Welcome to the Weekly Guest Spotlight.
Tonight’s guest is Emily Jacobson. Emily is a young blogger who graduated with a degree in journalism.
I feel like as girl of 25, I was fortunate enough to be born in a time of women’s liberation, sweet technological advances and futuristic ice cream that comes in the form of dots. But something that has befallen the men of my generation is the complete and utter disconnect with what romance is. Sure, I’ve been wine and dined, given roses, and farted on while wrestling in bed, but there’s something missing that generations past seemed to have a tighter grasp on—a woman needs to feel special in a way that no pre-packaged Hallmark and Russell Stover’s combination can touch.
While I’ve had a few romantic moments in my life, one stands out amongst the rest. You see, I was 22. I was in my senior year of college, finishing my degree in journalism, planning my extravagant post-graduation life, and to be frank, attempting to get out whatever sluttiness I could before Thursday night benders were no longer a valid excuse for promiscuous panty-dropping.
I had managed to friend-up an older man in my in one of my journalism classes. He was my senior by a few years, so subsequently, he was a little edgier, smarter, and had an air of sex appeal about him that I truly never noticed at 9am. We both had extracurricular activities that included maintaining our own sex blogs, so we frequently exchanged links and blogrolls, compared stories and dreams. He lusted after me, but I, not so much after him. Nevertheless, we were friends and I invited him to my 22nd birthday bar crawl.
Alcohol and I are tight—we get each other and more importantly, it unlocks what I truly want. And for my 22nd birthday, I wanted a threesome. I had only made this known to the girlfriend that I had brought on board for this endeavor and my journalism friend. Perhaps he knew what was going to happen from the start of the night, maybe not, but by 10 bars in, the three of us were en-route to his nearby apartment tearing at each other’s clothing and inhibitions.
That night I was given the gift I always wanted, but that’s not the romantic part. The next morning I awoke as the sun pierced my liquor-trodden eyes, my girlfriend was long gone and my journalism friend pressed heavily against my arm. He smiled at me as I groaned through the haze and said, “I have a gift for you.” He relinquished the sheets from his naked torso and grabbed a yellow shipping envelope. I took it, bewildered at the shape bursting against the sides, reached my hand in and pulled out a giant Rabbit Vibrator. “I thought you could use a new one, so I picked this up from Adam and Eve ”
It was in that moment that my belief in my generation was instilled. Romance does exist, it just comes to us in unexpected ways. Sometimes it comes in the form of roses and sometimes, if we’re really lucky, it comes in the form of vibrating plastic.
Thanks to Emily for her post.
Until the next time…I’ll be enjoying my quiet night off.