Around 2 AM, I'd made up my mind. I would let myself go. I'd have a little fun. There'd be no bad consequences. HC was trying to do naughty things to me right there in the club. I was not letting that happen. Hand slides under the dress? Slap hand away. Boy, he said some suggestive things to me. And yeah, it was kind of hot.
By 3 AM we were on our way to my place. It had not been an easy decision. I'd spent some time with my head in my hands, agonizing. But I didn't want to regret letting him go. I didn't want to wake up feeling like a prude and wondering why I'm not taking advantage of what's supposed to be a fun, guy-filled time in my life--for perhaps the first and last time ever. I broke up with the FAF about 7 months ago. I've been intimate with 2 guys since then (GL and SS)--but I hadn't had sex with anyone else. How long could I keep that up?
You'd laugh if you'd seen me and HC at my apartment when we first got there. By then, I was pretty sober. He was really not. I slipped my nightie over my dress, then took off the dress underneath. He was pretty impressed by that. "How'd you do that!?" Letting go of some details, let's just say it took a while for the nightie to make its exit. Then, finally, I let HC do things. It was not bad. Those skilled older men, with their tight bodies, smooth muscular chests. Yum.
We'd agreed beforehand that we weren't going to have sex. I'd had that talk with GL, too, on the one night I spent at his place. But when GL changed his mind mid-way through, I told him tough crap. We'd agreed--not going there. When HC changed his mind? (And come on, don't the guys always change their minds? Why make the resolution to begin with!?) I'd gone this far. I'd decided not to regret. I went to the drawer where I knew the "Larges" were kept, and I gave him one.
Let's just say it was brief. Very brief. Started okay, could have been amazing, I think, but well...why don't I just tell you in dialogue? "This never happens to me." "It's not you." "I can get it back." I guess Hot Cousin's Mister Friendly wasn't feeling too friendly.
I was disappointed. This was my first foray into flingdom post-FAF? Meh. But then it got worse. Pretty cringeworthy, actually.
"I think I know what it is," HC said, looking me in the eye. "I've started dating this girl..."
Him: And I think I have feelings for her.
Me, glaring angrily: You're telling me this now?
Him: I guess I didn't know before.
I got out of bed, put my nightgown on, and headed to the bathroom. In truth, I felt tears coming. I'm not sure why. Granted, I tear up pretty easily. Any unexpected or powerful emotion I feel--any at all--brings me to tears. It's something I dislike about myself, but something I've never been able to control. The result of a lifetime of holding things in? Quite possibly. But what am I going to do?
"You're upset," HC said. "I never meant to upset you."
"You've made me into someone I never wanted to be," I said, tears rolling down my cheeks.
He didn't understand.
"I'm not a cheater," I told him. "And I don't help other people cheat."
HC protested. He and this girl hadn't had the "exclusivity" discussion yet. He was still a "free man." Ugh, I felt awful. He kept talking. "Do you think I'm a jerk? You think I'm a jerk. But I'm not a jerk."
"I think you're a guy," I said dryly.
And then HC became one in a long line (the last was SS) of men who have poured their hearts out to me. I'm a good listener, yes, and I don't tend to open up with my own issues too easily, so for whatever reason, guys love to just "open up" to me and "be totally honest," to use HC's words. I heard all about his recent divorce. About what didn't work in the relationship. About meeting someone new--but how crazy to jump into another relationship so soon. "I don't sleep around," he told me. "I really don't."
"Yeah, well neither do I."
"So how'd I slip through?" he asked. "Isn't this great, though? Don't you appreciate that I'm being completely honest with you? How many adult, honest conversations have you had like this?"
"Plenty," I let him know. "After all, we're adults." He, apparently, had not been accustomed to being so open and honest. Well, you don't say.
I didn't kick HC out, as he thought I would do. I let him sleep--and good Lord snore--next to me until he got up in the slightly-less-wee hours of the morning, with a raging hangover. I got him water and Tylenol, because I am nice and caring. The kitty rubbed against his legs. (The kitty tends to hate guys! Liked this one, go figure.) And then he was gone. I went back to sleep.
So how do I feel today? Jeez, I don't even know. Disappointed that my night of passion didn't turn out so passionate? Easily duped by such a "typical guy" (she writes, rolling her eyes at herself)? I didn't get what I wanted. And I guess that never feels too great, huh?
P.S. He also left the seat up three times and the cap off my toothpaste. What did he have to do, commit every stereotypical guy sin in one night? Very nice.