Sex and (Not) in the City
The erotic landscape is urban, no? The dungeons, the endless play parties, the relative safety in which to perform gender or wear your sexual proclivities on your leathered sleeve; the countless opportunities to cruise and be cruised¦.
Maybe. But don’t remind me; this newly rural thirty-something, who happens to be on a one-woman mission to get kinky in the country. Trust me, I am trying to change the “one-woman” part. But that’s kinda hard in a town with, tops, 100 people and as many elk.
What do elk have to do with this? Imagine writhing with volcanic desire in your bedroom in the dark of night, and hearing not the snap of a whip that has your name on it, but the sounds of elk gettin’ it on. It’s the sweetest, most unlikely sound you could ever hear. It is officially called “bugling,” otherwise known as “na-na-Na-na-na-even-elk-get-more-play-than-you!”
It gets worse. It was a few days before my period, and my libido had no lid. I lost my vibrator somehow in the process of moving to the wilderness, and now I had to heed the call of the wild. A neighbor warned me the road back from my destination could be iffy at night, but nature was calling, paging, and IMing me. I got the message:
I drove 200 miles round-trip in search of Mr. Good Vibe. A police car even drove behind me for what seemed to be an abnormally-long time when I got into town, as if he knew my naughty intentions.
Will I get arrested for this? Please?
Eventually I lost him (sigh), and after roaming around a bit in this new place, I stopped at Wal-Mart (I know, I know, but lava in your loins has a way of affecting your better judgment). I thought the pharmacy area might be the best bet for ahem, my problem.
Nope. After looking in the least-likeliest areas\’I think vibrators and bikes have a lot in common, don’t you?\’I broke down and asked a young male sales clerk. But he wasn’t buying my nice, neutered “do you carry neck massagers?” routine. I don’t think. He gestured vaguely to the pharmacy\’which was closed\’but unlike the woman who gleefully led me to the granola bars earlier, he didn’t dream of actually helping me find my implement of iniquity. He saw me wandering all over the store, but averted his eyes every time I tried to catch his in my exasperation.
Finally, I approached him again to see if anyone, ANYONE on staff might know where I could find a neck massager. I mean, my neck is reallllllly hurting. Again, general gestures and definitely no stellar customer service there\’I had to find the customer service desk myself in my obviously weak, orgasm-deprived state.
Another guy was manning the desk, slightly older than the first, but he had no idea where such an item could be found in Kingdom of Discount Shite. Finally, I saw an older woman and thought, “Alas! A sage someone!”
Exactly. She was exactly old enough and wise enough to know what I was up to, and make her disgust known. “No, we don’t carry those,” she sniffed, giving me a deep frown for my troubles. I left the store and the town hungry, despite the evil corporate granola bars I had bought.
It still gets worse. Uh-oh, I discover why I was advised not to drive on this particular road at night: the nightly elk convention meets not in the Hyatt, but the highway. On two separate occasions, elk stand in the middle of the road\’and between me and my manually induced orgasm (I would have to improvise with the lube situation¦couldn’t find any among the hunting and fishing licenses in my town’s convenience, and only, store).
I stop, of course. But not without wailing, “You’re the only one allowed to climax in these parts? Not everybody gets a mating season mandated by, like, GOD!”
The elk think me weird, and dart off the road. And I finally get home to come and carry on to my clit’s content.
See, it doesn’t all suck. I am a big screamer, so when I lay it on myself real good here, there are no neighbors to console, no roommates to reassure that I am not being murdered, actually. Another advantage to the isolation is that I get to walk around outside naked. If someone were to try to sneak up on me, I would hear him a long ways off. Now if someone did sneak up on me au naturel¦now that’s a delicious fantasy to entertain while I have my naked lunch on the deck.
Negotiating hook-ups as a woman living alone in a very rural area can be tricky. One guy I met online insisted on knowing where I lived, which is way too small to divulge to a man I am getting serious psycho vibes from. Definitely not Mr. Good Vibe, this fella.
Ok then, since I was playing hard to get (a game I tend to play with psychos), how about meeting by a remote lake at ten o’clock at night to fool around a little? Uh, no. I don’t feel safe enough to meet you in a cafÃ© in the middle of the day in the state capital¦and I am going to go the middle of the nowhere in the dark to meet you for the first time? I figured since he couldn’t honor my boundaries over the phone, he wouldn’t be so impressive with that in person. I am over-sexed, sure, but safety comes first, DAMN IT¦.
I did go out on a limb to meet another guy I met online. A married man in an open relationship, smart as hell, and a fellow horny toad. This would not be recommended by Match.com, but I went to his house for our first meeting. But my intuition told me that he was safe and would honor my boundaries. It ends up I didn’t have many to speak of: we make out, have tea with his wife, and fuck. They live in a windswept place by the mountains, so alas, it was transformed into a lascivious landscape. Take that, Manhat’tan!
It’s getting better. Right now I am talking to a guy I met online who lives in a neighboring state, also pretty rural. Last week we masturbated together on the phone\’he in his cabin and me in my little house on the prairie. We might meet. But right now it’s just good to know that there are a few folks out there who can hear my call. Even if it’s high pitched, and not unlike bugling.
Mireille (aka S.L.Rice) is a freaky freelancer who is on the prowl for single men, women, and elk. Hell, you don’t even have to be single if your significant other is down for sharing tea.