Anatomy of a One-Night Stand

Anthropology conferences, I was told, are famous for this sort of stuff. Yes, I had hoped for it, or at least something like it. Back in 1990 I was a 1st year PhD student at Georgetown University (and one of the oldest students in my classes at 35), and this was my very first academic conference. As a new student, I was truly thrilled the conference was being held here in DC. I had been attending religiously as many sessions as I could because of the access to information that I just wasn't getting in my doctoral classes. And, of course, so many of my intellectual heroes were there. It was so bizarre to be a student again, a budding academic, after so many years of sex, drugs and rock n roll (ok, I paid for my education by working in rock n roll clubs!). And now, here I was at my first international conference, reading name tags as wearers slip past in the stream of humanity and catching glimpses of so many names that were familiar, known, even adored.

That's what happened with Chuck, as he asked to be called. He was the first anthropologist that I had read and thought to myself, "sheeeeet, I can do this!" His publications that I had studiously read and his encouragement in person had shown me that my experiences in Asia were of value to anthropological studies. But he also introduced me to Jurgen.

Earlier that day, I had been at Jurgen's session on visual anthropology with some of my classmates. My close friend Minako and I couldn't take our eyes off of his exquisite hands -- long, slender, tapered like a medieval painting Madonna! We decided he was extremely sexy because his hands were so lovely. That evening, at a party for linguist-anthropologists, I had teased her about picking him up, and even went so far as to tell Minako what my pickup line would be. She approved. I would ask him about his experience presenting at conferences because I was so impressed by his professionalism, especially when he was plagued by so many stupid questions by his audience. He responded with such patience and kindness. I, for one, was very impressed. He handled beautifully my biggest fear in public presentations, i.e., how to deal with dumb questions and aggressive questioners.

But enough of that. There he was at the bar beside my new best friends, Chuck and Fred. Naturally, I went right over to say hi to them -- and turn to try out my practiced lines on Jurgen. While we spoke, however, he stood quite a distance from me. I thought he must thoroughly dislike me. Perhaps he did; but that did not matter. Somewhere in my stream of babble, he suddenly interrupts and asks if I know much about the nightlife in DC. Well, he came to the right place! And I went on to tell him about my connections at nightclubs, my free admissions (I bartended at a popular DC club on the weekends). He was impressed and immediately said, "How's tonight at 11? Is that too late?"

"No, just right."

I turned back to gloat to MInako and got heavily teased by Chuck Frake and Frederick Erickson.

I had it all planned. I had every intention of staying the night with him so I moved my car near the conference center in perfect position for tomorrows sessions, and walked over to his hotel more than 15 minutes late. He was waiting outside. I was suddenly concerned that perhaps the clubs I frequent were too wild for him, or he would think I was too weird. None of that really mattered though, so we took a cab to the Fifth Column.

But skip that, let's get to the juicy bits.

The taxi sped away from the dingy downtown area as Jurgen pulled me toward him and kissed me. It was weird. He kinda didn't move his lips much but pressed down on my chin with his. I can't really describe it. All I can say is that it was somewhat uncomfortable. I just laughed and pushed him away saying, "not in front of the driver". We reached his hotel and went up in the lift. As the elevator door shut he asked me to guess which floor. I replied "HMMMMM, six!" And it was right. We entered his room and the seriousness of the moment seemed to creep in with us. No more giggling, no more feigned affection. We took turns washing up. Me first.

While fumbling round with my jeans, I came across the little envelope with the cocaine in it and nonchalantly tossed it on the table. He lunged forward and opened it. I told him to watch out because the stuff makes you crazy as he sniffed up an index finger full of the nasty white stuff and looked over at me. "No thanks, no more for me." He got up and turned on the TV, switching to the porno channel saying he'd never seen any before. Yea, right.

I slipped off my jeans and jumper as he did his business in the loo. I sat on the bed leaning against the pillows in my black knickers and tee shirt wondering what he was doing in the bathroom for so long. I slipped my glasses back on to watch the tv but strangely noticed that the film showed lots of female genitalia but no breasts and no male bits. I took my specs off and watched the light change in the room as the scene changed on the tv.

Jurgen finally came out of the bathroom and slipped off his shirt. I noticed his tall, very slender, slightly tanned body. I really like tall skinny guys and told him so. But I added that I like broad shoulders too.

"I haven't got broad shoulders."

"But your gorgeous hands make up for that."

"You know, when you first spoke about my hands yesterday, I imagined them all over your body."

"You're joking! I thought you didn't like me! You stood so far away!"

He sidled on over to the bed saying it was cold. He lifted up the blankets and slid under with his jeans still on.

"Are you shy?"

"Yes."

Aww, as I also slid under. We got close and held each other initially for warmth.

"Take those jeans off", and he did. I like having power over men.

We squirmed a lot, rubbing body against body. He stretched his face over to mine and kissed me in that weird way of his, all pressure on my chin and no lip movement. I thought I'd better do something about this so I pushed him over onto his back and took control over the kissing giving him a fairly passionate tongue movement while pressing down on his lips. I tried to suck in the air through my mouth while kissing and I did, creating more pressure and movement on his lips. It almost made kissing him bearable. I don't think he closed his eyes while kissing me but I was afraid to open mine and look.

He slipped his hands under my knickers massaging my buttocks. I ran my hands over his hairless chest and down his thighs.

"You have gloriously soft skin", I said.

"So do you."

He was being polite and I was wishing I had showered this evening. Too late now as he slid his gorgeous long hands over my buttock and onto my anus, straight across to my wet vulva. The thought of those glorious long thin fingers touching me where I had imagined them touching me this afternoon excited me to no end. Gosh. My first academic fling! My first affair with a PhD and my first fellow anthropologist!

He slipped my knickers off and rolled me over onto my back, lifted up my legs and stuck his tongue right up into that lovely crease between my thighs.

Usually, it is the thought of the act more than the actual act itself that is exciting. Not too many men I have known are terribly competent at oral sex. But then, way back when I had been with women in my distant past, I wasn't very knowledgeable or effective either. Jurgen wasn't very good at it at all but I appreciated his effort and squirmed and made appreciative sounds to signal this.

I reached down and grabbed his penis to notice that he wasn't circumcised. What a treat! After all these American men and all those Muslims in Asia these last few years it was a real thrill to have a foreskin to play with. I pulled myself away from his oral grip and rotated down to work on him. He wasn't terribly hard: Damned drugs! I slipped his semisoft willie into my mouth sucking it in as far as it would go under the circumstances. I slid my tongue inside his foreskin and played around with the head of his penis and the corona but he did not

seem to want me to do this and lifted my face away. He sat up and kissed me. At least I knew that I didn't smell bad at all despite not showering this evening.

He rolled me over onto my back again and tried to slip a half hard penis into a very wet vagina. I squeezed down as much as I could in attempt at stimulating him. He wriggled around a lot but because of the rather loose fore skin I felt absolutely no movement at all, nothing. It was quite frustrating actually so I pushed him over and got on top. Perhaps I could work some magic from here. He seemed to be a little harder. I knew this from sticking my hands around the base of his cock. Yet I certainly couldn't feel anything inside me. I tightened my vaginal muscles as much as I could and speeded up my movements on top of him -- and still felt nothing. And to think I was so excited about his uncircumcised cock. I'd never before encountered such a loose foreskin! Jurgen was groaning and squirming beneath me as if in pure ecstasy. Was he faking it or did this really feel good for him?

I was growing a bit tired, not to mention frustrated so I thought perhaps doggie style? He seemed hard enough so I lifted myself up as I slipped my left hand around his cock to massage it as it came away from the warmth inside me. I lifted my right leg over him and said:

"From behind".

He obeyed and got into position as I got on hands and knees with my bum raised up for aim. He had trouble getting inside me as I guess he'd gone a bit softer. He fumbled for a bit as I thought about apologizing for the change. I refrained when I'd remembered that I had moved because the last position was completely ineffectual for me. I just collapsed in increased

frustration as he still fumbled. He lay down on top of me and rubbed his wet willie around my ass. He tried to slip it in. By this point I guess I'd have done anything for an orgasm so I asked him if he had any oil. He responded as if he didn't know what I was talking about. Then I remembered my cocoa butter in my purse.

"Hold on," I said as I lifted myself up.

"Aren't you glad I am prepared for everything?" I said walking back toward the bed while unscrewing the jar. I stuck my fingers into the ointment and placed a sufficient amount around the outside of my anus. The rest I rubbed over my clitoris.

"Yes, we are prepared!"

I returned to the same position I had just vacated, underneath him bum up and grabbed his penis again with my left hand as I reached for my own clitoris with my right. It never ceases to amaze me how anal sex can make the lamest of men hard. He had little problem entering my bum and moved around in utter appreciation. I, meanwhile, proceeded to give myself exactly what I wanted. He tried to assist but we didn't want to take any chances here. I didn't know how long he would last and this was no time to be looking for help. With my left hand I pulled back the skin around my clit, and with the expertise that only I seem to have, my right forefinger rubbed away slightly to the right of the top edge of my clit.

I don't know why anal sex excites me so much. Perhaps it is simply the uniqueness of it, perhaps the taboo-ness. I orgasmed easily and that was all I cared about at that time. My elusive peak hit shortly after initiation of the act and I responded in my usual muscle tightening, all the way down my legs, the groaning, the shuddering, the pushing up against this lovely weight upon my back. This has been a solitary act for far much longer that this man will ever know!

As I relaxed, he pulled out and rolled me over. He kissed me some more (ugh) and tried to insert his softish willie inside me again. I stopped him and said he'd have to wash first. I got up but as he began to rise up, I said:

"No, I'll do it."

"You will??!!"

I went into the lav and washed myself first. He hadn't ejaculated so it was easy. I found a washcloth and wet it with warm water. I soaped up one end and returned to his side. I washed him thoroughly thinking of avoidance of infection. I also remembered interviewing hookers in Bangkok about their routine which always involved washing the man's cock first as a way to inspect for herpes or syphilis sores. (Yeah, I loved anthropology!) I thought to myself how lucky this guy was to be fussed over by such a worldly, knowledgeable lassie. I returned the flannel to the bathroom and slipped back into bed beside him.

He fumbled around with me a bit more but it was rather ineffectual and I had already orgasmed so didn't particularly care. I was fed up with his kissing so it seemed like a good

enough time to act too sleepy to continue. He got the message and slipped over to sleep.

When he rolled over and turned his back to me, I put my left arm around him and got as close to him as I could. As we were both very slim, and a bit sweaty, my chest fit against his back in a rather imperfect way. I kept trying to get closer, to squeeze out any bits of air pockets that came between our bodies. Strangely, after I had finally accomplished this, I suddenly remembered that I did not love this man at all. After all that work, I just let go of him and rolled over onto my left side away from him. I pulled my pillow down from under my head and tucked it as close to my body as possible, tightly between my breasts and held it there. The strange environment, the weird sex, that awful kissing, the drink and cocaine prevented my falling asleep but Jurgen had no trouble. Why is it that men can sleep anywhere? I was envious, but not angry. The important thing was that I had a good orgasm and managed to score my first ever academic (with lovely hands) from my first ever professional conference. The expectation, of course, was that the future would bring on many more, and, with a bit of luck, better times!

Coincidentally, when we crossed paths again at the conference, we ignored each other.

DC 1990 (written originally in quite a drunken stupor, but reedited in 2022)