It’s all about sex

At what point do we realize that it’s all just about sex? And does that really matter?

I was recently traveling for a wedding and noticed the most beautiful man sitting near me at the airport. I’m not talking “oh he’s nice looking” I’m talking “I want to rip your clothes off in public” gorgeous. He belongs on a centerfold of Playgirl. Dark skin, full head of hair and a very grabable ass.

We landed for our connecting flight and he appeared out of nowhere next to me and said “You are beautiful!”. I think I could not move my feet or speak for at least 10 seconds. I somehow managed a “thank you”, determined he was traveling to see his family but lived in my town, and gave him my business card.

Two weeks later Airport Man started emailing me and sent me the quintessential “dick pic”. The guy was horny as hell and hung like a horse. My kind of guy! We planned dinner for a Friday night but the furthest we got was my bedroom. Airport Man can fuck like no other. He’s so talented he could probably get me off with both hands tied behind his back … hmmm that gives me an idea.

I digress … the part I find hilarious and well-schooled is that he keeps saying “It’s not about the sex” and that he wants to get to know me. Why can’t it be about sex? Please?  He’s really religious, doesn’t have a job right now, he doesn’t drink and he listens to classical music. Four huge deal breakers. How do I explain my disdain for organized religion? My addiction to rum? Or Nine Inch Nails screaming “I want to fuck you like an animal” out of my CD player in the car?  I don’t want or need him to look after me or comfort me. I just want his glorious, non-American, dark-skinned body in my bed.

I need to hang out in airports more often.



3 responses

  1. Pingback: Guys that Can’t Take the Hint | Orgazmic Vitality

  2. Pingback: Accepting truth and blowing off the hints | Orgazmic Vitality

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