What I Wish Everyone Knew About Sex is a series by Buttertongue in which we recount our experiences that left us with a lesson well-learnt. We begin with our lesson and follow it with a story of the encounter. These stories may be funny, they may be stirring, they may be chilling but they are definitely erotic.
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What I wish everyone knew about sex is no matter the context of your hookup, you should tell your other half you are on a substance even if they don’t ask. Chemsex is not for everyone, and changes the playing field completely.
Mistakenly, I felt safe with him.
We had met before, in a similar way. Midnight hour urges manifested into exaggerated personas and desires, and an unforgiving bike ride to his place.
The crucial difference was a blunder on my part – one simple question.
Our first meeting had toe tap tentativity of whether we would live up to our words. To my shock, his sweet smile and gentle eyes masked a zealous rough dom.
Dirty talk that I’d heard time and time again but with him was now genuine and followed through with the required prowess.
All bark and sometimes a little too much bite. But, where there was overexerting, there was attentiveness. A tap tap when he pushed too hard and he’d stop. When it all became too much, he’d hold me and let tension break and overwhelmed senses fizzle.
There was a care he took in our first morning romp, I left feeling satiatingly promiscuous and yet still respected. I thought I had struck gold.
But where our second meeting differed was an absence of that care. I should have realised things were awry on my travels over. There was a pestering to hurry up masked as dominant foreplay but came across foreboding and unforgiving.
His eyes were darker and his smile rared an appearance. I chalked it up to him being tireder than last time or maybe he was drunker than I was this time.
There was a haze barring us where we once had started to connect. His touch was still invigorating but there was a different taste on his tongue that I couldn’t place.
He was still up to his overwhelming ways but this time pushed his way past every reluctance and every flinch.
My usual tap tap was ignored, a firm squeeze and bat bat was noticed but pushed through.
Where was the strong hug to comfort and reconfirm the joint endeavour of pleasure? The reminder the power dynamic was merely a tool of pleasure not an actual manifestation of opinion or standing?
Something had changed in the way he touched me. He was without concern, relentless in his pursuit of my body, particularly in his endeavour to fuck me despite me taking that off the table before even leaving my house.
There were only so many times that I could rabbit away before he was growling his way to my last straw.
A beat to the chest was finally acknowledged.
“I don’t care, boy,” he whinged, taunting a penetrating thrust before I made my final recoil.
“Fine,” he sighed and all sexual drive withered.
We had agreed on a sleep-in after my travels in the rain and the dark. But, everything felt hollow as we snuggled up. Just as I was computing on what happened and what to do next, I could sense his mind racing.
Just as the room stilled and I was relishing the warmth of his chest on my back, his hand began to shudder. It was once. Perhaps a reflex as he was dreaming?
Then it happened again… and again. My ears pricked hearing him chew his lip and roll it between his teeth.
I felt a sinking in my gut. He started grunting and mumbling, clicking his jaw.
“Everything okay?” I said, knowing and dreading the answer.
“I think I need to sleep alone,” he mumbled.
I tossed up asking for an explanation, something was clearly wrong, too many things were adding up. But I felt that if I started questioning I’d get mad.
So, after a mutterful shower, a blustering rug-up of coats and a short, cold farewell, I was out the door wondering the hell had happened to the gentleman I’d met last time.
I left feeling squeamish, recollecting his distant stare and shaking hand. Drawing conclusions on what could do that or had I been misreading him this whole time?
I could still feel him on my skin, smell him and taste him. Taste that different edge on his tongue that I couldn’t place before.
It was acrid, creeping up the back of my throat, stinging my nostrils. It snapped me back to high school science labs or cleaning the bathroom with the windows closed. Chemicals on his tongue.
I only had speculations on what it could be, I had never come across drugs in this manner before. But even without confirmation, I had learnt my lesson nonetheless.
It was becoming overpowering the more that I thought on it. How had I not noticed it before? Am I sure he was on something? He told me last time. Hadn’t he? I did ask outright. Surely, he would tell me then. Right?
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And so, the lesson goes…
Even when someone doesn’t ask, offer up that you are on a substance. Drugs alter perception and behaviour. I was left queasy after that second experience, feeling like I had met a completely different person.