When I was 13 I started dating my first boyfriend. An all American, Jamerican who played the drums and football; we were the perfect middle school power couple but unfortunately, it didn't work out so well. You know that saying, "once you go black, you never go back". Well, he was more of a "after me he went white, and since, only sees light."
I later dated this guy freshman year of college and that ended unfortunately as well. He was an NYU film student with ADD and a thing for conscious rap music, not my ideal mate, but at NYU, you're lucky to find one who's not gay. The tagline of that relationship would be "once he saw asian, he needed no persuasion".
A few rocky relationships and curt courtships after that and I finally found my prince charming. Right from the start he was very affectionate (held my hand like I couldn't walk straight without his support; which might have been true), very romantic (bought me various silly presents such as a frog holding an 'I Love You' pillow), and very communicative (always saying things like, "Wow you are so amazing. I honestly adore you!")
Like any suburban girl who grew up on The Little Mermaid, I ate that shit up. I loved it. I reveled in it. But, unfortunately those things cannot make a relationship last through something as traumatic as long distance. Millions of miles, the Atlantic Ocean and no frequent flier miles between us, I figured our love had run it's course.
But then, I discovered the secret to long distance relationships. Phone sex.
Now the first time, I won't lie, I was put off a little bit. It had been a month that we'd been apart, and when he called, we had a seemingly normal conversation.
"Hey. How was your day?"
"Good. The same. You?"
It seemed innocent enough, "Is it warm over there? What are you wearing?"
"No, its December in New York. Its fuckin' freezing."
"Oh, that's too bad."
And then, "Take off all of your fucking clothes, I'm gonna make you so hot."
It hit me like Mike Tyson; so hard I could barely materialize a response. "Huh?"
"I said, take. off. your. fucking. clothes. It's about to get real hot."
And logically my only response was a hurried, "OK."
Now, I don't consider myself a sexpert but thanks to my Libra openness to new ideas and experiences, I am, what I would call Kinorky (that's kinky and dorky combined).
So, I dropped my neon green,Victoria Secret granny panties (how come they are always baggy in the butt?) and he proceeded to replay all the sexy scenes we had ever experienced together and build sexual fantasies for us to experiment in the future.
I was addicted like Whitney. Phone sex is the new crack.
The End.
