Hey, it’s me again. I don’t know exactly where to start but I think I’ll just try to explain myself for a second and you don’t have to say anything. Not like you do anyway. We met maybe a few weeks back in a hazy room with drunk people dancing all around us. I didn’t even want to talk to you. You weren’t my type. You aren’t my type. But you kept looking over at me, giving me a smile and quickly turning away before you even had the guts to lock eyes with me for a mere three seconds. Just three. So, me being a drunk and seemingly confident girl (the usual confident girl I am after a shot, a beer, another shot, and two whiskey gingers later), I said hello. Or a rather, “Hi!” with my super exuberant high pitched voice that I always seem to attain once I hit my limit. You smiled back and for some odd reason, your face struck me with a sense of familiarity. Not as if I had met you before or that I had seen you at this bar. I don’t know exactly how to describe your familiar face but you possessed it. I was intrigued.
So we danced and you bought me another drink. After that, it gets a little blurry. I remember you grabbing my waist, holding my hand, and leading me through a dizzying crowd. I was sprung. Obviously. This is what I like about a man; someone who knows his way around and who can be dominant. Just lead me somewhere.
At some point, we walk out of the club, away from the bars, and up the street and somehow I end up on your bed. It seemed like there was no romantic transition like you introducing me to your roommate and then I see a picture of you with your dog and maybe I ask you about your favorite song and we somehow end up listening to that song and kiss. None of that really happened. Did I want that all to happen? Maybe, but that could just be the super romantic and sappy 16 year old girl inside of me.
Instead, I’m naked on your bed with you on top of me. I don’t remember what you whispered into my ear or if you had a weird or unusual mark, scab, or mole.. something weirdly physical about you. No, I can’t even remember those exact details at all. It was just you on top of me. Nothing romantic or complicated. A simple one night stand. I knew where everything was going. But you stopped me half way and told me something a little unsettling. You have a girlfriend. Not just a girlfriend whom you’ve dated for a year or so but a very long-time girlfriend. Seven years. And you’re thirty. So after I asked the obvious question (Why the fuck am I here right now?) I asked you if you planned on marrying her. Yeah, you’re planning on it.
The next morning, you had work and I had class. You drove me home (thank you, by the way) and we didn’t talk about last night. Last night never really existed. But you did ask about school and what I wanted to do after college. You gave me a grin and chuckled when I said I wanted to be a high school teacher. Bitch.
And that’s how that night went.
The next night was a similar routine. After a few flirtatious text messages back and forth throughout the day and after I scoped you out on facebook (by the way, your girlfriend is the only person who writes on your wall with annoying comments such as “Miss you boyfreennnnd! :* :* :*!” I can see why the fuck you’re bored) we finally met up. I was at my friend’s show drinking too many beers than I’d like to admit and you were with your friends downtown. I came over but this time I wasn’t as drunk. Okay, I was a little tipsy. I was nervous because I knew I was going to see you so I had to have a few beers. You didn’t seem as drunk either. You didn’t say much when you opened the door into your apartment. We walked straight into your bedroom. You never asked how my day was, what I did that night, if I wanted something to drink. Nada. We just went on and did our thing. You told me not to make things complicated and not to get attached. I may be a complicated person but I don’t make simple things complicated nor do I get attached to pure sex. Which was all that this was. So I felt a small weight lifted off my shoulder because we were both taking this for what it was: physical attraction.
So, booty call, let’s talk. Let’s actually be real and talk. You don’t know my last name nor do you know my favorite band. You don’t know that I’m a painter nor do you know my favorite type of art. I don’t think you know that I have scoliosis and you definitely don’t know about my cat. You don’t know what my favorite food is or that I went to Spain a few months ago. I don’t think you even know that I can speak Spanish and that my parents are still married. Do you even know if I’m left handed or right handed or that I get panic attacks and that I’m deathly afraid of sharks?
Maybe it’s bad that you don’t know these things about me. Or maybe I’m bad for wanting you to know these things about me. Is it bad that I want you to know just a tiny detail about me? How I hate large crowds or that I prefer hot tea over coffee. I hate making my bed and I hate cooking.
I could do myself a favor and stop racking my brain with all of these questions. Or you can just ask me these questions. Point being, I just want to feel like the wonderful piece of flesh and bones that I am. You don’t have to take me out to dinner. You don’t have to be my boyfriend. You don’t even have to buy my drinks (I can get mine on my own without a man’s help). But maybe you could give me the satisfaction of actually wanting to believe that men aren’t all the same. Some guys are different.
You are not the exception, though.
Give your girlfriend a call, not me.