Those momentary attractions sometimes make up a significant portion of our days. On the street, on the bus, or in an elevator, your eyes meet another’s for a second or two. Subconsciously, you think of sex. Yes, that’s what’s making you look. Ninety-nine percent of the time, you don’t even talk. The opportunity passes in a breath. What would happen if you stopped in your tracks and approached the other? What would you say?

I’ve had several flings that started from these small, one-second looks. Most of them were fun, but the last was horrible, enough to turn me celibate—at least for a couple of weeks.

I was running around Green Lake when I noticed a cute guy rollerblading in the opposite direction. He was trim and toned, and his left calf was tattooed with a large Celtic pattern. Ten minutes later, he passed by me again, and this time he called out, “Going for another lap?”

“Yeah,” I said, and he changed directions to blade alongside me. I never know what to make of chance meetings like this. I’m usually suspicious they might lead to weird, humiliating sex. (One of Woody Allen’s characters said that his sister had a one-night stand with a stranger who tied her up and defecated on her.) So in these random encounters, I usually just give the guy an e-mail address in case he turns out to be a jerk. But this guy seemed OK. I mean, he wasn’t freaky-looking, and aside from his tattoo, he was clean-cut.

The following week, I met him for dinner. He looked good, but as we spoke, I realized that I didn’t much care for his personality. He talked quickly about things that I couldn’t relate to. After a while I sort of tuned him out. It didn’t seem like he needed my encouragement to speak anyway; he was content to go on a spiel with minimal response from me.

I drifted into my own thoughts, pondering how minor attractions—while abundant and frequent—are problematic. One can be attracted to so many people, but it’s really difficult to actually like someone, not to mention fall in love. You like the person somewhat, and maybe you want to fuck—but to get to that point, you have to go through several steps that demand time and social grace. You’re not sure if you can stick it out from point A to point D. By point C, your mood might be killed.

I would’ve said goodbye to Tattooed Roller Blader, except I was horny that night. Even though Roller Blader wasn’t much of a conversationalist, he was good-looking, he was flattering, and he fed me food that was delicious and spicy—a very effective aphrodisiac.

Driving back to my place, I asked him if he wanted to come up for a bit. He looked tense all of a sudden, as if he’d been waiting all night for me to ask. “Yes,” he said in a serious tone. He was obviously nervous, which meant that I’d be calling the shots from then on.

In my apartment, we smoked a joint. We started kissing, hard. He smushed his lips against mine, plunged his tongue in my mouth. Then he bit me on the shoulder. It felt warm and painful at the same time. Soon we moved into the bedroom. I told him to take off his clothes, and I was surprised to see that he was pierced. Both his nipples had studs through them with silver balls at the ends. He had a very hairy chest—when I touched it, it felt warm and moist. Off came his boxers, his penis rising like a pointer. It had a piercing right through the head. I had wanted to have sex with a man with a pierced penis, but now given the opportunity, it scared me a bit. What if it tore up my vaginal walls? But it was too late to go back now.

I sat on top of him and squeezed his penis with my thighs. I was very wet, and I wanted to fuck. But before I could push him inside, he flipped me over and went down on me. He was a more forceful lover than I’m used to. After a while, he got down on the floor, pulled me to the end of the bed, raised my legs, and buried his face once more in my pussy. He licked me quickly and feverishly like a beast.

I was so wet that I got up and practically commanded him to fuck me. I took out a condom—which wasn’t so great, as it pinched his skin and decreased his erection. But once he was inside, he got hard again, and it felt really good. The stud added more friction to the sides. It wasn’t painful like I thought it would be—maybe the condom was buffering the metal surfaces. He also had a nice firm girth—thick but not too thick. Big, but not too big. Very, very nice.

At least, it was nice for a couple of minutes. He got very sweaty after a while—and his furry chest got wet and clammy. My desire for him ebbed. I closed my eyes and concentrated on feeling sexy, but then he started dripping sweat on my face and breasts. Eeeuw! Soon his penis became soft and curled out like a snail.

I tried giving him head. He hardened a bit and seemed to enjoy it. I thought it would be interesting to lick a pierced penis, but the metal kept knocking against my teeth. I was afraid I’d chip a tooth. I stopped after a couple of minutes.

He started kissing me, but I turned away. I didn’t want to fuck him again. I was completely turned off. I asked him if I should take him home so that he could sleep in his own bed, but he said no, he wanted to stay the night. Damn.

I was glad to be in my own bed. In a strange bed, I would be wide awake, but here, I could just pretend this guy wasn’t next to me, tune out his physical presence.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to him touching me. He wasn’t just caressing my breasts or grazing my neck, he was going right for the money, sticking his dry finger in my pussy. I told him to stop, that I was exhausted.

An hour later, it happened again. This time, I shouted, “Stop. I need to sleep!” He left me alone.

The next morning, he tried to kiss me. I tried hard to muster up the same feelings of desire that I’d felt the night before, but I couldn’t. Before he could touch me any more, I got up and took a shower.

It wasn’t that the sex wasn’t good while it lasted. I just didn’t want to go through the trouble again. Steps A, B, and C are just too much for someone you don’t like.

A few days later, he called me. He said that he had felt terrible, that I seemed like a completely different person in the morning. I thought, well, duh, it was because the marijuana wore off. I told him that I thought we had a tacit understanding that this was just a short-lived fling. He replied that he was hoping it’d be much more than that. Finally, I ventured, “You’re a great guy, and it was fun, but I don’t want to get entangled in a relationship right now.”

After we hung up, I felt bad. His voice kept haunting me throughout the day. I suppose I shouldn’t have asked him up to my apartment. I should’ve just had dinner and said goodbye. I knew it wouldn’t work out. I sensed it the first time I met him at the lake, but I just wanted to go on one or two dates and have sex. Maybe I’ve been a sex columnist for so long that I’ve become insensitive. Maybe I was so intent on not being used by this guy that I ended up using him instead and throwing him away with the dirty condoms.

But then again, maybe he felt bad just because he wasn’t the one giving me the kiss-off.