First Date, of Sorts.

Later that night I was having a great time with my new friend at her birthday party, who I'd met while pacing a training group for the Brooklyn Half.  We got along smashingly and I was particularly glad to have something going on this evening; an excuse to be out already and dressed up.  I was wearing a simple black American Apparel dress, but it fits me like a glove and shows off my curves just right.

He texted, asking if he could join us.  I honestly had not expected to hear from him in spite of that kiss, still burning on my brain like a fresh brand.

I was leaning over the bar, trying to get the bartender's attention, when I heard his voice in my right ear, so close I could feel his breath in my hair. "Hi."  I must have looked like an idiot when I turned to face him.  He had been good-looking before in half-soaked running gear, but now, showered and combed and dressed in well-fitting black clothes he was gorgeous.  And that voice hummed through my head even after one word.  I must have said something, but don't remember talking. I just remember staring and feeling the knot in my stomach tighten every time I heard his velvety voice.

Birthday Girl's friends decided to leave.  She, however, stayed behind, wasted and having a great time talking with us.  I could tell she thought he was cute, and was testing the waters of whether he was interested in me or not.  I couldn't tell either; he made no show of affection, no move at all.  He entertained her, which seemed to entertain himself, and the three of us had some fun, relaxing conversation.  When finally she decided to go home (maybe he gave some signal behind my back? Maybe she just got bored that he wasn't flirting back with her? I don't know) I offered to walk her, but she kept saying No, no, no.  She only lived half a block away.  Inside I breathed a sigh of relief. All I wanted was him.

The moment she was out of sight he grabbed my hands and pulled me to him for a deep kiss, deeper than the first one.  "I've been wanting to do that all night," he muttered.  I wanted to do nothing else.  I wanted to pack him off to my apartment right then.  I also wanted to have fun.

I knew a great place a couple blocks away and we decided to go, stopping every hundred yards or so to make out.  He kept saying it, "You're something else, do you know that?"  It was like he knew it was the key to getting me undressed. And it was working; all I wanted to do was find out what was under those black jeans.  I loved the way he crushed me to his chest and I wanted to feel him hold me like that in bed and wake up with those dark eyes.  I must have brought up sex, or must have vocally tried to convince myself that I couldn't give it up so soon, because he also kept saying "You're worth waiting for."  "All I want to do is lay in bed with you and hold you."  "You are something really special."  Of course, this was all between kisses and while his hands glided over my dress, tugging at it in what seemed an involuntary action.

We made it to our destination, which was closed.  Across the street, however, two Jamaican guys stood outside what was clearly an underground party.  I stopped to talk to them; I don't remember why.  I think I was mildly curious if we could get into the party for free and if they had anything delicious to eat in there, as those parties often do.  Normally I'd never have bothered, but with him there I wanted to show off a little, and my confidence was through the roof.  He was clearly impressed with my social butterfly capabilities and chatted up the Jamaican dudes alongside me, but ultimately thirty bucks apiece was way too much.  We started back toward Franklin Avenue.

On the way we saw some twenty-somethings hanging out on a stoop; clearly there was a house party.  I was in rare form, and this opportunity to show off my (ahem) adventurous spirit was like mana raining down from above. I had to stifle my excitement. "Ohhh! Let's go crash it!"  He laughed and followed my lead as I nonchalantly greeted the smokers on the porch.  "Hey, how's it going!  Which apartment is it?"  Effortlessly, we were buzzed in and greeted on the third floor by other people who didn't know our hosts.  It was a smaller party, only about twenty-five people, but it was simple to grab a beer out of the fridge and mingle.  I decided to divide and conquer, partly to see if he could float and partly because I was curious if anyone there was worth a second meet.  I had a nice time talking to a couple of different characters, but my mind was racing too fast to pay them much attention.

In the bathroom I checked my makeup and wondered why it had been so long since I'd seen this side of myself.  I couldn't remember the last time I felt so easy and free and excitable.

When I returned to the kitchen I found him finishing up a conversation with some girl.  He turned to me and I teased him about her.  He teased right back, saying she was cute.  "That's too bad," I said, "'Cause I was gonna invite you to hang out with me in the living room.  There's nobody in there…"

He lost his cool with one gulp.  "Really?"  I grinned and sauntered down the long hallway toward the back of the apartment, where the dimly lit living room was empty.  He sat on the couch and I climbed onto his lap, unable to keep myself from kissing him feverishly.  I remember muttering "I want you right now."  I remember his hands on my waist.  I remember the way he looked at me like he had never seen a woman before.  And then there was a noise behind us, and I leapt out of his lap and was sitting next to him in one movement, giggling sheepishly at the girl who had discovered us.  We made some polite conversation with her and the other two people who invaded our empty den and then ditched back to the kitchen, where we met the very drunk hostess.  People were rounding up to leave, and suddenly the mantra became, "We're all going to Franklin Park."

We went to Franklin Park.  I remember we walked there with a group of these people, but I don't think I talked to any of them. I don't even think I talked to him; I think I just held his hand and let him drag me along.

At Franklin park my old friend Big O was manning the door, as he has done for the last three years I've known him. We played catch up for a little moment, more opportunity to show my date how social and likable I am, and then went into the crowded bar.  It was horrible. The music was horrible, the clientele was horrible, and god knows what had happened to the people from the party.  He was at the bar ordering two beers, and I could tell he hated the place as much as I did.  I was drunk and didn't want the beer, but politely sipped anyway, laughing into his ear about the horrible horrible horrible bar we were in.  Once I got him to laugh about it I grabbed his hands and started dancing.

Time slowed for a minute.  The rest of the world seemed to disappear, and it was just him and me and whatever pop music nightmare was playing.  He was looking at me like… It's scary to say, but he was looking at me like he loved me.  I felt so safe with him, and so appreciated, and so happy.  I felt like I never wanted to be apart from him again.  I felt, for a moment, like if I wished hard enough time would stop completely and I could always have him there to ask "God, what are you?" and kiss me and hold me.  I was drunk, but it wasn't totally the alcohol. It was him.  He was something else.  He was special.

It was the haze of that moment that caused my mistake.  He broke the silence by repeating what he'd said earlier: "All I want to do right now is lay in bed with you and hold you and fall asleep with you."  I stretched up to kiss him again, then said into his ear, as quietly as I could manage in the loud crush of people around me, "Take me home."

I had purposefully left my room a total pigsty.  So when he asked where I lived I said, "No, take me to your home."  At least that would keep him off my turf, and he wouldn't get to see all of my life on display.  I had purposefully not shaved my legs.  I had purposefully not brought a toothbrush or a condom.  I had told myself over and over and over that I would do everything possible to not have sex with this man tonight, no matter how much I wanted him.  I haven't done the first date thing in years and I shouldn't start now.  I doubled back in my mind.  Somehow, in my brain, I was still going to hold out, and he would lay in his bed with me and hold me and we would fall asleep. I told him that's all we could do and he said yes, that's what he wanted.

Come on. Really?

We hopped into a cab and I buried my face in his shoulder. "You're really good at that nuzzling thing," he said, kissing my hair.  Once we got out of the car he became visibly nervous, and I realized that he was probably shy about his apartment; we all are.  I hugged his waist from behind while he unlocked the front door and said, "Whatever you're nervous about, don't be.  This is New York. We all have weird living situations."  He breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door to a normal, boring apartment, obviously shared by men due to the size of the TV, the smell of stale pot smoke and the giant hookah on the coffee table.  He took me to a tiny room with no windows and a twin bed.  It was fine.  I didn't care, I was just happy to be there with him.

Somehow my underwear came off and he had his face buried in my thighs.  He made it, but I knew I was too nervous for the payoff, and this was already more than my deluded mind had been prepared for, so I pulled him onto the bed with me, his hands tugging my dress down and mine tugging it back up.  I bit his neck. "Ahh!" He hissed, "Stop."

I stopped with a rueful smile. "Okay…" Then, after a beat I looked at him curiously and added, "I do what I'm told."

He shuddered and groaned and stood up.  He took a deep breath, shook his head, and leaned down, his face close to mine.  "I'm going to step away to the bathroom.  When I come back the rest of your clothes had better be off, or I'm kicking you out."

He shut the door behind him and I panicked.  I had an out.  I could go.  I knew I should, but I wanted him, and I felt safe here in this little cave of a room.  And I know--god do I know--what it feels like to be confronted by a man who is not going to treat me right, and this was something…something else.  I trusted him.  I knew I shouldn't trust him so soon, and I knew that if I stayed he might think I was some kind of slut.  I knew I should go.  I thought about it.  Hard.  And while I thought about it, I realized I had slipped out of my dress and taken off my bra and when he came back I was kneeling on the bed completely naked and terrified.

The sex was four in the morning sex.  It was post-drunk sex.  It was fumbling and awkward and too-well-lit and self-conscious, but somehow it was amazing just the same.  He said all the right words, and put a hand around my throat and taught me how he likes me to touch him there and how he likes when I whimper his name, and it felt right.  But he didn't come.  I didn't come.  He pulled me to his chest and we slept.  In the darkness later that morning he woke me and we tried again.  This time was better, more natural, less forced.  I showed him my favorite tricks and they turned out to be his favorite too.  He was anxious, like me.  He had a hard time relaxing, like me.  He tasted good.  I wanted more.

We slept in the dark cave of a room until 11.  I woke up feeling like I'd done something wrong.  I was already panicking and worried I'd never see him again.  I gathered up my stuff.  "Are you leaving me?" He asked.  It sounded so casual.  "Yeah."  I was all business.  "You have to go to work and I have things to do."  I kissed him and lingered, thinking he'd get up with me, but he didn't make a move.

I got up methodically, grabbed my purse and walked out of his bedroom, out of the apartment and strolled the 1.2 miles home, trying hard to convince myself everything would be fine.