The Elusive Perfect One Night Stand

Have you ever read Erica Jong's Fear of Flying?  Jong coined the term "zipless fuck".  I always loved that term, zipless fucks! I consider her a genius for coming up with it.

Here is how she defines it: "when you came together, zippers fell away like rose petals, underwear blew off in one breath like dandelion fluff. For the true ultimate zipless A-1 fuck, it was necessary that you never got to know the man very well."

Never get to know the man very well. Exactly. Getting to know the man well really puts the zipper into the fuck, and your head gets caught in it, and the next thing you know you are having to listen to his thoughts on Ayn Rand and John Galt, and God forbid, Donald Trump, and hello I'd rather be dead thanks.

One of the best, and more recent, zipless fucks I've had were when I met this really hot blacksmith from Cape Cod, and we started meeting in Conneticut for weekend sex. It was hot. You know what happened? He zipped me. He talked me into moving in with him, and our weekends went from zipless to zippered, and my head got stuck.   And that is the one problem with the zipless fuck, the man, confused by a woman who doesn't want a commitment, becomes unmoored.  

"This is against the natural order," he thinks to himself, as he struggles to right his universe by zipping you.

Your head will always get stuck when he zippers you.

I've had, well, I don't want to say "quite a bit" because it sounds so...but I've had a bit of zipless sex.  Most of it was good.  But there's one who stands out.

The mythical perfect zipless bone.

I was in my mid-20's, living in a basement apartment that I loved.  I can't even imagine liking a basement apartment at this point in my life, but at the time, I was very happy there.  

We met at Barkers in Deer Park.  Barkers closed down some time ago, and I have no idea what replaced it, but at one time, it was a HOT place.  I lived right off of Deer Park avenue at the time and I loved going there to dance.  They had great music and a large dance floor.  It did have a reputation as a pick up place.  So does Eleanor's Lounge in Bohemia where I sometimes go now.  But I never knew what that meant and I still don't.

If there is a bar or club where people go to drink and dance, isn't it going to attract a lot of singles?  And when singles congregate, aren't some going to hook up?  It always struck me as a way for couples to look down on singles.  Meanwhile of course, they mostly all have their "office wife" or "office husband" and half of them are using their offices as an extra-marital dating pool.  Well, pre-Covid anyway.  I wonder what they are doing now?  Cause I know they're doing something!

Anyway, so I met him, and to this day I don't remember his name.  I must have known it then, but it was irrelevant even at the time.  I do remember what he looked like.

The sex that first night was amazing.  Basically just the ideal one night stand.  The kind I'd never had before, or after.  I've had other one night stands, but none that lived up to what a one night stand should be.

At the end of the night he gave me his phone number.  Oh, that's right, at the end of the night.  The evening ended.  Because he didn't sleep over, or try to.  Why on earth does a one night stand ever think they should sleep over?  

I didn't call him.  I didn't call men back then.  Well, I still don't.  So a couple of weeks later I saw him again at Barkers, and again, I took him home.  It was another fantastic evening.  This time when he left, he took my phone number, having realized I wasn't going to call him.  But he never called me and I never saw him again.  Because it wasn't long afterwards that I fell in love and stopped going to Barkers.

If he had called me and we had started seeing each other, I wouldn't be writing this blog post because he would have zipped me, my head would have gotten stuck, and I wouldn't have the memory of the perfect zipless fuck. 

And I can picture him, with his NRA sticker on his pick-up truck, and I know that today he's an out-of-shape MAGA with very little, if any, hair.  What if we had turned into a relationship?  Can you imagine.  I had zero use for the NRA at the time, but I hadn't yet realized what it meant politically.  So I really didn't care about it.

Only a few years later, by the 2000 election, I fully understood what an NRA membership meant.   So that would have been a disaster.  Imagine if I had gotten pregnant and had a little NRA baby?   And maybe he would have bought the baby an NRA onesie.  The  mind reels, right?  What if I, like so many white women I know, had married him and then adopted his politics?  What if I had become a Karen? LOL

But honestly, that could have never have happened.  I wasn't born that way, and am incapable of going along to get along.  So, there would have been a spectacular breakup filled with fireworks.  After who knows how much spectacular sex.  

But since we didn't get involved, my memories of him are perfect.  Just the way they are.  And you really need that.   Sometimes, not getting zipped is the most important thing a girl can do. 

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