The worst thing about a one-night stand is looking for your underwear the morning after. You don’t know where to look, mostly because you’re seeing the room for the first time. You try to remember the sequence of events the night before, but all you get are involuntary flashback (sorta like electric shock waves going through your body), mostly of the moments that, at this point, you don’t want to remember.
Then there’s the question of when exactly is the right time to leave. If you’re lucky, your temporary shag-mate will be passed out, giving you enough time to slip out without being accosted. If you’re unlucky, like I’ve been, he’ll wake up and you’ll be forced to make nice and have a cup of coffee while talking about the weather, but thankfully decline breakfast (I’m a nice girl, but even I’ve got limits!).
But wait, before you judge me on this choice of subject matter, think carefully. Chances are, you’ve been in a similar situation – of not, you were probably on the receiving end of such behaviour. I can’t analyze the why and why nots, except for talking through personal experience. And people come out of such experiences relieved, embarrassed, happy, terrified, and excited – sometimes all at the same time. We’re all adults here, and strange as it is to have a chick/ woman/ girl/ whatever you’d like to call me (yes, I’m aware I’m dealing with a mostly male audience here, G.George!), one-night stands do happen – a lot more than some of us would like to admit (or not enough for others).
Me, personally? I’m the conservative-liberated woman, if that makes sense. In my life, I’ve somehow managed to strike the balance between the two extremes. I’ll drink most guys under the table and happily endure a hangover, but I won’t venture into drug taking of any kind – I can count the number of times I’ve smoked weed. This leads to most people not being exactly sure where to place me – and that’s part of the fun!
Also, this is why I’m convinced it doesn’t necessarily take one type of person to have a one-night stand, voluntary or not. (That’s when we fool ourselves into thinking there’s more to it than actually is. And by morning, are already planning the wedding day!) Anyway, I’m a single girl trying to have fun, and with enough shots of whatever dangerously potent drinks I’m having that night, anything can happen. But besides that, there’ll be a certain something about the night – a feeling of adventure, electrifying anticipation, and if the right guy comes along… well-ah!
Roundabout now, alarm bells screaming SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! Are probably going off in your head (I know they are in mine!), but chill, I am not that kinda chick. In fact, as much as I’m mouthing off (is that a pun?) about certain types of nighttime activity, I’m no expert.
This was a short-lived phase in my life where I soon realized that, that point when you’re searching for your underwear in some stranger’s bed isn’t the most fun. Sure you’ll have a funny story to tell your friends (size doesn’t matter, but there is such a thing as too small, fellas!), and you’ll have one more person you’ll be trying to avoid. But things certainly look different in the glaring morning sun, when you’d much rather sleep in next to a warm, welcoming body and have breakfast in bed – served by the right person, of course.
Photography: Jeff Rikhotso