[If you have not read Part 1 – Fame, start there!]
Part 2 – Sandra Goes Wild.
Whenever my friends from the radio station got together for a show or for drinks at some bar after-hours, someone would call me and I’d get myself there. I was more determined than ever to be with people, meet new people, open the world up to myself so I could find someone… or he could find me. I was looking for the love of my life. Isn’t that what everyone looks for? But I had enormous doubts about finding this man at a bar. Or in the midst of some local rock show. These weren’t exactly ideal places for deep, meaningful conversation.
I’ll tell you what they were ideal places for…
…Checking out every inch of a person without him noticing because it’s loud and crowded and he’s distracted by his friends or the band.
…Finding something to drink that wasn’t beer (since beer is vile carbonated piss), but was still not ridiculously expensive.
…Discovering that if I smiled enough and flirted even just a little with pretty much anyone, I didn’t have to worry about the cost of a drink because I never had to pay for one.
…Finally making eye contact with that delicious guy I was undressing with my eyes.
…Taking said guy’s outstretched hand and following him outside to the sidewalk where the noise was dampened and conversation was possible.
…Immediately realizing that he and I were not out there for conversation at all. We were out there to dive down each other’s throats before we even exchanged names.
And so began (more accurately, continued) the days of Sandra Gone Wild.
But — I need to back up a bit.
[Sorry I’m completely screwing with the timeline… and with your heads. My memories come when they feel like it, rarely in chronological order.]
The events above and in part 1 occurred in the first few years post-college. But ‘wild‘ truly began earlier. Ahh, college: higher education, higher highs, and my first dip plunge into the wilderness that is uninhibited sexual freedom.
I arrived on campus a mostly-innocent girl. I’d had one ‘serious’ boyfriend in high school (as serious as teenage boyfriends can be). We fooled around a lot, mostly in my car, but we never had sex. He was long since out of the picture when I moved into my college dorm. I was single and loving it hating it. And I was still a virgin.
Within days, I met a girl with far more sexual experience than I had (maybe a bit too much). She explained things to me. (I guess my parents were in denial that my sisters and I were ever going to have sex. They put off any talk of it for so long that I had to get my info elsewhere. I mean, did they really think I was going to wait until marriage? Because no.)
By the end of my first year away at school, I’d finally had sex. I had a bit of a crush on Jason, but I knew it was going nowhere. I just wanted to stop being ‘the virgin’. I have no regrets (not about Jason, anyway). He was a sweet guy. A friend… who was willing to… deflower me. Of course, I’m pretty sure any male friend I had in college would have also been willing. Because boys and sex.
Also by the end of that first year, sexually-experienced E was my best friend. We were inseparable… and we made arrangements to be roommates when we returned the following school year.
E and I talked about everything together… and did everything together. Everything. Including this one very fortunate young man. I’m going to be honest… I don’t remember his name. I know that makes me sound like a harlot (that word is so much classier than whore) but I swear, my memory just sucks. I think maybe it was Dan? I’m pretty sure it started with D. I wonder if E remembers. Somehow, I doubt it.
He wasn’t a stranger… we knew D (though not well enough for me to remember his actual name… ha!). And he knew us. We didn’t just grab some random dude from the quad. He was mildly hot, but mostly, he was in the right place at the right time, so to speak. And he was a willing participant in the hands-on sexual education of Sandra. Because college boy + two girls = no fucking way he’d refuse.
Being the (far) less-experienced one, I was a little nervous. But after a few Solo cups of wine (yes, it was college… every drink came in a red Solo cup), E thought it would be easier for me if we removed D from the equation in the beginning. We made him sit at the other end of the bed. And then kissing… just us girls… while D watched. And then a bit more than kissing. The best part (for me, anyway) of our little ‘girl-on-girl‘ tryst was how much D enjoyed it. I felt empowered sending him into a frenzy, making him desperate to have me. My nerves dissipated… and by then, E and I were almost putting on a little show for him. When clothing started disappearing, his role as observer was over.
And then… hands and bodies and mouths and tongues… and unbridled, indulgent sex in every possible combination of twos and threes (and I guess also ones). I wondered, after that night, if D thought E and I fooled around all the time since our being roommates made it quite convenient. Imagining he thought that pleased me in a thrilling sort of way. But it wasn’t true. It only happened that night… and one other (with a different but equally lucky male friend). What can I say? I’m a very open girl… always have been… and it was fun playing with her, but I need a man.
Oh college… higher education, indeed. I confess – I’d love to relive those years.
Now, where was I? Oh yes… wild, hungry make-out session with the delicious guy from the bar. I brought him home. I lived closer to the city then – no worrying about driving after consuming free non-beer drinks. Chris and I escaped down to the subway and failed at keeping our hands (and mouths) off each other as we sped under the city. (And yes, I remember this guy’s name. See? Not a harlot. Of course, I didn’t actually learn his name until we were walking from the subway station to my apartment…)
We tried to be quiet enough to avoid disturbing my roommates. We closed my door and hoped for the best, but I’ll never know for certain if they heard us. I’ve always assumed the answer is yes. [Aside: I lived with David and Kristi at this point. It was just before I moved in with the awful bitches previously mentioned. Oh, by the way, Dave was my college ex-boyfriend (whole other story there) and Kristi was the girl who… um…well, she’s the girl in this post (one day…) which I think all of you assumed was fiction. But not so much… I did embellish a little, but that was essentially a true story.]
Hot Chris was not my only… mischievous romp. I didn’t sleep with them all (and by sleep, I mean engage in crazy-hot sex). Oh, but hot Chris? Yes, I did ‘romp’ with him. God, I had the sex drive of, well, pretty much every twenty-something guy I met. Hell, I am still the one with the higher sex drive, even today, in my current relationship… sigh…
I enjoyed my active early- to mid- twenties. I know it may sound like I slept with half of the greater-metro-area’s young men, but in truth, the total number from Jason (first) to my husband John (last) is under 15. Maybe some will think that’s a lot… others will think it’s nothing. But it only truly matters how that number makes me feel… and I’m good with it. [By the way, I was always careful and safe… until John and I made babies.]
My twenties rolled on and I grew increasingly disenchanted, bitter, cynical. I wanted to meet a man and get to know all of him (not just his body parts, but those, too). I wanted to have a real relationship of the mind and of the heart and of the body, but not only one or two of those. I wanted it all. I wanted to fall in love. Real, true, magical, love-of-my-life love. I wanted to be unable to eat or sleep because those things were no longer necessary with that much love inside me… and inside him. I wanted to wake up every day to sunshine warmly beaming onto me while sweet chirping birds lifted my robe and gently dropped it to my shoulders as I began to twirl and dance around the room. And I wanted my love to feel whatever would be the male equivalent of that ridiculous daydream.
But the more time that passed, the more men I met — the more I believed the love I wanted was a fantasy… a fairy tale… pure fiction… only real in my imagination… just a dream.
Or at least it was all of those impossible things… for me.
Part 3 – Sandra grows up… and down.