Hooking Up For the First Time
His arms were wrapped around me as I laid on his chest.
We stayed like that for a while before I stared deeply into his eyes. I was in bed with a stranger, someone whose name I can barely pronounce, but I realized I could care less.
I never understood the meaning of hookups. What is the point of having sex with someone you had no interest in having a future with? I didn’t understand how people can be so insensitive. How could you let a stranger see you in your most exposed state, and not talk to them the next day? I didn’t get it or at least I didn’t before.
I never thought I would actually meet up with someone. My only intention was to playfully flirt with guys in hopes of getting my mind off my ex-boyfriend. I knew I wasn’t capable of hooking up, especially since my friends considered me a hopeless romantic; yet, my days consisted of endless Tinder swiping.
“Are you down to fuck?” Hell no.
“Truth or dare?” Dare, wait no truth. “What’s your number?” Uh.
“I got pulled over by a cop for texting and driving. I explained to him I was on Tinder and showed him your picture. He let me off with a warning and said I better get your number.” Yeah right.
Most of the messages I received were as ridiculous, but one message grabbed my attention. It was from a guy who actually paid attention to my Tinder bio, and instead of telling me a stupid pick-up line, he asked me a controversial question: “Do you believe there’s a god?”
It was a different approach, which intrigued me to want to know more. We endlessly snapchatted and occasionally texted for about two weeks, before I finally agreed to meet up with him.
It was 9 o’clock in the morning, and I sat in my car contemplating if I should drive 39 miles just to hook up with some stranger.
“I’m on my way,” I texted as I backed out of the driveway, heading for the Ventura freeway.
Surprisingly, the freeway that Friday morning didn’t fall into the stereotypical Los Angeles traffic. It only took me an hour to arrive, and the nerves hit me once I exited the freeway.
What did I get myself into, I thought as I walked toward his door. Thrown off guard, he wrapped his arms around my back and gave me the warmest hug two strangers can ever share. I thought by now I would freak out and leave, but I didn’t. For some reason, I felt comfortable with him.
Things were going well. No small talk. No awkward silences. I felt like I have known this guy for years.
Music echoed throughout the house.
We sat on his living room couch, two feet away from each other. He slowly made his way over to me, grabbed my hands and pretended to be interested in my rings.
“Why a sun?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I got it as a present when I was small,” I replied.
“And this one?” pointing to the ring on my middle finger.
“It was my mom’s.”
Slowly, his hands caressed mine. He made his move, and kissed me.
Desperately, I kissed him back. He carried me upstairs into his bedroom, still kissing. And as his lips continued to touch mine, my perspective began to change. Before I knew it, our clothes were on the wooden floor.
I just had sex with a stranger, and more than once. My number changed from one to two, and surprisingly I was okay with that decision.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink for your drive back?” he asked as I got dressed.
It was already 5 o’clock, and the thought of the traffic driving back home was daunting.
“I’m good,” I said. “Thanks.”
For a while, I never thought of myself as someone who would be so casual about sex. But as I walked out that door, I smiled, thinking how funny it was to do something I thought I’ll never do.