Rainy Sunday

MC with rainy lazy sunday afternoon sex - w4m - 25

You: rainy, lazy, soft yet passionate, intensely mellow sunday afternoon sex. you start in the afternoon, hung over, smelling like booze and smoke, cotton mouthed, half asleep and going in for the spoon position. after some refreshingly burnt coffee and possibly some eggs with a side of advil you become more serious. you go for the belle and sebastian (really does not matter which, expected yet fitting), open windows, the smell of fresh cold rain coming in with the cool breeze bringing with it hours upon hours of dirty pleasure and the beautiful agony of brining in the evening with entangled limbs, raw lips and full ashtrays not to mention marathon style orgasms. breaks are given to bathroom, ordering thai, cat naps and the occasional meaningless conversation about how hot the other person is and why. Me: totally missing out on all-o-dat.

Now, what DID I do on my rainy, lazy sunday afternoon? woke up, hung over per usual, fuzzy headed, confused, messy haired, phone vibrating up a storm. who is it? bff. on her way over all bright eyed and bushy tailed ready for brunch. I tear myself out of my floral sheets, throw some american apparel on and zip (i mean, walk kinda slow) over to who the fuck cares. after some way too many calories we have the genius idea of not missing the last day of free music at maccaren pool (YACHT are good but not enough to endure). worst idea ever thought up by a human, ever. why did we think that gawking at the topless skinny boys high 5'ing each-other hard core in the spitting rain while all the 19 year old girls who are firmer, perkier with way less baggage and zero trust issues, cheer in tube socks and hot pants while we, now the older girls who should know better than to be there in the first place having some minor panic attack about the upcoming work week and the idea of our desks with the macs on them and our bosses who want their files saved as PDF's not JPG's for the millionth time, a little chilly, tired and defeated after spotting way too many old flames and one nighters, decide to bouncity bounce outta there asap. best we can come up with is making cookies and watching a movie which in reality turns into cookie dough (that shit can really make you sick) and dwelling for what seems like decades on decoding cryptic text messages from the dudes, no, douches, who deem it cool to do us once in a while.

Jenny: what do you think he means when he says "yeah, sorry for the booty call, was out with the bro's hoped you were still up"?

Amanda: I think he is trying to tell you that he was too shy to make actual plans.

Jenny: maybe... i don't know... i think it was just a booty call.

Amanda: sounds to me like he really likes you and wishes you were his girlfriend.

Jenny: you are fucking dumb.

Amanda: sure but his tats suck. he's not even straight edge anymore.

Jenny: but he calls me "babe"...

Amanda: well, ok, what do you think "busy, call you later" means?

Jenny: so into you.

Amanda: really? you think so?

Jenny: totes calling you later. Amanda: for cereal?

Jenny: whatever. his jeans are like girl jeans anyway and his band aint that great.

Amanda: yeah... animal collective did it better.

This goes on forever until the sugar crash, some TBS movie starts over and we should probably get it together and realize that dudes don't care that much about what they write via text message and are getting laid as we speak with someone other than us.

So rainy, lazy sunday afternoon sex or R.L.S.A.S, I missed my connection with you big time. I hope I run into you sometime, maybe when we are riding our bikes or walking our dogs or on our 4th cocktail, who knows... just wanted to let you know, I really love you R.L.S.A.S, you mean a lot to me, please don't stop being amazing cause you rock my vagina... no, I mean my world.

This girl had me for a while. The first paragraph is kind of genius longing, especially for a scenario that sounds so delicious and appealing.

Then WHOA. It slipped into desperation. Why do so many MCs end up akin to diary entries? That works if it's cute. But if I was her, I would have stopped after the first paragraph. If I was a guy, I would be thinking "yeah, that sounds awesome." But instead, guy-me is thinking it smacks of bitterness.

Verdict: Let's pretend that it doesn't exist, and let's hope that this fall is full of lovely rainy Sunday trysts.