Oxymoronism
Is it at all possible to be a classy slut?
On the one hand I know I'm not any sort of vestal virgin, but on the other hand I'm not half as obvious as my girlfriend Lisa, who's been known to wrap one leg around the waist of the boy she's been dancing with for the past ten minutes and do the bump-and-grind while allowing his tongue access halfway down her throat.
I'm prone to believing that men can tell the difference between the sexually-liberated and the downright easy. No hot-blooded male turns away a willing pair of open legs, but I suppose it's the amount of respect he walks away from them with that makes the difference between a hit-and-run and a 'lil respect.
Or am I just being naive again.
I was contemplating the question of sluttiness in the passenger seat as Trent drove to my place, my legs conspicuously uncrossing and re-crossing themselves in the tiny excuse of a skirt they were sheathed in.
He glanced over and flashed a grin. I returned his gaze, idly twirling a strand of hair and biting the corner of my lip before slowly swinging one leg to the opposite end of the seat, panties defiantly exposed.
"You trying to get me distracted, love? It's dangerous, you know.. given the kind of speed we're going at." he mocked.
"If only for that fact, that I don't wish to die this young, I'm not doing what would really make you lose control... of the vehicle, that is." was my retort.
"You wanna show me what that might be at the next light?" came the dare.
Tempted as I was, I decided it could wait until we were at least through my front door. It occured to me as strange though, how I still worry about appearing too slutty, too self-objectified.
I suddenly had a mental picture of the situation from an observer's view: Me, head bobbing over his lap while he reclined in the driver's seat, enjoying the view. It seemed too much of a cliche somehow, something Lisa would do even if she weren't already familiar with him the way I was.
So I just smiled at him suggestively and turned away.
And perplexingly enough, now I feel almost prudish for it... irony is as irony does. I think I'll just get a new pair of thigh-highs and make up for that with a nice private lap-dance strip-show next he's over.
On the one hand I know I'm not any sort of vestal virgin, but on the other hand I'm not half as obvious as my girlfriend Lisa, who's been known to wrap one leg around the waist of the boy she's been dancing with for the past ten minutes and do the bump-and-grind while allowing his tongue access halfway down her throat.
I'm prone to believing that men can tell the difference between the sexually-liberated and the downright easy. No hot-blooded male turns away a willing pair of open legs, but I suppose it's the amount of respect he walks away from them with that makes the difference between a hit-and-run and a 'lil respect.
Or am I just being naive again.
I was contemplating the question of sluttiness in the passenger seat as Trent drove to my place, my legs conspicuously uncrossing and re-crossing themselves in the tiny excuse of a skirt they were sheathed in.
He glanced over and flashed a grin. I returned his gaze, idly twirling a strand of hair and biting the corner of my lip before slowly swinging one leg to the opposite end of the seat, panties defiantly exposed.
"You trying to get me distracted, love? It's dangerous, you know.. given the kind of speed we're going at." he mocked.
"If only for that fact, that I don't wish to die this young, I'm not doing what would really make you lose control... of the vehicle, that is." was my retort.
"You wanna show me what that might be at the next light?" came the dare.
Tempted as I was, I decided it could wait until we were at least through my front door. It occured to me as strange though, how I still worry about appearing too slutty, too self-objectified.
I suddenly had a mental picture of the situation from an observer's view: Me, head bobbing over his lap while he reclined in the driver's seat, enjoying the view. It seemed too much of a cliche somehow, something Lisa would do even if she weren't already familiar with him the way I was.
So I just smiled at him suggestively and turned away.
And perplexingly enough, now I feel almost prudish for it... irony is as irony does. I think I'll just get a new pair of thigh-highs and make up for that with a nice private lap-dance strip-show next he's over.
posted by rose at 3:07 AM
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