I have a long standing issue with impulse control. By that I don’t mean that I find myself unable to control my desires. I mean that I understand exactly what I’m doing, I know that I can stop at any moment, I know there are consequences to my actions. But, frequently, I’ll just go ahead and do it anyway. This trait frightened me when I was going through my sexual exploration phase.
When I say sexual exploration, what I mean is cheating on Alex. I was a fairly attractive girl, and guys did pay attention. Teenage guys, who have the mental capacity of a grub and the sex drive of one of those little test rats with the pleasure buttons.
The first one was named Scott. We met my freshman year of college – I don’t have a good story about how we met, just a fairly cliched mental image. There were concrete benches in the courtyard of our dorms. It was night-time, we were under a street lamp on a bench. He was in the seat, I was perched on the back because I am incapable of sitting properly in a chair. It’s not especially telling, I know, though I suppose I could make that scene into a metaphor for how I dangled the carrot of sexual possibility in front of him for the rest of that year.
Our “friendship” consisted of spending a lot of time together, casually, like real friends, in public venues. We’d eat lunch together in the cafeteria, had mutual friends, went to parties, you know, college friend stuff. But then in the evenings he would ask me to come hang out alone in the room with him. Inevitably, we’d wind up cuddling in his bed, where he would systematically attempt to fuck me, and I would attempt to get as much gratification out of the experience as I could without doing so.
Early on, I was not only resistant but a tad spiteful. Once, he told me he wanted to get me drunk, so that I would lower my inhibitions and sleep with him. A short time later, I went to my first college party, and got drunk for the first time. After three Parrot Bay Coconut-and-Diet Cokes, I picked up the phone and called him. My first and only drunk dial. It consisted of the following witty dialogue:
Me: Hey, guess what? I’m drunk right now!! And guess who I’m not fooling around with? You!!
Yep. That was it. The epitome of wit, and class, I know. The problem was, the desire between us really was mutual. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and we both knew it. But I was still in a supposedly monogamous relationship, and imposed nonsensical letter-of-the-law boundaries on myself to assuage my guilt in getting involved with Scott. Sure, I sometimes spent the night in his bed, where we would never sleep, but tease and grope each other all night. But I never kissed him, and I never let him take my clothes off. So, obviously I wasn’t cheating. Right.
When I’m feeling particularly uncharitable, I often look back on that experience as a seduction – that Scott was slowly coercing me, and I was resistant. But I think that’s mostly to keep myself from feeling like a terrible person. I encouraged his advances, even while rebuffing when he tried to push the lines. Though, I will say, he was a person with a track record for assaulting girls, so though he never forced anything on me, my view of him is colored by something he did to a friend of mine. I’m not here to share her story, as it’s not mine to tell, but suffice it to say that though our desires were mutual, he wasn’t always as equitable in his interactions with girls.
Anyway, the end of the story is utterly predictable. The day before move-out, spring of my freshman year. Scott was transferring to another school, so our teasing and seduction games had to end one way or another. I figured what the hell, we’re never going to see each other again. So, that night I spent the night in his room, and we had sex. It was…lackluster. Not tragic, but I remember very little of it (and no, I wasn’t drunk), which tells me it couldn’t have been great. He was a pretty good kisser, I remember that part. The next day he moved back to Jacksonville. We exchanged a few instant messages after that – when I told him I’d broken up with Alex he said he regretted not staying in town to pursue a relationship with me. I saw him once more after that, the next year when he came to visit some friends that stayed at my college. So, there’s another of my sex stories with an anticlimactic ending.