The first time - conclusion

It is tonight. He is taking me to a sex party. We have sent the organisers our photos, and received our confirmations along with a secret code and the address. It’s happening at a loft downtown, and I am meeting him at the bar next to the venue. I have no idea what the dress code is, and it would seem logical that everyone will be undressed in short order but I pick what I think is a classy outfit, slim semi-sheer black trousers that flatter my figure and a tight short top. I put on my nicest black lace lingerie underneath, and shave my legs in slow, sensual motions usually reserved for movies until they are silky smooth. A touch of makeup and smoky eyeliner to complete the look. Nice girls don’t do this on a Friday night.

I’m in a taxi heading downtown, I pass through various parts of the city with people going about their usual routines on a Friday night. The new crop of college graduates getting drunk in bars uptown like they’re still in their fraternities; the more sophisticated people of midtown sipping martinis in trendy bars with music so loud that conversations are impossible; the restaurant goers of the Gramercy area going on their Friday night dates; the university students milling around various coffee shops and bars like they own the city; the life artists hanging around the parks, enjoying the balmy night and dreaming big dreams; and finally the coolest lot, going out to the latest designer bars and hidden clubs in Soho, where my taxi pulls up to an unmarked door.

He meets me outside and leaves behind the nondescript bar where he’s been waiting for me, most likely getting hit on by older women, which seems to happen to all the guys I know after some out of towners watched too much of a well-known TV show and didn’t realise that it’s supposed to be a comedy, not a blueprint for a way of living. “It’s really happening tonight!” he says. The place only has five customers. He looks me over, compliments my outfit and kisses me. I feel the ground sway under my feet but he catches me by the hand, and leads me to the address we were given on our invitation.

We ring at an unmarked doorbell and go upstairs, where we are greeted by a very sexy man of medium height and a solid built with short black hair, penetrating blue eyes and an enticing smile. He’s only wearing some tight fitting boxer shorts, which makes me feel silly for worrying so much about my choice of outfit. He laughs, probably because I look like a deer in the headlights, and simply says, “You two must have come to the right place!” I feel blood rushing to my face and blush involuntarily, the first of the many blushes of the night.

We walk into a huge loft space that finishes off with a balcony overlooking the street, and another big area in the back that’s brightly lit and encompasses a kitchen. There is a tiny bedroom separating the two, and the scene inside is one I would never forget. The bed is heaving with an indeterminate number of people having sex, an orgy like you would imagine it or see in the movies, beautiful lithe bodies all tangled on top of another, legs spread, women wet, men erect, all this licking and sucking and the skin on skin slapping sounds of intercourse.  There’s lots of moaning and the smell of sweat and sex in the air, they’re clearly not new to this and they’re having a great time. Nothing has prepared me for this; I am entranced and feel my senses overwhelmed, with blood rushing to my face while I can feel myself getting extremely turned on and very wet. Feeling exposed, I need a cigarette, now. Steve goes into the kitchen to make me a drink.

Everyone at the party is pre-screened through photos, all couples or single girls, young fit and very attractive. The women smoking hot, mostly naked, striding around confidently in high heels and g strings, maybe stockings. The men are tall and muscular, some wearing briefs or boxers, some accessorised with bow ties which I find amusing. One girl emerges from the mess of the bedroom and smiles at me, then looks over at Steve and asks me,

‘How tall are you?’

‘Five foot five’, I respond.

‘How tall is he?’

‘Six foot five,’ according to the stats he sent me in his initial email and has confirmed several times since.

Her next question throws me off entirely:

‘So how does it work?’

Only later did I think of a clever reply to that; ‘it works fantastically well, thank you!’ Words escape me at the moment.

I wait for Steve to finish making drinks and find myself entranced by the threesome happening on the living room floor. The guy is lying down on his back, and a brunette girl is on top riding him while a red haired one is sitting on his face, the two girls facing each other, touching, kissing, and moaning intensely. That’s so hot! Much hotter than the movies. I continue to watch as they switch around, with the redhead now straddling him and lowering herself onto him while the brunette lies down next to him in such a way as to give the redhead access to her pussy to be licked. I can’t believe I’m so turned on right now! Steve comes to me with my drink, and we head to the balcony to get some fresh air.

A couple of cigarettes outside and a drink help me relax, we meet some other people standing out there, fully dressed and all too happy to share their stories, they’re all at the party with their partners, they’ve been together for years, some are married, some living together but all in serious relationships that just happen to include swinging. This is all the more amusing when it’s one part of the couple doing the talking, while their other half is somewhere in the mess of bodies in the bedroom having sex with other people. Periodically someone emerges from the bedroom and goes to the balcony to recruit new joiners to the orgy. Eventually one of the girls is convinced, and leaves us to go have sex.

Steve and I talk some more and return to the living room, where we sit down and he starts kissing me. The host passes by and comments how at this rate, we’ll be having sex by this time tomorrow. He begins to undress me when the girl who was with us on the balcony earlier returns and starts chatting to us again. This time she’s not wearing anything, her long blonde hair loose and tousled from her tumble on the orgy bed, her face glowing and her soft skin giving off the enticing and ever present smell of sex. She helps him with my clothes, caresses me, her lips touch my lips then suck on my nipples before she takes my hand and leads me away from my little safety zone and to the orgy bed. She kisses me some more and I feel other hands on me, soft woman’s hands and I turn around to find myself facing the dark haired girl who’s asked me the uncomfortable questions earlier. She kisses me some more, and I feel more hands. This time they’re the rougher hands of a man, who turns out to be wearing only a bow tie and a charming smile. More touching and more kissing, he takes me and lays me down on the bed, spreading my legs.

I try to see where Steve went but can’t find him, he must have gone to the bathroom but it doesn’t matter now, there are hands everywhere, all over me, mens’, womens’, touching, teasing, caressing and slipping down between my legs where I’m beyond excited and ridiculously wet. After what seems like ages, the man with the bow tie penetrates me and it’s the familiar motions of sex, it feels good and exciting and also new, with this man whose name I didn’t catch surrounded by beautiful people I have only met tonight all in this amazing experience together. My mind goes and I arch my back, enjoying myself immensely. Time seems to fly and stand still at will in this place, and when I open my eyes I am not sure how long this has been going on but realise that Steve is standing over me, undressed this time, stroking his erection that I adore so much and looking down at me, smiling. The guy pulls out from inside me and moves away, and I can’t think of anything else now as I take Steve’s cock in my mouth, I want him inside of me and I don’t want this night to stop. He hesitates a bit, suggests that I should play with his friend, but I say no so he turns me over and gets me on all fours before penetrating me from behind. This is it. This is the real deal. This is the experience, the joy, the ecstasy. I notice there’s only one couple left on the bed next to us, the curly haired girl and the guy with the bow tie, they’re in the same position as us, the men performing the same motion, the girl and I touch each other and I’m not sure how long it is before we all orgasm at the same time, the men as well. I turn over and smile, at no one in particular, maybe the brunette next to me, maybe Steve, maybe the Italian girl who seems to have appeared again, maybe at myself. I feel fulfilled like I have never been fulfilled before in my life.

The first time - interlude

I remember how my legs were shaking, and I had butterflies in my stomach as we walked to sit down with our drinks. Steve was walking behind me, checking out my figure. I could feel his gaze wonder from the back of my head, taking in the long red hair, down to my waist and onto my shapely ass and legs, accented by high heels, taking in all the curves and wondering what kind of panties I had on under. He probably had already noticed that I wasn’t wearing a bra under my shirt. All I could think of was to keep walking, putting one foot in front of the other, extremely nervous the whole time until we arrived to a comfy looking sofa and sat down in the corner. One drink, and I could feel his gaze penetrating me, seeing into me in a way that no one else has. Two drinks, a few jokes, some basic background questions and answers later, I couldn’t wait to get out of there and back to his. ‘What say you’, he suggested, finally, ‘I only live a couple of blocks away’. How convenient! Let’s go.

Five minutes later, we were in the lift together going up to his flat. Standing so close to him, I could smell him, I could feel how much I wanted it but the lift stopped, he ushered me into his flat, and offered me a drink. I perched on the corner of the sofa still maintaining an air of nonchalance when he suddenly kissed me. He pushed me down on to the sofa, and I didn’t resist. I let him undress me, wrapped my arms around him and let him lead me to the bed, drinks forgotten on the counter. The rest of the evening was blurry; I remember we had fantastic sex, crazy and wild in several positions, with my legs over his shoulders at one point and him deep inside of me, his hands all over my body. I came strongly a few times, and after he orgasmed as well we fell back down and passed out, exhausted and enchanted, out of breath in each other’s arms. His hands caressed me softly, over my back, tracing the curves of my body, and I could feel him getting hard again. He reached my hand down and I stroked him for a bit before taking him into my mouth until he came again. He tasted sweet.

 It was then time for me to go, and I remember running home in the night, all the thirty city blocks that separated us at the time, I was desperate to hold on to the smell of him on my body and over my hands. I was clenching my fist so tight because that was the hand I had used earlier to reach down when he was in me from behind, I touched myself and I touched him, the precious smell of his sweat, my wetness and the condom intoxicating me every time I brought it up to my face. I finally arrived home to find my roommate there, I was too excited to sleep but couldn’t face talking to people so I went to my room and replayed the events of the night, thinking of him, dreaming of seeing him again. The smells and sensations faded but the smile stayed on my face throughout the night.

That took a month. He kept chatting to me online and texting me, talking to me and promising to see me soon, but not making any concrete plans. Then one day I asked him specifically why he won’t see me, to which he said what I’ve come to expect – that I’m a nice girl who looks like she’s looking for a boyfriend, and he’s not the right guy for me. I heard that one before, and I wasn’t going to take it this time. He then told me straight out that he was into group sex, multiple partners, and didn’t believe in monogamy. He was very honest and open about it, and at that point I liked him so much that all I could say was, ‘Try me.” Which he did, when he took me to this exclusive private sex party that same Friday night.

The first successful experience

I heard somewhere that with sex or with drugs, we always try to replicate the first successful experience. Maybe it’s true, always chasing that elusive high we got the first time that is always just out of reach, we gradually increase the dose and in the end desensitize ourselves. That goes for drugs.

With sex, what constitutes the first successful experience? I doubt anyone has a great first time, instead it’s all a bit awkward and confusing and over too quickly. That was it? I guess that’s sex, welcome to the adult world, congratulations.

The first orgasm… that doesn’t require sex itself. Sometimes a vibe, just the fingers of the hand, or another pleasurable moment cause one inadvertently, surprising and enjoyable, but again short lived.

He made me feel like a woman, for the very first time in my life. It was exhilarating! I felt like I was walking on air, and I wanted to remember every moment of that night forever, I ran home afterwards and proceeded to write down every detail I could remember, to hold on to that feeling, to always have the events of that night imprinted in my memory, on my body, and on the page. It felt more solid written down in a notebook by hand, more intimate that way.

Another night, another guy I’m meeting for drinks. I’ve known this one for some time, and last time we tried that it’s the drugs that took over my evening and my life for a couple of weeks. The consequences of that binge stayed with me for a while longer, until all my older friends graduated and went to travel in exotic locations before starting their fancy banking jobs in New York in the fall.

I had been left behind, a year too young, I managed to finish the exams but after all the goodbyes, I found myself trying to pick up pieces of my life now that everyone who’s played a major part in it this past year was gone. The guy who crushed some pills and handed me a rolled up dollar bill for the first time, on a Tuesday night. The one who met my parents, under the pretense of being a future housemate but even they knew better. The friend who freaked out on me for no reason whatsoever, then apologized at the end of the post-exam parties. I remember standing in some random hallway hugging her, both of us crying for what seemed like hours.

I found myself a little hole to crawl into while I was sorting out my life that summer. I rented a room on the top floor of a gothic house a few blocks north of the main campus, with my own bathroom, a shared kitchen and a girl I vaguely knew living in one of the rooms downstairs. I really enjoyed sleeping late in the massive bed, and staying up all night at the computer, watching the sun come up over the city rooftops through the stained glass window.

I was adrift at first, but then I managed to send out some job applications and get an interview for a position on campus. I was running to the interview when someone called my name. I was surprised to see him, I had thought he’d left for the summer as well. Turns out he had stuck around, and now that the grades were in, all bets were off. I told him I was running late so he wrote down his number on a sticker in my interview folder, noting in passing that the address on my resume had the name of the town his mom was from. How random.

I called him the same night. I’m still not sure what prompted me to wander downtown and sit in a coffee shop for hours, people watching and reading some magazine until they closed. I must have done the usual rounds, the independent bookstore on the square where I liked to browse some books I dreamt of owning one day, past the now shut fashion boutiques I wished I could shop at in the future, and eventually planted myself on a bench in the park, observing the trendy bars and restaurants I hoped to visit some day some day soon and sit on their terraces with the rest of the fashionable, trendy grown ups, eating seafood platters, drinking cocktails and laughing. I lit a cigarette and dialed his number.

To my surprise, he picked up. It’s like he was expecting to hear from me. He asked where I was, and suggested meeting at German bar further downtown in an hour. I killed the time smoking some more and finishing an article from my magazine under the light of the street lamp before heading over. He got there before me, and was waiting at the bar when I walked in.

We got some beers and started talking. I remembered how we connected in the first place, we had so many interests in common, books, places, culture, travel, yet as he was older he had more experience which I found fascinating. He told me stories about his exchange year in London, the time he spent in Berlin, and travels he’s done in Italy. I was hoping to visit all those places, one day. I’ve only read about those places in books borrowed from the university library that I devoured through the nights, especially during exams.

We finished our drinks and he suggested going back to his place. It was a small studio in the center of town, tastefully decorated with various posters and art he’s picked up on his travels, a small sofa with a coffee table and a futon bed. He offered me vodka or tequila, which he assured was very good. I ended up trying both; to my great surprise, he suddenly leaned in and kissed me, and before I knew it I was on top of him with his arms around me, unhooking my bra in one swift motion, clothes falling to the floor before he fell on top of me in bed.

He later said he had tried everything to make me orgasm. It’s ok, I replied, I enjoyed the sex and usually didn’t orgasm anyway. He laughed and said that I’ve been doing it wrong, before wrapping his arms around me and holding me until I fell asleep. He even got me a glass of water with lemon when I woke up after a few hours feeling parched from the tequila and the cigarettes the night before. In the morning he kicked me out quite early, under the pretext of some bike race he had to attend. Not sure if I believed him, but I didn’t feel that the walk home was a walk of shame, I felt instead a surge of pride. I got the guy that everyone had wanted, and I had a fantastic night.

I went home and started writing for the first time in my life. I wanted to recall and solidify every detail of the night because it felt important to me. I then lay back in bed and used my hand to bring myself to orgasm, so that I knew what it felt like, for the next meeting with him. I went to meet some friends and even they could tell that something’s happened and everything had changed. The bruises on my arms were like badges of honour I displayed to them proudly as I remembered how he held me down the night before. This was the first time I truly felt like a woman. In one night, I had grown up, and fallen in love.

When I came back to classes that fall semester, everything around me felt different. The colours of the autumn leaves were brighter, the scents in the air far more intense. I felt apart from my classmates, now that I have submitted to man and have been to sub space I felt that I’ve been owned. It’s as if I belonged to him now, even though the affair only lasted a summer and he was far away now, some new and exotic location in Europe, probably living a beautiful life I envied so much. The bruises on my arms had faded, but these feelings stayed.
I knew what it meant then. In sex, and sometimes in life, we always seek to recreate the first successful experience.

Submission and manipulation

I submit to a man. For me, this is the most intimate, passionate and intense experience I can have. I open myself up fully, I switch off, I let myself slip into sub space where I do not think, just feel and respond. It’s too profound to be shared with just anyone.

He is my master. I don’t call him that, but he is my Dom and he is the only one I submit to. He controls my pleasure, my pain, my body and my orgasms in a way that no one else can. He knows; he always knew, from the first time we got together he owned me and could do anything he wanted with me. I begged him to do all those things I’ve only dreamt about before; I begged him not to stop.

He’s coming tonight. I feel the butterflies in my stomach as I follow his exact instructions, stockings, suspenders, sexy bra and panties, blindfold and rope at the ready for when he walks in.

He’s late again and I am waiting. The anticipation and excitement from earlier turn sour inside me and I feel the world turn to black, again. The colours slowly fade, the wine sours in my mouth and the cigarette tastes acrid on my tongue. I’m on my own, waiting, wasting time away while he is out somewhere nearby, socializing with some friends in a pub. It hurts.

He sends me occasional text messages to keep me on my toes, saying he’s coming, asking if I’m ready. I respond in default snippets but the desire is gone, I want to finish the bottle of wine in front of me and pass out while listening to my depressive music, letting my conscience drift away into the night and take with it my desire, my pain, my fear.

He finally comes. He wonders why I’m upset. His presence is enough to trigger a response and he takes my hand, leads me to the bed, ties the rope around my wrists and slips the blindfold over my eyes. Say good night; the darkness is complete.

He pushes me down onto the bed and spreads my legs, runs his hands all over my body, compliments my outfit and takes off my bra. His lips are on mine for a brief second before he’s kissing my neck, sucking on my nipples, licking my stomach and going down on me just long enough to make me wet, but not as long as I would like him to. He stops.

He’s fully hard now and it’s my turn to serve. He has me on my knees, forcing himself deeper and deeper into my mouth with each stroke, it hurts and feels so good at the same time. I don’t try to stop him, he won’t listen to me anyway. The world around me is black and my mind is slipping away into sub space.

I don’t remember how I come back. I can feel that he’s done everything to me, I must have had a few orgasms and he is finished as well, I can feel the sticky come on my chest and around my mouth. He removes my blindfold but doesn’t hold me like I need to be held right now, he is content while I feel used. I curl into a ball and cry silently while he is happily asleep next to me.

Fucking finance - American Psycho in London

Let us start… Bank of America?

Yeah done that, the guy I dated for six months still works there. We still fuck occasionally, too even though he has a girlfriend.

Merrill Lynch?

Yeah, remember the Irish guy that we met at a club, who then became our threesome buddy? That was hot.

HSBC?

Sure, many times. The regular guy worked there at some point.

Deutsche Bank?

Of course, I used to work there! Met the regular guy there and had a couple of one night stands. Including one guy that must be the worst lay on the planet. He was so good looking, too, what a waste!

BNP Paribas?

Yeah that French guy… Ok that was not intentional, of course he was French!

JP Morgan?

Not sure I’ve ticked that one, do we know anyone who works at JP? I kissed somebody once I think, but that doesn’t count, it’s a fuck game!

Morgan Stanley?

Yeah there was someone there, nice guy, great in bed, wanted to get serious. Didn’t happen.

Barclays?

Done that, again the regular guy, I think that’s where he works now.

RBS?

Yes come to think of it, it was a colleague’s flatmate! Remember the one who considerately left his business card on my coffee table the morning after?

Goldman Sachs?

Not really interested in Goldman guys. Though come to think of it, there was someone from their IT department. He was quite good, actually. So that’s a yes.

We call it the bank fuck roulette. After the countries and nationalities, this was the game we played most often. The checklist was pretty much complete, I’ve fucked someone at almost every big bank in the City.

It’s almost too easy. On any given night, we can go to any random bar in the city and pick up. Sometimes we go to the ones near our work places, our usual spots where we could get recognized, but that doesn’t matter, there will be some guys there who haven’t met us yet, they could come from one of the buildings around the bar, or they could come from the other side of town. Sometimes we like to switch it up and go somewhere different, new places, new faces, new guys to fuck and check off the list. They buy us drinks, they chat us up, and then we pair off. The mating ritual that has nothing to do with romance and dating.

I’m more the quiet type who stands there and smiles occasionally, making a witty comment or answering some basic questions about myself while I let the girls do most of the talking. One of them can be counted on to chat up any group, that’s just her style. The other one is a heavy flirt. I’m the mystery. Gets them every time, I can pretty much take my pick of the best looking one there, smile at him a couple of times, and eventually after he’s well lubricated with drinks, suggest quietly that we get out of there.

Not looking for a relationship, or anything serious. Not looking for romance, either. The idea of spending a couple of hours over dinner with someone I could care less about would probably make the food stick in my throat. Another meeting? Though they always suggest it, I don’t particularly care. All I want is a man for the night, another notch on my bedpost, a bit of fun and some satisfaction, then I never have to see him again. Sometimes I don’t even bother exchanging numbers; if he insists, I take his as well so I know to ignore the calls. It’s almost too easy, this fucking game.

Some days it takes a bit more than a random bar, maybe we migrate to another place if there are no fine choices at our current spot, and on occasion we would end up in one of those late night places that collected the refuse of the evening. Those too drunk to go home, the out of town business visitors away from families or girlfriends looking too party, the ones looking or hoping to pick up all end up there. An easy place to get picked up, almost guaranteed. While my friends get involved in drunken conversations and intense debates, I generally just stand to the side and scanned the dance floor for anyone potentially interesting. So did everyone else looking specifically to pick up. After establishing eye contact, I could dance to a good tune, or invariably the men would come to me and buy me drinks. A bit of conversation, the prerequisite chemistry check, maybe a kiss, and back to mine again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Not looking for a relationship. Not looking for romance. Don’t care about feelings. I just want a man for the night. Sure, there could be a repeat performance if the sex is especially good. I’d add the guy to my list and message him and a few others whenever I was out. He could join me at my bar of choice, or wait for me at the taxi stand our outside my place, with a bottle of wine please. All fun and games initially, usually these casual arrangements fizzled out on their own after a few weeks. Expiration date - three months.

Three days, three weeks, three months. Life comes in threes. Three different guys in a given week, three nights together before the failure to connect catches up with us and we are through.

No feelings, no emotions, no romance. Just alcohol-fueled sex, no intimacy, no connection, just the fulfillment of a basic need, like air, food, water. Not much recollection of the details the following day but I know how to handle it. A double espresso in the morning, followed by some fruit and water to detox, a cigarette just because it goes with the second coffee, another cigarette in an hour’s time and I can feel myself sobering up or my hangover getting worse conveniently just around lunchtime. A healthy lunch, a couple more smokes and another double espresso in the afternoon, and I’m ready to go back to the pub at five o’clock. In fact, do I even need to go to a pub? I could use the same tactics on the guys standing at the bus stop, checking me out with my friend when we’re outside the building for our final smoke break of the day. It’s easy, too easy.

So easy it gets boring. Just like drugs, after the initial thrill of the chase and fun of the game the comedown is inevitable. I feel empty, I feel nothing. I remember nights were wasted, names and faces blurred by the wine, no recollections of the sex, either. Not even a fleeting moment of intimacy or connection, just short term dopamine releases in the brain that fizzle out by the morning. Three years, gone.

The City. The capital of greed and money full of young assholes who can only assert themselves through casual encounters. They never liked me either, it was all about the ego. Theirs, mine too. I only feel disgusted at the thought. Stripped of all feelings, left with an emptiness within, a closed heart, a warped mind. I’m sure there are people out there right now, playing the bank fuck roulette all over again, guys, girls, all looking for the next adventure, the ego boost, the bragging rights the morning after. I could show them how it’s done, I think to myself for just a second before I realize that I’ve grown up.

The first time - introduction

It’s Friday night, I am at home after some work drinks when Steve calls me and asks if I want to go to this sex party with him. An hour later, I am showered, groomed and changed, rushing in a taxi to meet him in the hip area downtown. He meets me outside, compliments me on my outfit and points out the bar where he’s been waiting for me.

“It’s really happening tonight!” he says. The place only has five customers. I can just picture him, sitting at the bar on his own, sipping his  drink and getting hit on by older women. I am enthralled by him, I think he can get any woman he wants! I feel so special to be the one here with him.

We ring at an unmarked door and go upstairs, where we are greeted by a very sexy man, medium height, well built, short black hair, blue eyes and an enticing smile. He’s only wearing some tight fitting boxer shorts. He laughs, probably at me, and simply says, “You two must have come to the right place!” I feel blood rushing to my face and blush involuntarily, one of the many blushes of the night.

The apartment is made up of a big loft space with a balcony overlooking the street, another loft area in the back, and a tiny bedroom separating the two. The bed is piled with several people having sex, an orgy like you would imagine it or see in the movies, beautiful lithe bodies all tangled on top of another, legs spread, women wet, men erect, all this licking and sucking and the skin on skin slapping sounds of intercourse.  Moaning, lots of explicit, pornographic moaning, and the smell of sweat and sex and come and more sex. Nothing prepared me for this spectacle. I am entranced and feel my senses both numbed and overwhelmed. I feel blood rushing to my face and down there at the same time. I blush again and feel myself getting wet. Feeling exposed, I mumble something about a drink and head out to the balcony for a cigarette. Steve follows me.

How did I end up in a place like this? I only met Steve about a month ago, on an explicit personals site, and it took me all of an hour to go back to his place and jump into bed with him. It’s not something I would have envisioned myself doing a few months prior, but everything changed recently, and I’ve spent the last few weeks jumping in and out of various men’s beds around town, wondering how much I can afford to spend on taxis. Coming home at five in the morning to be at work by ten, in my mind I would already be planning the next night’s encounter. This has become my life, adventures, fun and games, liberating but not exactly in line with society’s expectations. Not something I would tell my friends over drinks.

I’m used to men sizing me up as a potential girlfriend, going through a mental checklist as they ask me a variety of questions about myself. Pretty? Check. Nice figure? Check. Has one of those ‘real jobs’? Check. Interesting, intelligent, good sense of humour. Check, check and check. Exotic looks and background, bonus points. I appear almost innocent to them, an pretty oval face with big blue eyes and long unkempt hair. I’m always labeled as the kind of girl a man wants bring home to his mom, and show off to his friends. It’s flattering, and yet I have no interest in settling down, getting married, having kids, moving to suburbia, acquiring a minivan and a dog. In fact, the above scenario is my greatest nightmare. I feel that there is more to life, so much that I don’t know, so much is there that I want to explore. It’s all in my mind, and my mind is fully open to the fantasy.

Sex. A driving obsession from an early age, I want to know it all, I want to have it, lots of it, in every possible way, and I want to understand everything about it. Some people have hobbies. I have sex.

It all began a couple of months ago, when one night I was sitting at home on my own and browsing sexually explicit websites. It always gave me a thrill to read adult personals and imagine myself in those scenarios. A boss looking for a sexy secretary, to dress up in stockings and come to his office for some fun. A man looking for a young girl to corrupt. I professor wanting a blowjob from a slutty student. A suit suggesting a quickie in a bar bathroom, no names, no conversation. All these men, looking for women to fulfill these fantasies, I feel like they are looking for me. I can be any of these things, the secretary, the student, the naïve young girl, the dirty girl having an anonymous encounter in a bar. I just need to open myself to the possibilities. I must try it out. I must know what lies beyond that door.

It doesn’t help that I have been so busy working, I haven’t had any sex in at least six months. The realization hits me like a truck, and right then and there, I decide to act. A friend of mine once said how much respect he had for a girl going home with a random guy after a party. Everyone else had that judgmental look on their face, while he simply said, ‘Respect. She was horny, and she did something about it’. I took those words to heart and did something about it, right then and there. I posted an ad on an adult personals site. Only a few lines, very simple. I am a pretty, fit and intelligent 24 year old professional looking for some casual fun. Into oral, anal, giving blowjobs, and regular sex. You must be tall, good looking, professional, and in your twenties or thirties. Essentially I covered all the bases of everything I knew sex to be. Very direct, short and sweet.

I always remember that first time. The first time I have posted this ad, I must have received about four hundred responses. I remember sitting at my computer and watching in amazement as my inbox filled with emails from all these men, so many of them very good looking, interesting witty and charming. So many men, so much to explore! So many possibilities! I felt that I had tapped a vein, a major artery of this big city full of people who are lonely, cooped up in their overpriced studio flats all over this great island, sitting in front of a computer and looking for a connection, desperate to even chat to a girl.

The first experience didn’t lead to sex but was pleasant nonetheless. I met a man at a lecture hall of the university across town. I remember dressing up for the occasion, knee length skirt, no underwear, a tight top. I wanted to play the part of the woman who’s every man’s fantasy. I had the butterflies in my stomach when I arrived at the designated bar for a drink to break the ice. He looked just like the photo he had sent me, and he smiled when he saw me. We talked, we chatted and flirted, and after he offered to give me a tour of the campus found a discreet corner in a lecture room. There were no people around in the evening, and I didn’t think to bring condoms. He put his hands all over me under my clothes, touching my breasts, fingering me, getting me very turned on before I went down on him, he went down on me, he fingered me to orgasm and I went down on him to completion. I then straightened out my clothes and my hair, gave him a kiss goodbye on the cheek before walking out of there, feeling elated, the fantasy girl, smiling to myself before getting into a taxi and going home, satisfied for the night.

The second guy I met showed up to my door with condoms and a six pack of beer. First we chatted online, then it turned out that he lived nearby, and neither of us had any plans for that evening. We had a couple of beers and put condoms to good use, having hot and messy sex all over the flat.  We ended up in my flatmate’s bed, where he came over my breast and my face. There were some stains left on the sheets when she got back to the city the following morning.

The third meeting was with Steve It happened unexpectedly on a Monday night, we had initially planned to meet on a tuesday but his evening was suddenly free, so he gave me a call during lunch to ask if I wanted to go for a drink after work. He wasn’t one of the men who’ve responded to me straight away. He wrote back a couple of days after I posted the ad, with a standard response, a physical description, his preferences, and a picture. He was strikingly handsome in that photo. Standing at two meters tall, spiked up black hair, strong facial features, a penetrating gaze, dressed simply in jeans and a white t shirt, holding a camera in his hand even though someone else was taking the picture. I wanted him straight away; I had to meet him. I wrote back, a couple of lines with a compliment, suggested a drink during the week and attached my photo. He wrote back straight away and asked about my nationality. No, he guessed it straight away. It was his background, too.

On the day we were meant to meet, I wasn’t dressed particularly sexy, since I wasn’t expecting to have any plans in the evening. I stood there in my office bathroom, looking at myself, the face that’s so familiar, the eyes, the hair, the makeup I had put on this morning that still looked fresh, not feeling much like a femme fatale in my office uniform of black trousers and a button down shirt. I sexed myself up by removing my bra before heading out to a nearby hotel bar to meet Steve for the preliminary drink, the chemistry check. I arrived early and didn’t see him at the bar. The butterflies in my stomach had multiplied instead of settling on my walk over from the office, so when some man at the bar asked me if I were Julie, I mumbled a barely audible ‘no’ before practically running out of there. I thought about leaving for all of a second, and decided that I need to take a walk around the block and have some deep breaths.

Steve called me when I was half way around the to ask where I am. He seemed a bit confused on the phone when I told him I was on the same block but on the other side, as if I had walked past the bar or couldn’t find it. “I’ll be there in five minutes”, I replied. When I walked back in to the hotel I could see him standing there, even more impressive than he had been in the photo, very tall, so strikingly good looking, looking right at me and right through me with that penetrating gaze. I went straight up to him to say hello; he kissed me on the cheek as if we’d already met; I thought to myself, “This man is mine.”