the Dragon Attitude, I like to think I could hold my own, get involved, and perhaps leave my boyfriend to sit back and watch the action like he was supposed to in the first place.
Would that be breaking our own rule about the girl needing to be into both of us? Maybe.
Would she be worth it? Absolutely.