back to me plodding through ads. picture this, an add with some inane title and a pic attached. the girl (yours truly) clicks on the link to find two pictures inside, one a torso (muscled) and the other, showing lower down on the torso with a dick trailing down the edge of the photo. i can't speak for all girls but i'm willing to bet most girls don't care one wit to see a picture of some guy's junk before seeing his face. they're just not good looking. this isn't some prudish idea, it's just fact. weiners are wack looking (not to say that va-jay-jays are voomtastic). back to the torso. it's hot, no doubt about it. the ad says he's 26 and he's looking for a nsa hook up (editor's note: he's really 28). what possessed this girl to write this guy? i've already established for you that staring down a pic of a dick isn't a turn on, and while his abs were pretty to look at, that doesn't mean he's not going to turn out to be some frat douche bag. write him i did, and what followed is terrible, wonderful, randomness.
very superficial emails whizzed back and forth between our macs and finally a phone number (his) was offered up onto the holy mantle of wanting booty. when the call was made he was articulate, had a sense of humor, and in a weird turn of events, had lots of things in common with me. i mean, lots. like, this is the shit that rom-coms are made out of. it's decided that i'll see him that very night.
not knowing what to expect, i drive (somewhat apprehensively) to his apartment. the guy has 2 (maybe 3?) roommates. gang rape, anyone? he's waiting for me on his landing as i walk up. what's this? he's yummy. he's 6'2″, slender, muscle-tastic. he possesses short, dark brown hair, and the fringe of eyelashes surrounding his dark eyes are soft and thick. his teeth are perfect, little white tombstones. his lips look soft and slippery and they're framing a very charming smile. hell, if i'm about to be murdered, at least he's hot.
i lightly tread behind him as we enter a very typical boy's apartment. tv on the ground, stale air, beer being brewed (is it brewed? right, they're called brews, brewskis?) his room is what i picture an average dorm room to look like. there's a van gogh poster on the wall, a black and white subway style poster of the eiffel tower w/ a girl in a red coat in front of it, clothes clutter up the floor. and look at that. it's a twin (maybe a full size) bed which is taller than an average bed (of course, those college kids need places to stuff their stuff; stuff that can be stuffed under this stuffy bed).
somehow i find myself facing him in this narrow room next to his narrow bed. he's within kissing distance (or close enough). i think he puts his arms around my waist. i know that i put my arms around his neck. his mouth on mine is pliant and wet. his tongue darts between my lips. i sink into that mouth. he lifts my shirt off and i'm unsure of how he'll take stock in my body. i've taken off his shirt and his body is desirable and i'm sure, enviable for other people of the male persuasion. i feel inadequate and small (ironically so, since my insecurity stems from the extra pounds i'm carrying, ho-ho). his bedside table lamp is on, along with an overhead light. i chastely (ha!) ask to shut the garish light from above off and we settle with the softer glow emanating from his little lamp.
does he pick me up and set me on his bed. yeah, he did. did i then pull him on top of me? yep. was it long before we were both naked? i'd like to say it took a little time but i would be a brazen liar. this is the fastest i've ever had sex with someone, and, AND, i've never had sex with someone i didn't know. is it a little scary that i'm not more concerned about either of these factors? hmmm. when we're done, pretty sure he says to me, "we just did it." and we had. i high five him because instead of that statement coming off as being in poor taste or juvenile, it's kinda charming. he laughs and i see the dimples on either side of his mouth.
we talk and talk. who he is starts to form in front of me and the outline of that shape is oh, so appealing. all the details don't need to be reproduced here, gentle reader, but there is enough minutiae we share in common which sends the neurons in my brain a buzz. it's mutually acceptable for me to spend the night so i crawl into one of his old t-shirts. in between good natured discussions we can't keep our hands off of each other. all i want is for him to be inside of me. he keeps telling me my body is hot and sexy. really. legitimately, he says this. i don't really care if he's sincere, i want to believe it, and so i do.
we talk and fuck for hours. this is bad for him since he has to be up in a few hours for pt (he was in the army, now finishing an art history degree, and has been accepted to law school in north carolina). he plays me this charming version of god only knows by the beach boys reproduced by this bespeckled blonde armed with a ukulele. my heart is in a puddle of goo at the bottom of my rib cage.
sleep is inevitable, and inevitably there won't be enough time to enjoy said sleep. his alarms go off and i dutifully try to rouse him but he's having none of it. pt is skipped and sleep yet again embraced. a few hours slip pass and i gingerly tip toe down the hall to use the shower. marketing has worked in this household. the soap all comes in bottles (i think three) and they're all made by axe, or some other ridiculously male brand. the shampoo is for dandruff. there's no hairbrush or comb, i look in each drawer. there are however, an inordinate amount of razors.
coming back into his room undetected by his young, undergrad cohabitants, i slink into bed next to him. i tell him i've got half an hour and he better start putting out. he begrudgingly performs (he's tired and he's performed wonderfully past expectation the previous night-he's allowed to not be super into it) and it's good. when i leave he walks me out onto his porch and sends me away with kisses and smiles.
i'm pretty sure i'm glowing on my trek back to my car. i bust out laughing when i later enter my apartment and continue to laugh while i'm in the shower. my dogs get extra kisses and zoom, i'm out the door to school. my head is spinning. a text is sent from my phone to his asking if the last night really happened. i tell him i haven't met anyone so in sync with me since i've been here the last four years (this may sound reminiscent of how i felt re: mr. fox, but it's not, what's going on here is completely different). he agrees and says it's weird, but so good. i float through my classes thinking about this boy and how i'd rather be wrapped around him than sitting at my desk with a pen in my mouth, doodling on my legal pad. flirty texts flitter back and forth. people ask why i'm giggling. i let them wonder while i think of him naked and kissing my neck…
that afternoon i head to the gym with the directive from boots to walk over to his place when i'm done. note: i'm a sweaty beast after working out. not attractive in the slightest bit. just saying. when i enter his bedroom he's scarfing down taco bell, watching mad men, and sporting some rather adorable black framed glasses. jesus, the glasses are the final touch that sends my heart careening and crashing inside my thorax.
of course we get naked. he seems to think my sports bra is hot. funny. it appears i've broken him from the night before, he just can't seem to get his body to function in a way that is mutually beneficial for both of us. really though, it's ok. we spend the following time wrapped in comfortable conversation, sharing anecdotes, him playing things for me on his computer, and then i do something stupid, i ask a question.
pause:
i feel like i haven't done a sufficient job in pointing something out. i leave louisiana may, 31st for ohio. he leaves for north carolina on may 16th. there is an expiration date to this excursion. this coupling, is meant to be a sweet affair. we are never meant to be in the future together. this seemed wickedly romantic the night before.
resume:
"why are you going back on the 16th, why not stay here a little longer?" his parents are back in nc, something about an incestuous group of friends devolving, and oh yeah, he sort of has a girlfriend back home. wait, what? not to worry, it's not like it's official, it's not being touted on facebook. is that really the mark of a relationship these days? i feel a door slam in that interior space where i so frequently hide away. i can't really speak. i feel tense (and i'm tense now). i'm internally searching for the reason why i'm all of a sudden in a freeze. he tries to engage me in conversation, but i'm trying to curtsy while i think. i do this by instead kissing him and turning away. i want to flee. i want to get the fuck out. i want to take away the last 24 hours because it's cruel to have something placed in front of you that you want, only to find out it was never quite up for grabs in the first place.
i manage to eke out that i'm a little off kilter about the girlfriend news. he points out the obvious, we're both moving. this isn't supposed to be anything. i know. i do. the problem is he had somehow become a representation of possibilities…
turns out he's also been married. he just officially got the divorce this past september (november?) but they'd been separated for 2 years. he had married her when he was 21 and it's obvious that he carries a scar from this failed relationship. this only makes me more susceptible to his wiles, i too carry a wound from a long, marriagesque relationship. it seems that i may have a decent amount in common w/ his ex-wife…i'm hoping, this works in my favor.
back to the girl in nc. she has her own jewelry design business. echoes of greg attaching himself to an inferior, interior designer. she has a child. she can't fathom the difference between your and you're. there's so much wrapped up in that little wayward apostrophe that i want to scream. he likes girls that are smarter than he is but he's tired of being single. isn't it easier, less lonely, to be with someone that you settle for than to hold out for what you want (editor's note: this is a mistake i made for 3 years, staying with a good looking, well meaning, sweet boy because i was trying desperately to make that square peg fit into a round hole). apparently the tic tocking of the clock isn't only applicable to those who possess those pink, waxen roses between their legs.
i tell him don't do it. he'll regret it. it's better to be alone than to take that well traveled path. i mean this, i'm no hypocrite, but i still know that it's hard. so much harder to stand on principle, so much easier to sink into suburban bliss with a pretty thing who technically hasn't done anything wrong, but hasn't technically blown your fucking socks off.
while in his presence, between more kisses and talk, i spend the next few hours flipping a coin in my mind: heads-enjoy it while you can, tails-tell this guy to shove it. i get a chance to read his personal statement for law school. it's apparent he's no half wit. in conjunction with his proper grammar and command of the english language he has some beautifully, haunting constructs crawling across the page. i want him more. why can't that coin have a third surface (heads, tails, organs). my organs, my pink, delicate viscera, are slowly, achingly throbbing. flip, land on organs-see each other this summer and see how that progresses. if it were to progress it's only an 8 hr drive from columbus to raleigh. ok, so i went a little wacky and mapquested it. sonofabitch.
i feel i need to say this next part: i'm not some sucker. i'm not in love with this guy but he has very efficiently checked off the items on my list of what i desire in a mate. it sounds as if i've done a fair amount of checking off of the items on his list as well (and if i haven't, if this is all some farce, then he's pulling it off rather nicely).
i'm taking him to the airport tomorrow. to the plane that will carry him quickly and easily to this non-facebook official girlfriend who doesn't understand the aforementioned apostrophe hiding between r and e, who i'm sure he'll fuck. i'll kiss him goodbye and try to look cute. i've had offers of dates for this weekend and there's no concrete reasons to not go on them. i owe boots nothing, just like he owes me nothing. am i going on these dates? i doubt it. as bohemian and as much as i think of myself as a free-thinker, i'm just not down to fuck around with multiple partners at the same time. this sounds like i think every boy wants to fuck me. i strongly reject that statement. i don't think every boy wants to fuck me. i think these three boys want to fuck me. 2/3 of this population has asked me quite bluntly when we were hitting the mattress (slightly more romantically than that, but not by much). the 1/3, i'm just going off his more circumspect flirting material.
this is why girls (to be utterly sexist for a moment) should not engage in one night stands or nsa relationships (by the very definition of the word, relationship shouldn't even follow nsa in a sentence, and yet there it is). oxytocin is released when we fuck. oxytocin, that dastardly hormone responsible for uterine contractions, milk letdown, and lastly, "love." mix that with a hot boy with a brain who seems to be super attracted to your body, face, and mind and that is a heady elixir my friend. seductive.
if this was a rom com this is how the next few weeks would go:
he'd head to nc and hang w/ friends and family in addition to the sweet and lovable (reliable, non-challenging) girlfriend. although this girlfriend would be doing nothing wrong, he wouldn't be able to help himself, he'd keep thinking about the cute and quirky doctor that remained behind in baton rouge. he'd find himself looking at her pictures on facebook, he'd send cute messages, he'd find himself wanting to be naked with her. when he gets back into town, the feisty girl would pick him up at the airport and plant a whopper of a kiss on his wanting mouth. he'd find himself quickly back in bed with her. the weeks pass in a blink of an eye and it's nearing the time when he'll be leaving. he is resigned to a life where he picks sensibility over that of challenge and intense passion (hasn't this schmuck seen casablanca or read any jane austen?). the plucky girl musters all her courage and tells him that she thinks he is the cat's meow. she wants to figure something out. fuck it, she's willing to be irrational and vulnerable (something that comes very difficultly for our little heroine). he can't do it. it just doesn't make sense. the girl's eyes tear up but she's such a bad ass that not one single tear trickles down the side of her adorably, crooked nose. she wishes him the best, and she means it. she turns, and walks away. he starts to walk in the opposite direction and a montage starts running through his head of their time spent together. he gets it, she's fucking awesome! he turns around but he can no longer see her in the distance. he walks fast, gets anxious, and now he's running. running down a future filled with…oh hell, i don't know…filled with good stuff. he finds her already to her car, somewhat slumped against the side and pitifully sobbing into her hands. she looks up and sees the smile on his face, he embraces her, picks her off the ground and they kiss. because this is a movie we're going to be cueing the swooping music at this point and it's probably going to have to be raining. she says something pithy, he says she is beautiful. the credits fade, and we know damn well they end up together.
is this what i need? nope. than, what would be nice? the stuff while he's away would be good (although not necessarily to the degree as outlined above). the passing weeks being filled with further excavation of each other topped with a heaping portion of flesh on flesh would be more than acceptable. if, and this is a big if, he's as great as i think he may be, we could spend some time together this summer. if that goes well…well, i don't know. i know that i'm only in columbus until next june. i know that i have two months in that year that i can spend anywhere i want. could that be nc? it could.
what else do i know? i know that finding someone that i feel comfortable with so fast is extremely rare. i know that i could easily find someone else. i know that it's retarded to be thinking about this so much when i've known the guys for less than 3 days. i think if he knew how much i was mulling this over he would fucking high tail it to nc tomorrow (this is made more humorous by the fact that he is indeed going to nc tomorrow).
the human heart, any mammalian heart-i know, i've dissected so many-really does look like a human fist drenched in blood. is this only to mean that it's all strength and impending violence? a human fist can be so easily broken, and so can the heart. that might be why mine kicks it in a steel trap enjoying it's freedom while conversely hating it's cowardice for not venturing more out into the world. taking only a reactionary position is an option, but knowing me, i'm usually not content to only bounce off someone else's whims.
what does rilke say on the subject, "only love is like an arrow to your heart; the more you try to take it out, the more pain and blood you get." jesus, if that isn't a reason to open myself up to whatever comes along, what is? but then, what about e.e. cummings? "lovers alone wear sunlight." and they do.
not just with boots, but with anyone, what is it that i want? i think i'll tag rilke in yet again, "I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone."
it's a hard knocks life, kid.
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