Sexy Saturdays: The day she came over

Dudes! I am so excited that the coolest guy I know agreed to guest post today. Seriously. I really wanted a guy's perspective here on Sexy Saturdays and I thought, "Who? Who would be good to ask?" And one name immediate jumped into my head: TJ.

TJ of StudioEightOneSix is like the stuperstar whore of the Internet (he knows I say "whore" with nothing but love.). I think we met on the Twitter where he's a shameless flatterer and called me cool so many times my head burst. But he also writes pop culture gems and vagina-filled TV recaps over at MamaPop. But that's not all! (Tell them what they won, Bob!) He's also a kickass photographer. For realsies. If I was one of those people who got married or had a family or had some other good reason to get photographs taken and I lived somewhere near Kansas City, I'd totally hire him. You should too! 

In short, if you don't follow TJ, you're lame to the max. Read his blog. Follow him on Twitter. Like his Facecrack page. And then go see his photos. But after you read the best story ever: 

The day she came over, I was a nervous wreck. I hurried home from my fabulously mundane day job just in time to scramble a feeble attempt at picking up my ravaged single man shit hole of a home. Dishes? Done. Floors? Check. Clean room? Well, almost. It had to be good enough. She would be there any minute and I had still yet to jump in the shower to wash the stank off me from my cubicle. You know what I am talking about. That seedy office smell that infuses into your skin after 10 hours of sitting in a chair, staring at computer screen all damned day. As I kicked off my boxers and threw myself into the shower, I couldn't help the constant flow of enthusiastic nervousness that racked every single thought in my brain. "Breathe, TJ.", I coached myself. Reassurance was oddly comforting to me at this point. "This is just like any other date.", I quipped.  Yeah. Sure, buddy. You keep thinking that.

I could hear the parking brake engage as her engine shut off. She was here. In my driveway. At my house. We were no longer on neutral ground. No more dimly lit bar settings. No more dinner and drinks. Nobody to interfere with what we both wanted to happen. As I opened the door, I could feel my nervousness becoming more and more palpable. My hand shook as I reached out to pull the doorknob towards me. I tried to center myself as the door slowly crept open. There definitely wasn't anyway to go back now.

To this day, I have no clue why I was so nervous. I mean, I had been on dates before. I've had women come to my house before. Believe it or not, I was even able to actually have sex with a few women by that time. Seriously. No joke. With real, live women! But at the ripe old age of twenty, I was about to embark on my first sexual experience with a woman. Not some teenage, high school drama queen I had been so accustomed to in the past. But a real woman. You see, she was a full five years my elder. Being barely twenty years old myself, this was a whole new realm of sexuality I was about to cross over into. It doesn't sound like much now, but a five-year age difference back then was huge. Just think about being 25 again. What did you have in common with a 20-year-old? Yeah. Not much. Still, I was determined to prove her wrong. We did have a bunch of things in common. I knew we were totally into each other. The attraction was truly mutual.

As soon as she walked in, my nervousness seemed to subside a bit. I cooked her dinner. She watched and smiled as I clumsily prepared each item for her consumption. I was busting out all the cards here. Cook a good dinner for her? Check. Make her laugh? Done. Open some wine? Yep. You could cut the sexual tension in my house with a knife that night. I knew there was only one more thing I had to do to seal the deal. That's right, a back rub. What? Don't be a hater. It totally fucking worked.

Ah, yes. The good old "back rub" trick. It works every single time. Okay, so it only works when the recipient actually wants it to, but still. This time, it really worked. And? It worked really well. Before I knew it, we were in my bed. You could see our of socks, jeans, and her bra marking a trail back the living room in case we got lost. As nervous as I was, I was extremely confident in my abilities in the bedroom. I mean, I had done plenty of scientific research to make sure I was not a complete fumbling idiot with my clothes off. I asked questions. I listened to the answers. I took notes. Pretty simple logic, right? Up until that point, I thought I had thought of EVERYTHING that night. Well, almost everything. In my mad dash home, I neglected to stop to buy some good old-fashioned Trojans. Yep. That's right. Out of all the things I could have forgotten, it just had to be the condoms. Classic, TJ. Just fucking classic.

During foreplay,it fucking dawned on me. We have ZERO protection. What do we do? Do I do the smart thing and run out to get some? Do we cancel this wondrous sexcapade and hopefully reschedule for another night? This is where I would like to lie to you and tell you we did the completely smart thing. But as I just said, that would be a total fucking lie. I wish I could blame it on being young. But the truth is, we were both old enough to know better. Hell, we couldn't even blame it on the alcohol. We were both completely sober. We played Russian Roulette that night. We threw caution to the wind and played with fire. And oh boy did we ever. My mind was all over the place during this unprotected sexual event. What was I fucking doing? Am I being disrespectful to her? Am I disrespecting myself? All of that quickly left my mind as the endorphins rushed through my veins. Sex is just like a heavy dose of heroin. Your judgment is clouded. All you can even think about it the carnal pleasure your body is experiencing in that very moment. Nothing else matters. There are no consequences to your actions. It's just you and her. There is no reasoning involved.

I am not going to lie to you. The sex was absolutely fabulous that night. I mean, it was hot, heavy, and dirty. The best kind of sex. Afterward, we laid next to each other silently still. I could hear my dog barking in the backyard. I could hear her still breathing heavily next to me. We were drenched in that post coital sweat. You know the kind I am talking about. The kind that makes the sheets stick to your naked bodies. Yeah, that kind. My brain was just coming to grips with what just occurred. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to act. We both did that "sneak a peek" under the covers as if we were trying to figure out if we just did what we had done. We looked at each other, smiled, and feverishly began searching for our clothes. Apparently, modesty had found its way into the room after the drug like effects of the sex had dissipated.

All of the sudden, I lost all ability to function and communicate like a normal human being. I began to talk in nothing but sentence fragments, stumbling over my own choice of words and syntax. I could tell she was becoming more and more nervous as each minute ticked by. The small talk was awkward and painful. We made plans to see each other again. I should have just walked her to her car, kissed her, and told her I had a great time. Oh, no. Not me. I had to keep talking like I was possessed by a thirteen year old boy with attention deficit disorder.

And then it happened. I blurted out the two most wonderfully awkward words you could ever say to a woman you just had sex with for the first time.

"Thank You."

What. The. Fuck? Seriously, TJ. What in the fuck were you thinking? You just told her "thank you". Out of all things in your tiny, little brain you could have said, you said that. Fucking brilliant. You are a genius. All of mankind should look up to you now. The truth is, I wasn't thinking. I had no clue how to act after something like that. You should have seen her face as those words came spewing out of my mouth. I am surprised she didn't smack me or tell me to go to hell. Nope. She just looked shocked for a moment, then started laughing at me. Not with me, mind you. At me. Laughing at me. Whew. This I can handle.

To this day, we still laugh about that moment. I know for a fact she thinks it was one of the most awkwardly funny moments of her life. How do I know this? Approximately a year after that night, she married my dumbass. More than ten years and two kids later, she still laughs at the awkward things that come flying out of my mouth. So, what should you do the next time you find yourself hooking up? Try thanking her. Hell, it worked for me.