Red, red wine

I like being drunk sometimes. It can be quite fun. There are some things that are better when you're really drunk, like boring parties or bars with bland atmospheres or random hook-ups. There are other things that are way, WAY not better when you're, as Banana likes to say, "hammered," or as Thinky calls it, "shitfaced," or as I shall daintily say, "a touch beyond your limit." Three of these things:

1) excellent food

2) conversational skills

3) first-time sex with someone who is decidedly not a one-night stand


I'm glad to report that I very much did enjoy the amazing food, but I think I might have appreciated it all the more had I not enjoyed the wine quite so much. My conversational skills were shot from exhaustion at the end of a six day workweek of extra hours every day, so maybe I can't blame that on the wine. But that last one...

I went into the evening prepared to have sex. I was thrown off my game when he didn't kiss me hello. I figured maybe the timing was wrong, maybe I looked like I'd just worked a 90 hour week, or maybe he just didn't want me like I'd thought. It was then that I realized I wasn't being my usual lively self, that I was really tired and yeah, it was showing. I tried turning on my feminine wiles (I have wiles), but nothing. No kiss.

Then the bottle of wine came. It was delicious. Then the food came. It was beyond delicious. More wine. I'll blur through the rest because the rest is a blur...blurry walk back to his apartment, blurry climbing to the roof, blurry flirting, finally a blurry kiss. Blurry trip back downstairs. More blurry kissing. Blurry fighting myself on whether or not to have sex--dehydrated, sloppy, nervous and ready-to-pass-out-any-second isn't really my A-game, so to speak. I think I said no, and that he was really sweet about it.

Then the latch on the door clicked open and his roommate's girlfriend walked in. I sat there staring at her, completely incredulous as she walked in very comfortably to what was obviously a private evening. Like she owned the place, which she really does not. Except for the bra conspicuously strewn across the coffee table, we were completely clothed, but I was nonetheless aghast at her audacity as she sat down at the table and ate a late dinner, chatting like it was the most normal thing in the world for anyone--much less someone who does not pay rent--to walk in on such a scene and not immediately retire away from it. I was too exhausted and too fucked up to know what to do about it so I feigned feigning sleepiness and went into his room and shut the door. I don't know how long I slept before he slid into bed next to me.

Then I jumped the gun. I'm terrible at not giving in to my body; my libido is rather demanding and lately my sex life has been rather nonexistent due to a drastic change in my standards. If I really hadn't wanted it I would have gotten into a taxi, but I got into his bed instead. The alcohol rationalized it, told me I could just sleep, that I was too tired to have sex with anyone but a necrophiliac. The alcohol said maybe in the morning. But half-asleep, my subconscious at the helm, I reached for him. I was dehydrated. I was sloppy. I was nervous. I was ready to pass out at any moment, but I managed even without my A-game.

It actually freaked me out a little. I don't know if I was ready--I mean, I made a conscious decision to get off that couch and into the bed so clearly I wanted to do it. And I certainly don't regret it. But I'm still climbing my way out of the depression that took over my life a few months ago. My emotions are still tangled up in knots. I'm not sure how to process the things that were said. I know it doesn't have to change things, but it changes things for me, and that's a fact.

I woke up feeling lonely. I need a lot of physical affection. All by myself on one side of the comfy, squishy bed I thought maybe my presence was being tolerated rather than appreciated. I climbed out of bed, tugged on my clothes and padded off to pee and have some water (in attempt to alleviate the incredible headache that throbbed in my ears). I curled up on the couch and thought about things. I stared into space and sipped from a glass imprinted with a little cartoon naked lady on a pole. I liked the glass. I liked the staring. I liked that it was quiet. I liked the sleeping man in the next room, but I was very concerned that maybe he wouldn't like me anymore.

After a while he came out looking furious and stared at me for what felt like a long time. I heard my voice squeak, "I needed some water." He shook his head. "Feel free to come back any time," he said from the doorway. My heart sank. I was being kicked out. My stuff was still in the bedroom. "In here, I mean," he indicated his room and went back in. After a second it clicked in my head--he had thought I'd ditched out on him and it had upset him. Hope restored, I went back to the bathroom to fuss at my looks a minute then scurried back in to him and scrambled into bed. All I needed was to know I was wanted.