Let me preface the oncoming story with these thoughts: I like a guy with bravura, a guy who can take life by the balls and translate that bad-boy moxie into a rush of sexual chemistry. It's dangerous, it's adventurous, it's sexy. But what isn't sexy, is a bloke who puts on the facade of "daring" while holding his inner bat-shit hostage until sex.
This, ladies and gentleman, is a tale of great journeys. A tale of finding yourself, and discovering your inner courage. It's a tale of love, lust, loss, and an all-consuming heartbreak devastating enough to last a lifetime.
...Just kidding, it's actually about the worst sex I've ever had.
***There are moments in life when I find myself in-between dating cycles and solidly staking my turf in the land of cat ladies. For the most part, these moments are my favorite - I'm not "hung up" on any particular person, there's no one I'm desperately (and pathetically) yearning for, and I feel confident in solely existing with me, myself, and my iPad.
But that don't mean a boy doesn't dream.
In these moments, I fantasize about the types of men that "could be," but never seem to become a reality. The typical fare come to mind - the erotic heroism of police officers and firemen, the "come meet my parents and propose right in front of them" doctors and lawyers, and the hip club-owners everyone wants to bang when they're out and about but don't because it seems dangerous in the "I don't want Chlamydia" kind of way. Now, I generally accept that most of these dream men won't walk into my life and move on with my rom-com marathon accordingly; but when one does, you'd better bet that I'm all over him like a gay fem-bot on Beyonce.
Thus, when I stumbled upon an airline pilot - the profession that ranks pretty low on my list, but is there nonetheless - I wasted very little time before throwing on my best undies and attempting to make a landing even Cap'n Sully would be envious of.
Sadly, aside from holding a profession I found sexually alluring, Pilot Guy wasn't the dream man I had anticipated. His apartment, while quaint, was subject to an annoying beeping sound from an alarm setup that consumed me with "Tell-Tale Heart"-esque neurotic annoyance. The apartment itself, meanwhile, was disappointingly decorated with predictable airplane memorabilia and plain furniture that would make Martha Stewart cringe and Beaver Cleaver's mom jump for joy.
And sitting next to him on the couch, striking conversation and trying to compete by exuding the best "I'm interesting too" persona I could muster, I could suddenly see tumbleweed roll by as he delved into soporific discussion about an insurance plan with his new airline and a rant about his former writing ambitions. Out of all the stories that could have been told by a pilot who soars the skies every day and travels to faraway places as frequently as the average American orders a Big Mac, I got stories about insurance plans and his failed attempt as a writer. The Fates have a catty sense of humor.
And, most horrific of all, the man served me coconut-flavored beer. Coconut. He could have been boasting a burly lumberjack outfit and chest hair that would make any "Bike Stop" frequent drool, and he still would have seemed emasculated to me in that moment.
But even as his pilot charm was slowly wearing off, I was determined to fulfill at least one fantasy.
I don't generally kiss and tell (erotic details), but the short-lived experience that came next was one that still makes me queasy when I happen to pass by the building. A pilot is supposed to be good at steering to a destination, but this guy was off by miles. I might also add that I'll never understand the appeal of shouting random derogatory comments during sex as if you've just been diagnosed with a crippling case of turrets - but perhaps, like coconut, it's just not my flavor.
My walk of shame home moments later was just that: a walk of shame. "Two hours of my life I'll never get back," I thought, recounting the night's events.
But all the same, I learned an invaluable lesson about fantasies I won't soon forget and hope to pass on: The journey really is better than the destination.
