Sad Sex

the view from F’s hotel room

It was a hot Sunday afternoon in August when I met F at The Line Hotel in Koreatown. I was there to hang out with a couple of friends at a pool party. The space was full of attractive women in skimpy outfits and bikinis. People were relaxing in the water with drinks, and the DJ played a fusion of afrowave, hip-hop, and electronic music. It was the perfect Los Angeles summer scene. I was enjoying the sunshine and ambience, but there was a lingering sadness inside me.

@vsl.truths captured my sadness that day in August

Men kept annoyingly approaching me while I was there. In one instance, as I was soaking up the sun with my eyes closed, leaning back on a pouf ottoman, a stranger interrupted to ask if I was okay. In another moment, a guy across the pool waved his arm at me, gesturing for me to go over to his lounge chair. The worst advance was when someone grazed my elbow and asked, “Why you mad?”

I was disgusted by them all.

F approached me while I was standing at the bar waiting for a veggie burger. His flushed cheeks gave him a boyish look but he was in his late 20s. He struck up a conversation with me about where I’m from and why I came to the west coast—typical small talk. I perked up when he told me he was half Mexican and half Italian. I shared with him that I studied in Mexico as a college student. When he said he was an architect from New York City, in LA for business, I became more interested. Still, after the bartender gave me my sandwich I tried to dismiss myself from the conversation, but he smoothly followed me to where I was sitting. The way he confidently pulled up a chair, introduced himself to my friends and chatted them up as I ate was endearing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me after a while. I told him the guy I’d been dating for the past month had given me some generic explanation for why he stopped talking to me, and it was eating away at me. I asked how he knew I was upset (yes, I live with chronic resting bitch face & was broken-hearted, but I thought I had been giving him my best pokerface). “Puedo ver en tus ojos,” he answered. He could see it in my eyes. I took a swig of my frozen margarita, drinking my embarrassment.

When the party was coming to an end I decided to stay with F instead of going with my friends to Malibu. The pool staff asked everyone who wasn’t a guest to exit. F flashed his room key and they left us alone. This standard procedure was nothing special but in my drunken, melancholy state it felt swanky and kind of like foreplay. I knew how vulnerable I must have seemed and I didn’t care. I surrendered and decided to let this man take advantage of me.

At the now-almost-empty pool we cuddled up on a stool and continued to drink. At some point we started casually kissing in between our sentences. I guess I was still mopey because F made me promise to be present with him from that moment on, and to try to put my sadness out my mind. “Let’s go to your room,” I suggested.

We walked to the elevator tipsy and with our drinks in hand. His room was pristine, untouched. Earlier he’d dropped off his luggage and headed straight to the pool—it was as if he knew he’d find me there. I took in the gorgeous view from his floor-to-ceiling window and sipped my drink while he used the bathroom. For a moment I actually did forget about my breakup. It was that beautiful.

Soon we started making out and our clothes came off. Something that I thought was so sweet was before we started having sex he asked if I wanted to face the window to look at the skyline. I turned around and got in position for doggy style. It was all really idyllic.

Guys can often be selfish, especially when hooking up with someone they just met, but he wasn’t. He kept saying he wanted me to cum… and he made it his mission. I instructed F to slow his pace. After some time, on my back with my head hanging over the edge of the bed, the sky turning hot pink behind me, I climaxed. I wanted to cry and I kept asking him not to stop. I wanted to freeze time in that moment of ecstasy because I knew the only direction from that point was down. Sure enough, when he pulled out, I crashed. I quickly grabbed my things and made my way to the door, but not before he asked if I was okay and gave me one last kiss.

Having sad sex with a stranger didn’t heal my heartbreak, but it was the first step in my journey to recovery. I’ve been keeping in touch with F and I plan to see him on the east coast in December.

I think we deserve to experience each other when I’m not in an emotional crisis.