THE EXPERIMENT
by Corey Podell

I haven’t had sex in 4 months. 4 months ago I begged my ex to have sex with me and it lasted 4 minutes. I want to have sex with someone, someone that’s not my ex and it has to be tonight. It has to.

Becky and I are going out tonight. To a club in Hollywood. And I’m going to have sex with someone. That’s it, I’ve decided. And I also decided I’m going to act like a guy. If I pretend to be a guy then I’ll probably have sex. I’ll act like an asshole and then certainly someone will want to have sex with me. I will approach this like a man. This is my experiment.

I’m bringing my A game tonight- I take the time to put my makeup on, using all of the techniques the girl at the Mac counter taught me. I don’t miss one step from the moisturizer to the lipstick. I shave my legs and apply good smelling lotion. I blow dry my hair, not like usual when I leave half of it wet, tonight I blowdry every strand, use hair product to make it shiny. I put on my sexiest dress and heels. I put on earrings and spray perfume. My nails are manicured. I clean my room so that whomever I bring back here tonight will think I’m a clean and organized person. I brush my teeth with whitening toothpaste and apply extra lip gloss. I even put a bottle of water on my nightstand so I don’t need to go to the kitchen once I get home, just straight to the bedroom.

I pick Becky up and we drive to the club. We’re on the list. This means we get to cut the line and walk right in. This is her favorite part of the night, being let in ahead of everyone, she smiles and walks with purpose and makes eye contact with those behind that velvet rope. This is my least favorite part of the night. I feel embarrassed and I cant bear to look at the people we are cutting. I want to apologize and explain to everyone in line that this whole list thing was her idea, not mine, and that I’m just coming along with her and please don’t be mad at me. Please. I’m sorry. I don’t actually say this to the line, instead I look down and pretend to be looking in my bag for something. But wait, not tonight Corey- don’t feel bad tonight- assholes don’t feel bad about cutting people, just be an asshole. This experiment might be harder than I thought.

Once inside, the music is loud, its crowded it smells like cheap cologne and hair gel. I look around and make sure not to smile. I’m not just any guy, I’m a huge asshole guy. A group of men walks by us and smiles- normally I would smile back maybe flip my hair. Tonight I look at them and simply turn around, its cause I’m an asshole, and that’s what assholes do….I think.

Becky and I have fun together, we dance and act silly, I’m having a good time. In my way back from the restroom, I see him, the one I’m going to take home tonight. I find Becky who is still dancing with some reality TV star and pull her away to show her. To show her the one. He has spiky hair and white white white teeth and he has tattoo sleeves all the way down his arms. Yes, I will have sex with him tonight.

I remind myself that I’m an asshole. I look right at him, tattoo boy, smile and beckon him over. He says hi and introduces himself, I hear his name and mentally add it to my list, the list that is in my top dresser drawer, the list of the men I’ve slept with, all with first and last names, in chronological order, in my best handwriting. I start to picture what his name would look like on the list, what pen I will use to write it, maybe red, I don’t know. Woah STOP. I tell myself I am a guy and a guy wouldn’t think or care about a list or a pen or even he persons name.

We make small talk, I try my hardest not to remember any information he tells me, I’m an asshole tonight and that’s what assholes do- they pretend to listen but really don’t take in any information. I try my best to forget that his name is Chris and he lives in woodland hills and is 32 and runs a karate school and is Italian. I try to let this information go in one ear and out the other. I’m NOT listening, I swear.

Last call comes and he asks for my number. I tell him he should come home with me. I’m an asshole so I’m not going to take no for an answer, I’m prepared to talk him into it, but he agrees immediately. Hmmm….That was easy.

We drop Becky off, off, call me in the morning she tells me with a wink.

I continue driving, me and tattoo, we are listening to the radio and I start to think about how easy this was. Just act like a dick and someone will want to go home with you. I didn’t smile at him once, I pretended to be bored by everything he told me, I made him buy me drinks and I didn’t even drink them, I wasn’t friendly to his friends, I ordered him to come home with me and he just …did. I’m not even talk to him right now. I took a call on my cell phone and ignored him for 15 minutes. He tried to hold my hand and I pushed it away. He tried to kiss me at a red light and I turned my cheek. What is wrong with him?

Once inside my house in my clean bedroom, we start kissing and getting undressed, I look around, suddenly panicked that an old picture of my ex is on my nightstand, of us kissing, I cant believe I forgot to put that picture away- I remembered everything else- wait. Wait. I remind myself that I’m a guy and that an asshole guy would never care about hiding evidence of a relationship, a guy would never care that a pair of grandma panties is visible in my laundry basket, and an asshole guy wouldn’t ask his guest if they wanted something to drink or if they needed anything. C’mon Corey, you’ve been doing so well, don’t stop now.

So we have sex. Like I said, I bring my A game, all my best moves. No inhibitions, I’ll never see him again, cause I’m an asshole. While he is on top of me, I stare at his tattoos, they are actually really nice and beautiful and artful and I want to ask him what made you get all these tattoos and did you design them yourself, how old were you? How many hours did this all take? What do they all mean? I want to know so bad but I’m an asshole and I don’t care, really I don’t. So instead of asking him about the history of his tattoos I ask him to fuck me harder.

When we’re done I go to the farthest edge of the bed I can, away from him. I don’t want to cuddle up to his muscular body with beautiful tattoos, really I don’t. I swear. Even though he wore a condom he asks me for the fourth time if I’m on birth control. I start to wonder, why is he asking so much? Does he have a kid? Did he get a girl pregnant once? Is he just a paranoid person? Does he have OCD and need to ask the same questions over and over the same amount of times? STOP! Who cares? Stop caring, you’re an asshole!

I tell him he needs to call a cab. “Really?” he asks. “Call a cab” I offer. “Here’ s the number” as I hand him my cell phone. I tell him the address. “But I live in Woodland Hills. That’s gonna be like seventy dollars.” He objects. “And?” I ask. He orders the cab. He kisses me goodbye and I am relieved for him to be gone.

I wake up a few hours later. I forget that I was a guy. I am me again. I think I am sad he left. I feel guilty that he took a cab. I get out of bed and walk to my dresser, take out my list and the red pilot pen. I add his name to it immediately, first and last name. I tried to forget them , but I just can’t. I see my gray granny panties again, on top of my laundry basket, and hope he didn’t notice them, I hope he though I was good in bed and not a slut and not a bitch. I want to call Chris Lewis and leave a message on his voicemail that I was just doing an experiment last night. I’m actually a nice person. And I’m a good girlfriend just incase he ever wanted to know, well I wouldn’t say that exactly but it would be clear just in my tone that I am a sweet nice girl who would be a good girlfriend. It would be clear.

I take a shower, I wonder if he’ll call me. What if my birth control doesn’t work and I am pregnant- would our baby be cute? Would I like living in Woodland Hills? NO, maybe I can convince him to move to Hollywood. Corey Lewis, that’s nice. Chris and Corey Lewis. I wonder if we’ll call…