Too Much Information, Vol. IV: Something Blue

I woke up this morning and, for no apparent reason, I was giddy. I haven't said that I've been giddy for at least two years -- not because I haven't been chipper in awhile, but because two years ago I had an intern named Giddy. So, when I'd say, "Whee! I'm giddy!", he'd say in a serious tone, "No, I'm Giddy." I kid you not, friends.

Anyway, all day at work, I gleefully leapt out of my chair whenever anyone called my name, whereas usually, I pull my blanket over my ears and pretend not to hear anyone outside my office. Wondering about the blanket? The office is kept much too cold for my taste, so I sit at my desk wrapped in my gray fleece blankie. What I really need are fingerless gloves to keep my hands warm when I type, but that is neither here nor there -- my point is that I was inexplicably, downright happy. I am not accustomed to this emotion, so I don't know whether to point my gloveless finger at this morning's reacquantaince with my painkillers or at the fact that I didn't start my morning by stepping in cat vomit as the cause of my exuberance. It seems that my elation, like the reason for the Nicole Richie-Paris Hilton spat, shall remain a mystery.

My suspsicious energy level reminds me of the Traveling Man I alluded to at the end of my last post. In my various encounters with him, he, too, had an almost alarming amount of pep. I met TM two months ago, when he just jumped into a conversation I was having with K one night when we were out. He's a funny, charming, outgoing guy, perfectly suited to his career in fundraising. He's based out of Fort Lauderdale, but his job sends him all over Florida, including my corner of the Sunshine State on a fairly regular business.

Now, before I go on, I would like to remind you that this is a TMI post; previous volumes have given you insight into my feelings about earwax, my choice of birth control, and my battles with armpit odor. This post will be no different -- it will contain perhaps a bit more than you want to know about me, a complete stranger. In fact, in this one I do what my precious butterflies do all of the time -- I have sex. If the thought of me having sex particularly revolts you, then turn away now (though I might point out that you have never even seen me, so you really are not qualified to make that decision).

Still here? Damn, what kind of perv are you? I jest, I jest.

So, Traveling Man and I hit it off that night; several hours later we were hitting other things in his hotel room (you like that lame euphemism for sex? Anything for you, loyal reader). I gave him a (booty) call a few nights later, but I just got his voicemail. At that point, I wrote him off as just a one-night stand. Oh well.

But then Traveling Man surprised me a month later and text messaged me (thank you, modern technology!) while killing time at the Orlando airport. I thought it was an accidental text, intended for someone else (screw you, modern technology!), but it turned out that he wanted to let me know that he'd be back in town soon (I take back everything I said about you, modern technology).

After some initial hurdles involving my lack of cell signal at home (I seem to live in a cave 12 feet underground), we finally got together late at night at the beach a couple of weeks ago. With two of his friends from work in tow, we made our way down to the water where he promptly stripped down to his cute black undies (if they were on a girl, you'd call them "boy shorts"; I don't know what you'd call them on an actual boy) and dove in the water. I was kind of "eh" about getting in the water, mostly because I was totally sober and I tend to give greater consideration to the consequences of my actions when I'm in that unfortunate state. I didn't have long to hem and haw, though, before he picked me up and carried me out to sea with him where we got down to business. Ah, the good times. It was my first time in saltwater, and it may well be my last; freshwater is one thing, when it washes away natural lubricants, but saltwater...is drying and stings. The salt did me no favors, but still a good time was had by all. And by "all" I mean TM and I; his two work people were somewhere up on the beach and not involved with our wave-making. Perhaps they were rooting us on, I don't know.

Once we got back to his hotel room and got some dry clothes on, we promptly took them off. What transpired over the next few hours was nothing short of impressive, to say the least. At one point, we discussed how incredibly awesome we were together, and that's when I thought to myself, "Wow, he's like the male version of me, complete with inflated sense of self."

However, after a few hours, I did look down at him and ask,"How are you still doing this?" I mean, we had been going strong for a long time and at no point was anything ever...flaccid. All the rolling around in bed had been going on for so long that not only was I tired and sore, but also a little apprehensive -- as in,"Sweet Jesus, did I find the Bionic Man? What the hell is going on here?"



The next day I told a friend about the experience and before I could even get to the Bionic Man part, she interrupted and said,"Oh, he's totally taking Viagra. Young guys do that, you know -- take it as a party drug."

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that what happened with TM was very unusual. Now, I don't want to say that I've slept with a lot of guys (what's "a lot" anyway? 10? 50?), but I've slept with enough to know what's normal and...what's freakish.

Now, why any young guy without any erectile dysfunction would want to get all hopped up on Viagra is beyond me. Maybe the two male readers of this blog can field that one -- is it like souping up your car? I don't understand. All I know is that the perma-hard-on started to stress me out after awhile.

But not enough to keep me from TM. He was supposed to be here tonight, but was called back to the east coast for a real estate thing. He called me from Alligator Alley and, for the first time, we talked...and learned things about each other. Tonight was definitely the longest conversation we've ever had (I believe it clocked in at around 13 minutes), and it was nice. He's supposed to be back here next week. Maybe I'll get some time to snoop around his toiletry bag and find out whether a little something blue is giving him an extra boost.