Normally when I watch a Rihanna performance I’m left with one of two feelings: Regret or optimism.
Meaning I either regret wasting minutes of my life watching her dully sashay across the stage and/or pay tribute to 7th grade talent shows, or I find myself slightly encouraged that maybe just maybe she’s improving as a performer.
The first Rihanna performance I saw on SNL definitely gave me the feelings of the former. She sounded bad on “Only Girl (In The World).” On the track itself, Rihanna sang the song with such veracity that I was left with the impression that she had grown legs as a singer.
Last Saturday, Rih-Rih made me wonder if she had already gotten those legs amputated.
To her credit, though, the second time she took the stage was much better. She managed to match the vocals on “What’s My Name” and the laid-back feel of the song actually complimented her style of performing.
But, there was something else that stuck out to me about this performance and I almost didn’t want to admit it. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to say this without sounding like a horrible version of a gay man.
Then I thought about it: I’m already considered one. Or as Luvvie put it about a week ago to me, “an inconsistent gay.”
I guess that means I might as well come out and say it: I wanted to have sex with Rihanna after watching this.
I can imagine how that sounds to my readers:
Probably something like that. I’m sorry, guys. We like honesty, though, don’t we?
I typically don’t talk too in depth about me and any sexual eruptions (they’re mainly non-existent anyway) because I like some things to remain private, but hell if I’m trying to write a book about me (along with experience and views, naturally) I might as well start opening up, right?
So there you have it. I stared at Rihanna’s thighs and contemplated the possibilities.
I have never been with a woman. Of course, I’ve gotten offered. One notable memory of said offer included a bisexual cheerleader telling me she’d fuck me after she explained to me how some football player she smashed had the audacity to wear socks while they had sex.
Another is the more frequent offering that I’ve since become used to: Me telling a girl in a club in a close setting that I’m gay (typically after a comment in my favor is made) and her drunkenly offering her vagina up as a sexual science fair project.
The only girl I really wanted to ever have sex with ultimately took my kind acts as a sucker move in high school so I ultimately adopted a “hole in one” outlook on sex.
I sort of shied away from any curiosity given that it didn’t seem to be the final destination — even if I fought said destination tooth and nail the entire way.
I’ve always known what’s appealed to me more so there has to be some excuse for this monstrosity, huh?
One of my friends told me that everyone has contemplated sex with Rihanna including her. Another girl shared this same sentiment with me. So, maybe I’m more turned on by something else.
You know, like her red hair or something. I do love food and there’s nothing better than performing fellatio on a Wendy’s nugget in the wee hours of the night.
Or, it could be that Rihanna is truly the devil and that reverse tootsie roll move she did (thank you for that reference, Sarah) was her demonic way of luring me in.
Make no mistake, I didn’t exactly get aroused while watching it. Merely, uh, intrigued by the possibilities.
It’s happened before and as recent as early September when I ended up twirking up on Amber Rose at a VMA party.
True story. Excuse my face in this picture, though. I hate how I look in it like. I swear I normally look much better than this.
Moving beyond my own shallowness and vanity, my point is that the two instances don’t mirror each other as one has made me more ‘alert’ than the other.
I actually told another friend this morning (days after this performance), “I wonder if Rihanna tastes like gummy bears.”
To which Lauren said, “It’s imperative that you take up residence in the corner.”
Now might not be a good time for that, don’t you think?
It’s a good thing Rihana didn’t do such a move in my lap after I spent another night looking like a lost straight person in a gay club (as also previously described). Otherwise, I’d really have a problem.
Perhaps this is something everyone experiences at one point or another.
I like to think sexuality isn’t as rigid as many would suggest. The term homosexuality is defined as one whose same sex attraction is “primary” or “exclusive.” Meaning, yeah, I like Matt Kemp more but on a random Tuesday every seven years I might think Rihanna tastes like the red gummy bear curled on her head and a sardine any other.
Of course, these days it’s important to know what you like and stick with it or at the very least be honest about your gray areas.
For any of you now concerned, fret not. I’m not about to go randomly screw some woman. In fact, I recently had dinner with someone I love more than anything. Believe me when I say that person makes me hard enough to knock over half you bitches into the next hemisphere.
Still, preferred preference aside I have to say Rihanna had me wanting to try — even if only in a way that mirrors trying something at Sam’s or Costco en route to what you really want.