Falling in Love (or how I know I am a genius part 3)

Part 1 here // Part 2 here

We get to his place. The decor was something between a bachelor pad and grown mans place. He has mix-matched beat up furniture, likely from his college days. It includes a brown sofa that was way too large for the space and chairs that could easily be part of an outdoor patio set. The flip side? He has cool and interesting art that is beautifully framed and displayed. He has Family Guy DVD’s and tattered, well read, mens magazines strewn about the living room but also a beautiful jewelry box housing several expensive & stunning watches. He has family photos on a table but the same table has empty beer cans on it.

Oh man. I am nervous. I feel as if I drank jell-o and it was slowly churning into concrete, not just in my stomach but in my chest as well. I had barely eaten a thing and he was busy making me another drink. I wanted the drink but was also nervous for the drink. I didn’t want to be drunk but I wanted the nerves to ease. How do I sit on this couch casually? Where do my hands go? How do I quiet this buzz in my mind and body? Everything about this night was becoming increasingly difficult. I tried my best to relax.


Am I casual? Oh what's this? You mean my personal cement truck? Pay it no mind, it's like an internal charm bracelet.
Am I casual? Oh what’s this? You mean my personal cement truck? Pay it no mind, it’s like an internal charm bracelet.


I head to his bathroom for a moment to myself without the small talk and all the awkwardness. I tried to pee but it was so quiet, like creepy quiet. I knew he would hear every sound I was making in the bathroom. Jesus. Why didn’t he just put on Sade or some other music like most guys? The silence in the bathroom was comforting but also paralyzing. There was no way my pee was making an exit.  I could turn the water on, you know, for comfort, but what am I? A child? I need comfort to pee?!? Besides he’d probably think I had turned the water on to hide the sound of my crying or something, and we all know from part 2 of this post, I was saving the tears for later, you know, when the actual SEX happened. (Because I am a fun girl!)


I bet he can hear my lungs working in here, helping me to breathe. Also, jesus Joanna, If you aren't going to pee, get off the toilet before a fart slips out!
I bet he can hear my lungs working in here, helping me to breathe. Also, Jesus Joanna, If you aren’t going to pee, get off the toilet before a fart slips out!


Eventually, we are on the couch. We are making out. Things are getting easier (and more fun!) I felt the fears and unknowns of how I would react begin to fall away. I was able to stop acting like such a weirdo (a.k.a. frequent bathroom visits to do some deep breathing, pull out Eckart Tolle on my ipod, sit namaste style on the floor and Ommm my way into some sort of normalcy.) (B/c I am a fun girl!)

What a weirdo.
What a footless weirdo.


It is late, 2am or so, we make our way to his bed. Clothing is coming off. It is happening and HOLY SHIT.  I am not crying. Hallelujah! After 14+ months celibate, I am ready for this! I actually really WANT this. We are naked in his bed. The sheets are crisp and smell like laundry detergent. His room is dimly lit and I, oh boy oh boy oh boy, I am in the groove. Yaaassss! I say to myself. Yaaaasss! He pulls his kiss away from my lips and begins small kisses down my torso. YES! YES! YES!


I am not crying and this is so great and I am drawing myself with clothes on for modesty purposes, d'uh.
I am not crying and this is oh so great and oh holy moly and oh man I can’t believe this is happening and I am drawing myself with clothes on for modesty purposes, d’uh.


Then it takes a weird, awful, Alexander and the no good, terrible day, kind of twist…

His kisses stop just below my naval, his voice comes from a far away place, he asks “Can I examine you?”

*insert record scratch here*

*insert a strong gust of wind through the room*

*insert the groove I was riding in my brain come to a screeching halt*

I think even the crickets outside stopped singing. I imagine them falling over and dying.

I felt my vagina turn into a sandbox.




Before I can really respond he is in between my legs. He has morphed into something between a gynecologist with a miners cap and a boy who has never seen a vagina before. I am quiet for a second. I am numb for a second as I try to figure out how I am feeling and how to respond. My next thought is Why would someone ask that and why in such a specific way? Also, his voice sounded so far away. Where was he if not right here WITH me? I figure, ok, let’s look at this positively, he wants to “examine you“, maybe he wants to know if you have any STD’s and that is a conversation you should probably have.

“Oh, hee hee *nervous laugh* I am glad you asked.” (What the fuck was I saying!?!?!) “We should probably have that conversation. I haven’t had sex in over a year. Haha” *more awkward laugh* (I am dying to go to the bathroom for a second of alone time at this point b/c really WHAT THE FUCK is going on? Why am I normalizing this and WHAT AM I DOING?), “So ahh, yeah, you should probably know that, it’s been awhile. In fact, I am a little nervous b/c it has been so long and oh…. ummmmm…. I get tested at my annual exams and have never had anything abnormal. So if you’re looking to be sure everything is ok, I can tell you it is. Also, I practice safe sex. I even brought condoms in case you didn’t have any.” *reaches for purse*



is all the is running through my head.

I am pouring sweat from my every pore and not the hot girl kind (is that a kind of sweat?) It’s the cold clammy kind of sweat. I am not sure but I bet the stress stink is building in my armpits. Fuck. I can also feel my heartbeat in my brain and I am hyper aware of my shallow breathing.

“No, he says. It’s that’s not it. I just really like vagina’s.” As he says this, I can hear that he is still really far away. He is talking in a way that is so odd! He begins to take a REAL interest in my vagina. He has not moved from between my legs.

No Drawing Available.


I shift uncomfortably and move away from him. He suddenly wakes up out of his bubble, the light comes back to his eyes and to his body and he realizes he has completely creeped me out.

“No. No. You are misunderstanding!” he pleads. (Really? Because I am not understanding ANY of this. I don’t even know what it is going on in order to misunderstand!) “It has nothing to do with diseases.” He pops out of bed like a ping-pong ball and heads naked into the living room. I reach over to the side of the bed, grab my underwear and pull them back on. My bra too. Now I want to cry. What a fucking disaster this is. I consider going into his bathroom and not coming out until he leaves for work in a few days. (B/c I am a fun girl!)

He comes back into the bedroom with a book. A very large coffee table book. He lays it on the bed. It is titled something like “I love Pussy.”  It is still wrapped in it’s protective plastic. He lays it on the bed next to me and can’t wait to show me what each page has on it. I am dying inside. My vagina has gone from sandbox to Sahara desert.  Instead of me having to knock dust from my pants in the future, it will now be sand.

It feels like a dream. Now I am the one that is far away. He turns each page slowly, full of anticipation, showing me page after page of vaginas, macro images of vaginas, full page images of vaginal folds, hairy vaginas, bald vaginas, vaginas with things shoved in them.  I am laying in his bed, in my underwear and he is discussing each vagina on each page in a super weird, full of eager energy, nearly clinical way. He might even be drooling. A-ha! Now his calm demeanor the previous dates makes sense. It is a rouse, it is a way to throw you off so he can steal your vagina. I think he probably has a vagina collection under his bed, in well keptTupperware containers . I am completely freaked out. It is one thing to like vaginas or even appreciate them… this was another level. I had to get me and my vagina out of there.

Now, I get it, people are into all sorts of different things and, hey, more power to you. Whatever floats your boat, so to speak. However, this isn’t a thing I am into. I am regretting not talking to him more about sex before this moment so I could have avoided this entirely. He is clueless to the cat liter box my vagina is turning into as he rattles on about labia majora and minora. He is running his fingers over the pages as if he can feel the vagina’s under his fingers. Through his rattling on it is clear that he assumes b/c of my photography business I too am into vagina’s in the same way. I am not.

I find my voice and say “that’s enough, I get it. I have a vagina. I know what they look like.” He looks at me and suddenly is back from his far away magical vagina land where he gets to examine all of them all of the time. He closes the book and reaches for me. I get out of his bed. I get dressed. It is 4 or 5 a.m. or who knows what the fuck time it is. I don’t have a car, metro isn’t running and my phone is dead. SHIT. He is asking me where I am going. I tell him I am going home, although I don’t know how. He offers to drive me. I let him. We barely speak on the way home. I am exhausted.  I get home before the sun comes up.

Side note: The best part of waking up, is not Folgers in your cup. It’s waking up with you vagina still on your person and not in a tupperware container under someone’s bed.

It’s mid afternoon and I think about what a disaster the previous night had been. All of that anticipation and nerves and excitement for naught. Maybe the timing still wasn’t right. Maybe this was the universe telling me I still wasn’t ready. The universe gave me the creepy vagina stealer for my first dive back into a sexual relationship. Ugh. I am dying for my roommate to wake up from her late night/early morning bartending shift so I can share this with someone else. As I wait, I get an email from the front desk. A package has been delivered to me. I head down to the lobby to pick it up. Wrapped in simple brown paper is what is clearly a large coffee table book.

I open the packaging and find a book full of vaginas with a handwritten note “Let’s start your collection.”


Nope. Nope. Nope.


Just then a facebook message pops up on my phone.

(To Be Continued)


I die for your thoughts. A thousand times.