Down and out in Los Angeles

I spent last week in Los Angeles. The initial plan was to get tan, fuck Craigslist Guy, and forget about Blue-collared Townie. I accomplished only one of those goals. It started out well enough, with two hotel rooms booked for two days each (one for Wednesday and Thursday, one for Friday and Saturday). Then I drove off without my license and got pulled over for speeding while heading back to get it (yes, CHP, we drivers get that you need to catch as many as possible to make up the financial deficit in your department resulting from state budget cuts). Well, that meant I couldn't make it to LA early enough to fuck Craigslist Guy on Tuesday, since his roommate was going to be home by the time I got to his condo. We made plans to meet at my hotel room as soon as I checked in the next day, and I fell asleep with pornographic images of having torrid hotel sex swirling around in my mind. The very next day, Craigslist Guy went completely AWOL. Thinking that he was uninterested but too much of a pansy to tell me, I indulged in a little self-pity and allowed myself to wallow in the feeling of missing Blue-collared Townie, whose bed I had slept in almost every single night for the week prior to me leaving (the only exception was my last night in town, when we slept in my room). I felt vaguely out of sorts with a king-size bed all to myself and without Blue-collared Townie's arm draped across my torso. I ended up writing him a letter both nights that I was at that hotel (I blame the fact that the hotel provided complimentary stationary and envelopes) as well as texting him occasionally, telling him that I missed him (to which he responded with ambivalence, never once stating that he missed me too). Turns out that Craigslist Guy's car had been broken into, and his cell phone and laptop had been stolen. That's why he had been silent. His car had to be left in the shop to be repaired for the next couple of days, and once he got it back, he had to go to his nephew's graduation party in San Diego. I like the fact that he has a healthy relationship with his extended family, so I completely understood about his priorities. The only tragedy was that this now meant that I wasn't going to get laid at all, or so I thought, but I'll get to that later. So I spent all day Thursday bemoaning the lack of sex and toasting my skin, leaving me with a vague, but not intolerable, sunburn. It eventually faded into a tan, which is unfortunately now peeling, but I digress. Several people surrounding the pool were rather entitled and delusional about their own fabulousness. One woman who was pudgy, but still insisted on wearing a bikini, said that she was blessed that she was so attractive, and then proceeded to criticize another woman's haircut. I felt like asking her if she was crazy or secretly wearing a fat suit, in order to point out that she wasn't as hot as she thought she was, considering that she could stand to lose 10-20 pounds from around her waist, and thus was in no position to call someone else ugly. Despite the unpleasant company, it felt heavenly to spend the day lazing about in the sun. I spent the next morning and Saturday in much the same way, which is why I specifically picked out hotels based on their pool areas (you'd be surprised at how many hotels in LA have unattractive, almost industrial, pool areas). Saturday night was interesting. I met up with a friend who I hadn't seen in almost a year and a half. The last time I saw him was in Manhattan (he just graduated from Columbia, so we'll call him Mr. Ivy), where he abandoned me at a bar in the Upper West Side the night before Thanksgiving rather late at night because he wanted to get to bed so he could get up early the next morning and get a head start on studying for his final exams for that semester. After that incident, I really should have completely stopped being his friend, especially since I had spent the better part of the evening trying to cheer him up (and a little part of me was toying with the idea of possibly hooking up with him if the opportunity presented itself). But really, Mr. Ivy is like the little brother I never had. He's damn amusing, and when he does piss me off, all I really can do is ruffle his hair and roll my eyes heavenward as he apologizes for being wretched. After that night in Manhattan, I knew for certain that he had no interest in me that way and we were never going to hook up. So, naturally, I thought nothing of it to invite him up to my hotel room as I finished getting ready (if I wanted to hook up with him, I wouldn't have let him see me without even mascara on my eyelashes; I'd have wanted to present only my best self). We go meet with his friends and start drinking. Everyone's wonderfully social and we're all having a good time playing drinking games. I tell Mr. Ivy that I'll drive his car back and he can crash at my hotel room if need be. That hadn't been an invitation for sex since he has spent that night at my place in the past and nothing has ever happened. I did bitch about missing Blue-collared Townie and not getting to screw Craigslist Guy to Mr. Ivy, which that alone should have indicated that I didn't view him as someone with a penis. Eventually the restaurant closed, so Mr. Ivy and I went over to his friend's apartment to drink some more. I spent the whole time talking to his friend's roommate and his friend in the living room while Mr. Ivy smoked a couple of bowls on the balcony of the apartment. Eventually, though, everyone but Mr. Ivy became tired and I used that as an excuse to leave. Well, Mr. Ivy was too fucked up to drive at this point, so we went to my hotel room. And that's when we stepped into the Twilight Zone. Upon arriving at my hotel room, Mr. Ivy turned on the tv and I changed into my pajamas. I pulled out my Ouija board from my suitcase and suggested that we have fun with it. Mr. Ivy sat across from me on the bed, and we asked a few questions. He seemed to grow bored of it, so I moved to put it away. As I was putting the board back in its box, Mr. Ivy literally lunged at me from a sitting position and started kissing me on the mouth. All I could think was "What the hell." There was every indication from him that he was not interested in anything beyond friendship, and besides a hug hello, he didn't touch me at all that evening (nor had he touched me in the past beyond a hug hello and a hug goodbye). When Mr. Ivy finally came up for air, I asked him why he kissed me. His response was that he thought it was a cool idea. Obviously, it was a situation where he finally got fucked up enough to the point of where he was thinking "Oooh, woman" and was going to screw me just because I was the nearest vagina. The kissing and sex reminded me of why I didn't have sex with teenage boys, choosing to lose my virginity when I was old enough to screw men who had at least some experience in bed. It wasn't the worst sex I've had in bed, but it was decidedly lackluster. To make matters worse, he didn't even finish. Mr. Ivy is the only guy I've had sex with who didn't finish. It really is rather humiliating. He didn't even touch me after that and didn't mention the sex in the morning, which makes me think that it was even more unpleasant for him and that he just thinks that I'm horrible in the sack. He remembers it, but I had to be the one to mention it. Apparently, he thought that I demonstrated that I wanted to hook up after we left his friend's apartment. No mention of why he thought it was a good idea to hook up (was he just doing it as a favor to me?) or how it was for him (admittedly, I haven't talked about the quality either). When I jokingly said that we'd need to hook up again so that I could restore my ego by making him orgasm, he just said that the ego was a very important thing, as opposed to saying that he was or wasn't interested in hooking up again. At this point, I don't think I will hook up with him again, simply because once is enough of a mindfuck, since all I can do is guess at his side of things without even a single hint as to what he's thinking or feeling (assuming that he does have a single thought on the subject). He did apologize for throwing himself at me, but that doesn't say much, except that he's worried that I was offended by his sudden interest in me (or rather my availability at that moment). Oh, well, fuck Mr. Ivy for not being honest and forthright about his intentions towards me. Definitely a strange ending to an unexpected week.