I met a new man and he is super, duper sexy. We met through a mutual friend and our connection has been developing slowly, cautiously, and primarily through funny memes sent via social media. But, his wit makes me laugh and his body makes me tingly, so. . . yeah.
We met at his pool for an evening swim and our similar senses of humor made for a comfort and ease that isn’t always available on a first date. He had a cooler of drinks, a portable speaker, a great playlist of music and all the gear showing me this was not his first time having a lady over for an evening swim. He had his game on point.
I could see an argument for labeling him a player, but he was clear about not wanting a girlfriend, upfront about having other partners, and was sure to clarify that he had no expectation of hooking up. I could also see an argument for labeling me a player, but I had the same honest communication style and was sure to clarify that I both wanted, and expected, to have sex with him if our chemistry stayed strong. Who’s the real player? Well, him. Since I live in a society in which men are the players and women are the objects with which to be played. I can be a slut, but not a player. And, yet, I don’t identify with either. I’m also not sure it’s fair to box him into a label.
Let me get off that tangent and back to what’s important: the sex stuff. We went back up to his place and he lent me some comfy pajama pants and a shirt. Which came off within out 6 minutes. One minute: comfy pjs. The next minute: topless on a balcony overlooking the city lights and learning that we kiss really well together. We move into the bedroom and take off the rest of our comfy clothes. He has well placed mirrors and lots of opinions on how he’d like my body positioned. Okayyyyy puppet master – I see you.
Side note: hooking up with really attractive people always has a real risk that they will be lazy and inattentive in the bedroom. Super sexy people sometimes don’t work as hard and have a subtle ‘you’re lucky to be here vibe’ – this guy had none of that. He had lovely sexual skills and I would happily serve as a reference check for any future women he meets. We had a lot of sex with some position change breaks, some laugh breaks, some talk breaks, and some laying on each other breaks.
It was getting late and we both had adult stuff to do in the morning, so I suggested I lube him up and give him a nice handjob massage. But, he had no lube. WHAT? Bro, get some lube. Coconut oil? no. Avocado oil? no. Vegetable? Canola? Butter? no. no. no. Humpf. But, I recalled seeing a carton of egg white mix in the fridge as we were making drinks. I suggested we give that a go and he was surprisingly open to it. He grabbed and towel and I bounced into the kitchen giddy to try something new.
He lay on his back and I sat in between his legs and got to work. First, that egg white mix is incredibly thin and runny. Secondly, it was super cold from the fridge. I did what I could to warm it in my hands, but a lot of cold egg white liquid dribbled onto him. It was so absurd I couldn’t stop laughing. He was hard and it was working great until I realized I couldn’t use my mouth at all because I wasn’t sure I could safely ingest uncooked egg whites. This girl is not trying to get salmonella off a weird sex moment.
I continued the handjob but the egg white mix was getting more and more viscous and rapidly changing texture. I tried adding saliva to keep the consistency at a handjob appropriate level with no luck. We were both laughing so hard by this point that the sexy portion of the moment had passed. Instead, he was laying there with a semi-erection and a semi-omelette on his dick. At least it was low-cholesterol. . .
Still laughing, he went to wipe down as I washed my hands and put the egg white mix back in the fridge. I couldn’t wait to tell Sugar about the experience and texted her immediately. She confirmed her place as my favorite person when she responded that I had created a new version of egg-beaters.
While I’m not sure I’d recommend egg whites as a sexual lubricant, I’m sure glad I tried it. And, while the funny meme exchanges have reduced dramatically post-sexual encounter, I’m still happy to have had this wonderful “player-slut” experience where each of us fit both of the labels and neither of the labels at the same time.