It had been a really shitty couple of months. A long term relationship with a play pal ended abruptly, and even on NSA terms endings are never easy, and usually they just downright suck. To add insult to injury he got most of our local lifestyle friends in the split. I still had a lot of wonderful, caring people in my life—just not in my bed. After five years of getting it every few days, I suddenly was measuring the time in between sex in months. I became isolated and withdrawn. I felt dull and boring and… well, just blah.
After some not-so-gentle prodding from friends, I reluctantly started profiles on several lifestyle sites. No one interested me, though. And my flirting skills, even the written ones, deserted me. There was only one couple I felt like I had a rapport with, though that may have been because they were safely a thousand miles away. Or so I thought…
Last week I got a message from the couple that they were coming into town and staying with some lifestyle friends only a few miles from my place. They were going to have a party and invited me to join them. My first thought was “Fuck, I don’t want to go!” I didn’t want be the only new person at the party. I didn’t know anyone and didn’t have anyone to talk to, not even a date. I was going to sit in a corner all by myself, pretending to be fascinated with my drink or that my earing required constant attention. I’m shy. I’m introverted. They’re not going to like me. I’m not going to like them. They’re going to be snobby. They’re going to think I’m snobby. All the other women are going to have perfect bodies and I’m going to feel ugly. All the men are going to be perfect and I’ll feel worse. Effortlessly my mind came up with every worst case scenario.
Staying home was easier. It was comfortable. It was safe. It was… boring… and lonely… and making me into someone I didn’t want to be. Someone I didn’t used to be. So I shaved my legs and shaved my pussy and emailed the address of the party to a couple of friends (just in case I disappeared so the cops would have a starting place to look for me).
After several wrong turns (I have the uncanny ability to get lost even in my own backyard) I found the house, knocked on the door and held my breath. When the door opened, I was greeted by name and with a big smile. I was swept inside, given a place at the table with the other couples, offered a drink, water, food, a place to spend the night, a cab if I couldn’t drive home. But most of all I was offered a gracious and warm acceptance from a roomful of strangers. And not because they want to fuck me or to take my clothes off, but just because I was there.
As the night went on, I grew more talkative. I laughed at jokes and told funny stories. My intellect was appreciated as much as my body. I discovered commonalities I never suspected I’d have with people I thought were totally unlike me. I admired the close and loving bonds between the couples.
At the end of the night, after much wonderful conversation, laughter, flirting and sex, I returned home with a big smile on my face and woke up with it still in place the next day. I hadn’t realized how abandoned the loss of my play pal and other friends made me feel. It made me underestimate not only myself but people in general. I didn’t trust anybody and without trust, I became someone I didn’t like, self-conscious, scared and cynical. But it only took one night and the kindness of strangers to set me back to regaining the person I want to be.