embarrassing moments

What is it that makes something embarrassing that happens during sex? Is it the act itself, or fear about the person we're with and what they'll think of us based on that?

To illustrate further, my darlings, a little story time...

For those not in the know, the Albright Sex Fairies attend the lovely Smith College, an elite woman's college in western Massachusetts. A few weeks ago, I was issued an invitation to a frat party at the illustrious Worcester Polytechnic Institute, which seemed very promising, given their male: female ratio of 7:3 or so (for the record: Although I, the Albright Sheriff, identify as bi, since I don't present myself as particularly homo-oriented in my appearance, most of my encounters detailed here involve the male persuasion...though there certainly be surprises!).

Although we were for a long time the only people on the dance floor and certainly the only ones belting out "Bad Romance" at an epic volume, most of the lovely females in my group eventually made their way off with newly acquired "friends" at the close of the night. I found myself a good looking guy (who I picked up with the genius move of a drunken ass grab and, "Hey, you're cute" while trying to wipe the sweaty hair off my face), and we headed up to his room to get more acquainted.

The first round was actually quite good--first times with anyone new are generally awkward, getting used to new rhythms, penis sizes/girths ...plus, I've got a VCH (google it, I'll definitely blog about that later) and I imagine that can be scary. But what surprised me about this new guy was that he deliberately turned the lights off.

Why? This always surprises me. Is it embarrassment? If I'm having sex with you, presumably I want to see what I'm getting myself into (or more accurately, what I'm getting into myself). Is it a fear that the other person won't want you if they see you in all your glory under flourescent frat house lighting?

Anyway. After talking and cuddling (aw), we went at it again. As the hot and heavy wore down to a close, I lay down, waiting for him to finish. Which he did. In my eye. Thus earning himself the nickname "Sharpshooter."

And he was so embarrassed! It was adorable, actually (his embarrassment, not the cum in my bloodshot eye).

But why be embarrassed about sex with the lights on? Or about cum in the eye for that matter? Apologies (and helping me clean up) are one thing. But to feel uncomfortable because you screwed up? Why bother?

Sex is messy. Funny things happen. My philosophy is usually either, "eh, could be worse" or to laugh it off. Cum in the eye? Not my fave sex move, but not deadly (though I did have to put in a new contact when we returned to Smith). I try not to fuck people I feel too much pressure to be perfect with in bed, because that's a disaster waiting to happen. SOMETHING (in the form of ED, a lost piercing, a queef, a nosy sibling, whatever) will inevitably happen, and to really enjoy and be in control of my sex life, I've got to be able to laugh it off and to take it in stride. Sex brings up enough insecurities without letting the inevitable fuckups get in the way of enjoying it.

Sharpshooter later visited me for my birthday (aw). And this time, he came in my EAR. But his aim seems to be improving, as my nose has not yet been violated (or my left eye!). Something to work towards, I guess.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff