Have you ever had sex and instantly regretted it?

Jack’s Answer:

When I was twenty-two, I got a page (remember pagers?) from an ex who was back in town after moving away shortly after our breakup.  She was the last person I wanted to hear from; fortunately there is nothing less confrontational than a pager.  The other party can’t have any direct contact with you unless you call them back.  Of course, I was horny and, knowing that you can’t spell “sex” without “ex”, I gave her a call.  We went out that night, and given that she was at best clingy and at worst emotionally unstable, I was extremely cautious.  We made small talk during drinks and dinner: How’ve you been, how are your parents, have you seen such and such movie yet, etc.  There was no discussion of resuming our relationship.  We didn’t even bring up sex.

After dinner, we returned to my place, where sex did in fact occur.  Overall, the experience was enjoyable, providing both an exciting spark and a more comfortable familiarity.  Although our dating relationship left much to be desired, physically I had always been in-tune with her.  Now, some eighteen months or so after the dissolution of our relationship, there were no emotions or egos to get in the way of what I hoped at the time was simple no-strings-attached sex.

When we were finished, we dozed off and I remember waking to the very unsettling thought of her wanting to begin our relationship anew.  It made sense; as stated above, she was a very clingy and emotionally insecure person.  I, on the other hand, was over her, and the last thing I wanted was to actually date her again.  With my climax not far behind me, I had a moment of clarity.  I realized the risk I took, and in fact did briefly regret hooking up with her.  At any rate, my fears were unwarranted.  When I dropped her back off at her parents’ house where she was staying, it became clear that she was no more interested in dating than I was.

Jill’s Answer:

No, I don’t believe that I’ve ever regretted any of the sex I’ve ever had, either instantly or days, months, or years later.  Whenever I’ve had sex, I’ve always made the conscious decision to do so beforehand, and I generally knew what I was getting into, including any likely risks.  Therefore I didn’t regret it.  It was simply what I wanted at the time.

When I was single I had a few one-night stands.  I usually enjoyed the sex, I knew I only wanted the quick, meaningless release, and I got what I wanted from the situation.  I always knew that it was only a one-night stand, I didn’t feel bad that it wasn’t more than that, and I never felt that I was used or somehow taken advantage of by the guy.  I’m a strong believer in my own sexual agency.  I like to take charge rather than letting things happen and going along for the ride.  If I was ever in a situation where I knew it wasn’t a good idea to have sex for whatever reason, I made the conscious decision not to.

The closest I’ve ever come to regretting having sex was with the guy who assfucked me without asking, warning me, or even lubing up.  It was physically painful, and shocking because up until that point he was someone I enjoyed being with, and the sex was really good.  It was unfortunate that he chose to do something so inconsiderate, but I don’t even regret that, as it showed that he was clearly unworthy of me.

Although there have been relationships that I chose to stay in longer than I should have, I don’t regret the sex any more than I regret the relationship itself.  These situations demonstrated to me what I wanted and didn’t want out of the next one.  Therefore I feel that each experience I’ve had, whether sexual, romantic, or otherwise, led me to have the strong commitment that I share with Jack.

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She bounced vigorously, her hands in his as he jerked her down to meet every upward thrust.  Her stringy black hair flailed as she undulated on him, her moans stifled by the music blasting on the stereo.

She thrashed as she climaxed, mouth frozen open as though screaming.  Then she floated off his cock, coming to rest sitting cross-legged in the air above the bed.  He looked up in wonder as the walls came to life, drops of paint transforming into balloons that swarmed like hornets.

He remembered the crystalline powder that had earlier gone up his nose, and swore to kick Ketamine. (103)

-Jack

Behind the Scenes:

Owing to a busier schedule than usual, I checked for this week’s prompt on Tuesday and didn’t get around to writing my story until Thursday evening.  Maybe it’s the cynic in me, but the first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt picture was drugs.  I’m sure there are many alternative interpretations that do not involve chemical enhancement, and I look forward to seeing what my fellow bloggers come up with; but all I could think of was that this was how one character in the story viewed another, likely while on acid.

The required word this  week was “crystalline”.  As I don’t use drugs – well, not illegal ones, anyway – I had to do a little research to find a drug that comes in powedered form, specifically a powder that could be described as crystalline; and that included hallucinations among its short-term effects.  Ketamine was the first one I came across that fit the criteria.

It’s worth noting that this is the first Flash Fiction Friday prompt I’ve completed that featured a non-photographic picture.

Deleted Scenes:

As this week’s word limit maxed out at 105, there were a few minor details that had to be omitted.  Most of these details would have concerned the woman and would have hinted at her being a drug user (or at the least would have suggested her poor physical health).  One passage described her “sullen breasts, almost yellow with disrepair”.  Another would have mentioned her bad skin.  Her hair was at one point described as “greasy”, but as mention of her ill health was abandoned, I chose to describe it as “stringy” instead.  Beyond this, the only other omissions were descriptors and other elaborations that simply did not fit.

Soundtrack:

During the sex scene, I like something fast-paced such as Thin Lizzy’s Opium Trail.  However, the hallucination sequence suggests something slower, perhaps even dreamy.  Just Like Honey, by The Jesus and Mary Train, comes to mind.

If you’d like to take part in the fun, or see who else participated this week, check out Erotic Flash Fiction Friday.

This week we decided to give Wanton Wednesday and Wank Wednesday a try.  I hope I did it right.  Here goes:

They pulled into the garage, the stylish import cruising past station wagons and minivans until they reached their parking space.  He made a wide turn, then slowly backed the car in.  He always backed into the parking space, and she suspected that he did so as much to show off as he did for the convenience of being able to pull straight out the next time they drove somewhere.

The smell of sex lingered.  During dinner she’d gone to the restroom and removed her panties, and when she returned to the table she pressed them into his hand for the purpose of seeing his eyes go wide, of knowing that, beneath the silken tablecloth he was sporting a tremendous erection she couldn’t wait to feel inside her.  Just the thought made her damp and fragrant, and she knew how much her aroma aroused him.

“Are you going to fuck me when we get home?” she’d asked as they left the restaurant.  Sexy beneath the cheap pair of glasses she wore, her eyes locked with his.

“I might not wait until then,” he had replied.  His words turned her on, her wetness sticking to her legs.

Now, he shut off the engine and with a flick turned off the headlights.  They sat there for a moment, the desire hanging in the air, almost tangible.  She expected him to lean over, to kiss her voraciously, to grope her breasts and caress her thighs.  Instead, he seemed to be staring off into space.  She looked where he was looking, squinting through her eyeglasses.  At first she thought he was looking at the random cars on the opposite side of the parking garage, but more likely he was just lost in thought.

“What is it?” she asked.  He snapped out of it immediately.

“Nothing,” he said with the self-consciousness of a teenager who has been caught imitating his favorite rock star in the bathroom mirror.  “Let’s get out.”

It was only a thirty-second elevator ride up to their apartment, where they could give in to passion in the comfort of their own bedroom, atop warm bedsheets.  Thirty seconds.  Neither could wait that long.

He opened the car door and stepped out.  She followed, her high heels clicking on the cold concrete floor.  Gripping her purse, she headed for the elevator but his hand on her shoulder told her to halt.

He turned her around to face him, their bodies almost colliding as their lips met in a furious kiss.  As his mouth opened against hers, the heel of his hand made its way under her leather skirt and between her legs, finding wetness where they met.  He slipped two fingers inside her straight away, then a third and a fourth.  As they undulated inside her, he strummed her aroused clit with his thumb.

She cried out, her voice echoing off the walls of the garage.  At the sound, he expected her to back away demurely for fear that some elderly neighbor might see them while dumping her trash at half past midnight.  Her actual reaction, however, was much different than he expected.

“Fuck me,” she said.  “Right here.”

“Right here?” he asked, a smile forming on his lips and no trace of hesitation in his voice as he continued to caress her beneath the skirt.

“You said you were going to fuck me as soon as we got home, so fuck me.”  She unbuttoned the skirt and let it fall to their feet.  Paying it no mind, he continued to play with her.  She moaned erotically, savoring his touch.  She reached down to his belt, hurrying to unbuckle it before unsnapping his jeans.  His cock was already stiff, ready for action as it sprang into her grip.  She stroked it anyway, enjoying the familiar feet of it in her hand.  But she wanted more.

“Fuck me,” she repeated.  There was no plea in her words, but rather a sense of urgent insistence.

He wanted to continue to finger her, to give her the immediate release that he knew she needed.  The thought of finding her G-spot right there in the garage was overwhelming.  But once the request was made – and for that matter, repeated – he had no choice.  In seconds, he had her turned around, up against the car with her palms pressing against the passenger-side window to brace her.  She arched her back wantonly, purring with desire and anticipation.  He stepped around the discarded skirt as he moved close, spreading her open with his hands as his hardness found its way inside.

She came almost immediately in a slippery gush that soaked his jeans, her moans quickly giving way to sighs of what could only be described as relief.  She threw herself forward, feeling the cool glass of the window against her flushed face.  She didn’t have long to enjoy it, though, as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back toward him, kissing her eagerly and hungrily, the sounds of his passion filling her ears as he continued to press himself deeper and deeper inside of her.

“Yes!” she cried out once the kiss broke.  “Fuck me!”  The command reverberated through the stillness of the night, and if he wasn’t already he would have had no choice but to obey.  She continued to goad him, feeling his fingers dig into her hips, slamming her onto him with great force.  That’s how she knew he was close.

He tensed up, his hands gripping her body with a tightness she’d rarely experienced.  When he came, he emptied his seed deep inside her, his hands slowly relaxing.  He slid out of her, and pulled his jeans back up.  As he buckled his belt, she leaned in for a lusty kiss.

As she bent down to pick up her skirt, she heard a car engine start.  The driver waited until she’d put the garment back on before turning on his headlights and bathing their afterglow in illumination.  The car pulled out of its parking space, and she noticed with some amusement that the other driver had also backed in.  As the car passed them, she looked to her side and saw her husband exchanging a nod with the other driver.

Boarding the elevator at last, she knew that this night would echo in her mind forever.

Even if their team is not going to the Super Bowl, millions of people love an excuse to party. So party we will. Tell us what your ideal Super Bowl Celebration (or any sports party) looks like by answering:

Jack’s Answers

1. What’s your favorite _____ that you’ll serve at the party (name one item for each):
a. choice of beer
I prefer not to drink – and therefore I don’t serve – cheap domestic beer like Bud Light or Coors Light.  I would probably have Blue Moon, Shock Top, Fat Tire or Gordon Biersch on hand, as to me those beers represent a respectable compromise between quality and cost.
b. choice of wine
Definitely a red, probably Pinot Noir.  While we drink a lot of wine, we drink more beer on Super Bowl Sunday.
c. choice of distilled spirit
I drink Irish whisky, preferably Jameson’s or Paddy’s (no Bushmills if I can help it).  However, I’ll put out some cheap whisky for my guests – Jack Daniels is likely – since they’ll probably prefer it anyway, the uncultured boors.  Beyond that, we will have on hand vodka, scotch, rum, and tequila, and a snifter of brandy after the game sounds good as well.
d. choice of mixed drink
I usually drink my whisky neat; however I will have on hand all the usual mixers for my guests to enjoy as they see fit.
e. choice of chip
Corn chips will be served.  They’re not my favorite chip for snacking on; that distinction goes to the sturdy, delicious tortilla chip, especially when eaten with a delicious homemade tomatillo or habanero salsa.  However, corn chips go perfectly with my preferred dip.  See the next question.
f. choice of dip
The greatest Super Bowl Sunday dip in the world is a mix of rotisserie chicken, buffalo wing sauce, cream cheese, Monterey Jack cheese, and blue cheese dressing.  Once I tried this stuff, I knew I’d never go back to heroin.
g. choice of take-out food (pizza, burgers, Chinese food, wings, etc)
Wings.  I don’t think there’s ever been a Super Bowl Sunday in which I haven’t eaten wings.  Even after polishing off half a tray of the aforementioned buffalo wing dip, I can still kill several buffalo wings.
h. choice of homemade food
Whatever you want to make, ’cause I’m not cooking.
i. choice of salty food
Tortilla chips.  If time allows on Saturday (it probably won’t), I might make some from scratch, along with some salsa.
j. choice of sweet food
Probably M&Ms.  We always have a few bags in our cupboard, and enjoy munching on them whether there’s a football game on or not.

2. What will you wear at the party?
Hopefully nothing.  Hey, it’s my party.

3. You will be having your very own half time show at the football party. What is that half-time show? Briefly describe.
During half time, all chairs will be moved away from the center of the room.  Jill and I will move into the empty space, strip off each other’s clothes, and begin fucking with wild abandon while our guests cheer us on.

4. What team do you wish was playing in the Super Bowl?
My local heroes, the San Francisco 49ers.  I doubt any Bay Area football fan was less than heartbroken after their loss to the Giants.

5. The NY Giants and New England Patriots are in Super Bowl 2012, who do you want to win?  (ummm…yeah, I had to google that info…LOL)
I’ll be rooting for the Patriots, and not just because the Giants beat the Niners.  I like the team, and would greatly enjoy seeing them get a little payback after the upset that was Super Bowl XLII.

Bonus: Have you ever made a football (or Super Bowl) bet that involved sex? Tell us about your own Super Bowl of Sex.
No, I’ve never made a Super Bowl bet involving sex.  However, I bet on Juan carlos Ferrero to win the 2003 U.S. Open.  Andy Roddick won instead, I couldn’t come up with the money, and the bookie made me her sex slave for two weeks.  When it was over, I re-upped for another week.

Bonus Bonus: Will you watch the Super Bowl? Do you even care about the Super Bowl? American football at all? What’s your can’t live without sport?
We’ll be watching.  More than likely we’ll watch the game at Jill’s parents’ house, where it’ll be a packed house, and much delicious food and drink will be consumed.  Of all the major sports I can think of, football is the one I follow the closest, although generally speaking I don’t get invested in too many games that don’t involve the 49ers – unless I’m watching to root against a team I particularly dislike. *cough* Raiders *cough*

Jill’s Answers

1. What’s your favorite _____ that you’ll serve at the party (name one item for each):
a. choice of beer
I like Guinness, so that’s what I’d probably serve to my guests.  I realize that it’s not exactly a “football” beer, but I’m not buying Bud Light.  It’s not allowed on my property.
b. choice of wine
The variety of wine that I drink most often lately is Pinot Noir, or possibly Syrah.  Although if Guinness isn’t exactly a “football” beer, neither is wine a “football” beverage.  But that’s what we have, so that’s what I’d offer our guests.
c. choice of distilled spirit
Definitely vodka!  I like screwdrivers, vodka cranberry, vodka cran orange, and plenty of other cocktails made with vodka, so that’s what I’d have available.
d. choice of mixed drink
I’d probably go with vodka cran orange, but if the game was at ten AM, we’d be drinking Ramos Fizzes.
e. choice of chip
Regular Lay’s potato chips.
f. choice of dip
I love onion dip, but it has to be made with Lipton’s onion soup mix, and not French onion dip.
g. choice of take-out food (pizza, burgers, Chinese food, wings, etc)
Wings.  There’s something about eating greasy chicken wings that goes hand-in-hand with football.  Pizza is a close second, although I really associate pizza with Monday Night Football, as that’s what we ate every Monday while watching the game when I was a kid.
h. choice of homemade food
There’s a really good buffalo chicken dip that we make on Super Bowl Sunday.  In fact, we were introduced to this recipe several Super Bowls back.  We make it, and eat it, on other occasions, but it’s perfect for the Super Bowl.
i. choice of salty food
Chips or pretzels.
j. choice of sweet food
Peanut M&Ms.  They’re perfect for any occasion, and it’s not a Super Bowl party without a few bowls for guests to enjoy.

2. What will you wear at the party?
My New England Patriots shirt and jeans.

3. You will be having your very own half time show at the football party. What is that half-time show? Briefly describe.
Naked Twister!  Actually, anything involving sex would be wonderful.  In 2009 I wrote a story about sexy half time fun during the Super Bowl.  I’m re-posting it here for your enjoyment.

You can’t see it, but I’m using my Rabbit in this shot.  Nothing against my fingers – I love the way my pussy feels against them – but when you are pressed for time, the quicker the better!

-Jill

Take my hand and come into the kitchen with me.  Quickly, before the baby notices we’re gone.  Close the door.  Now stand right here.  Oh!  You’re already nice and hard.  I’ve been hungry for you all day, and I don’t want to wait a second longer.

This week’s question brought back fond memories of our carefree single days.


What’s the fastest you’ve gone from meeting someone to sleeping with them?

Jack’s Answer

The fastest I’ve ever gone was probably a couple hours.  I had a few one-night stands in my single days, and most of these were bar pickups.  However, when I was in my early twenties I attended a house party held by a friend’s cousin.  I hit it off well with one of the host’s co-workers and we spent awhile chatting.  Then she gave me head in a spare bedroom.

Although head qualifies as sex in my book, it’s probably not the same as sleeping with someone, which is what the question specifically asked.  Therefore I’ll talk about the first time I picked somebody up in a bar.  I was twenty-one, newly-dumped by someone I really cared about, and feeling somewhat disillusioned.  Also being newly-legal, I’d been regularly visiting bars with friends on the weekends.  I was still living with my parents, and one Tuesday or Thursday night, after a night class, I decided to go to a bar as we had out-of-town family visiting and I didn’t particularly want to see them or socialize with them.

The woman I hooked up with had to have been in her thirties.  She seemed older, mature, even distinguished, but she was probably younger than I am currently.  We sat beside each other at the bar, our legs casually brushing against one another without any conscious effort by either of us.  We made small talk for awhile, about typical topics most of which are long forgotten, but I distinctly remember her telling me that she was trying to get custody of her son, or at least visitation rights.  It wasn’t until I bought her a drink that she told me her name.

After another round, she asked if I wanted to get out of there.  I said yes, and she basically asked me my place or hers, although she didn’t use those exact words.  Hesitant to tell her that I still lived with my parents, I mumbled something half-hearted about having out of town company – which was, of course, 100% true – and asked if we could go to her place.  We did.  If I had to guess, I’d say that the sex began about an hour and a half after she gave me her name, which for the purposes of answering this question would be when I met her, technically.

She wasn’t the best sex I had ever had at that point in my life; likely that distinction goes to a girl I dated casually during my first year of college.  But my one-night stand wasn’t a dead fish by any means; the sex was fun and exciting, and it certainly beat the hell out of going home and masturbating.

Jill’s Answer

Three hours.  When I was around twenty-seven, I went to a club with some friends.  We arrived by eight, were drunk by nine, and shortly thereafter met some guys.  We hung out and danced for awhile, and I had a good time getting to know one of the guys.  Eventually my friends got ready to leave, but I wasn’t ready and he offered to give me a ride home.

Once we were in his car, he asked where I wanted him to take me.  I told him that it was still early, and why didn’t he take me to his place.  (I was enjoying his company, but I really didn’t want him to know where I lived.)  He was visiting from out of town, and staying with friends or relatives.  When we got back to his place, we started making out on the couch, and before long we were tearing each other’s clothes off and vigorously going at it right there in the living room.  At one point I’m pretty sure someone came out to get a glass of water or something while we were having sex.

We fell asleep on the couch, under a blanket.  I woke up sometime later and walked home.  It turns out that his place was just a few blocks from where I was living at the time.

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