A__ and I had such a good time flirting over brunch a couple weeks ago and talking about our respective exploits that we agreed to go out this weekend. We decided on dinner Friday night. I nearly caused a fuss with K__ squirming out of watching I__ (technically it was my scheduled weekend off) but I’d been looking forward to this. Naturally, A__ promptly fell asleep after work and stood me up. I wallowed in Murphy’s Law and self-pity for a little while, but then the whole episode gave me a great idea for a writing project making forgiveness nearly instant. I went out alone and met up with some acquaintances — it was fun; the simple, genuine stuff of making new friends. The bars closed and I walked back to my car, alone but in a good mood. A pretty girl (with two guys) said hello to me, and I said hello back without stopping. It wasn’t until the morning I realized the mistake.
A__ had sent a text around 1 AM confirming what I’d already deduced. We got brunch Sunday and caught up. She’s beautiful and intelligent but a little neurotic about her guy hangups. We bond over this mutual flaw and I wonder if it’s not every bit as dangerous as alcoholics who call themselves “drinking buddies.” I lured her to my studio for some tea and kissed her, but she didn’t seem into it. We talked a long time and it didn’t feel awkward even though it could (should?) have.
Saturday, I was T__’s “plus one” for a wedding. She lives a couple towns away, so most of our relationship has forged over email. We went out once, and I thought for sure we were hitting it off, but when I tried to kiss her goodnight she turned and presented a cheek. When she sent the wedding invite the word “date” was in scare-quotes.
She promised we’d (there would be four of us) do the ceremony and reception and blow out of there by eight or so and hit the town in style. I figured it’d be fun, even if it wasn’t Fun ™. As the day approached, her emails got more suggestive, and she kept the momentum going once we met up before the event yesterday afternoon. She was dressed to kill, as was I. I’d gotten a devil’s haircut, a fancy new dress shirt and skinny tie — red to match my rock-n-roll belt. She had some kind of lacy, long-sleeve top over which she had a little dress that hit her about mid-thigh. She had these great, colorful tights, and was showing a whole lot of leg. Have to say, we looked pretty hot.
I won’t retell the sordid drama here, but T__’s friend K__ didn’t have a date because her plus-one had been revoked. Don’t ask me — I didn’t understand it, and they actually told me the story. She wasn’t looking forward to flying solo, and I didn’t blame her. We all talked a lot of trash and joked around on the way to the hall together. K__ said we had to stop talking about sex now because she was getting turned on and didn’t have a date. “Excellent,” I thought to myself, “it’s working.”
At the reception, K__ warned me to cut T__ off at her second glass of wine, but what was I going to do? By the time we were having champagne and cake, her flirt was starting to turn downright raunchy and if I’d been able to scope out a private spot for us to disappear to, I would have gone for it.
We (five of us now) ended up in one of the coolest bars I’ve ever seen, which is good because I’d soon need the entertainment. T__ had sent texts to some locals to meet up with us. I was hoping this was an attempt to find K__ some guys to play with, and perhaps, initially, it was. In no time, I was feigning a lot of interest in the piano player’s chord fingerings because she was paying attention to everyone and anyone but me. Dancing, hanging on necks, holding hands. I tried not to be jealous, and it was working — working a lot like if I was trying not to fall asleep, or breathe, or come. Only a matter of time.
She circled back around eventually and seemed all about me as if she’d never left my side in the first place. I surmised that she was, in fact, wasted. She wanted to split another whiskey. I protested. She begged. I dodged. She worked her hand under my shirt and ran her nails down my back. Damn. I made one more weak attempt to derail her and she dug in hard. I said, “Uncle!” and she didn’t immediately let go. It was hot, but I’m a total pussy about pain.
I started doing the math: How drunk I was vs how drunk she was vs our respective body weights. If I knew what was good for me, I’d make sure I kept at least 80% of this drink to myself. By the time I could get another pour from our sharply-dressed and competent (if perhaps deliberate and unhurried) bartender, I’d completely lost her attention again.
Her friends noticed this. Hell, even the guys she was pawing noticed, and eventually there was a polite intervention. They probably felt sorry for me, and if anything, that was the embarrassing part. I don’t like to let people use alcohol as an excuse for shitty behavior, but I found myself giving her a pass.
I found us a nice spot to sit, and got busy working on a kiss. She nearly bit my lips off. On the one hand, I was disappointed (ouch!) and on the other, so willingly being led to slaughter.
Our party moved to the dance club next door, much to my chagrin. T__ said later she didn’t like it and didn’t want to be there in the first place, but she could have fooled me. For one, I could have sworn she was the instigator, and two she spent the better part of the time we were there simulating sex acts on my leg. I did my best to oblige her despite A) being a terrible dancer B) noticing we were the only white people there and C) noticing we were the only people simulating sex acts, period. At some point, I quit bothering to hide needing to adjust my erection.
We dropped off another couple and the three of us got back to K__’s place around 2AM, exhausted and hungry, munching fries and drinking too-sweet milkshakes. I tested the waters for a cuddly sleepover, but it wasn’t happening. Instead, T__ said we should plan a “slumber party” for the next weekend we’re both free. We kissed goodbye again at the door, although by now, no kiss would be enough.
I had a 1000% better time than I’d anticipated and drove home trying very hard not to think about the fact that I’d easily just spent $250.