Fuck your friends.
How did I wind up locked outside my house at 3 a.m. with a wasted stand up comedian trying to screw me and the vital keys to my car, bike, house (life) carelessly lodged below the car battery under the hood? From being a goddamned good samaritan.
He’d had a bad night, probably because people weren’t laughing at his jokes. I found him leaning his head against the wall outside of the bar that had just kicked him out in a manner that suggested he was slowly loosing his ability to fight gravity when I stopped, sighed, rolled my eyes and extended my arm with a patronizing “come along, let’s get you home”. I have met him before. You could say we are acquaintances, even extended friends, so it didn’t strike me as a stupid idea, as of yet.
Losing faith in his ability to provide accurate directions, I stopped home to google his address. I’m not sure he even knew where he was. He kept trying to make out with me while I was driving without warning or asking. I had to pull over and put him in the back seat. I locked him in my car when I got out at the driveway (child locks on), “You stay here! I’ll be right back.” He sort of nodded with a doped smile while slumped against the window, face smashed as it was pressed against the glass.
I came back out to start the car. No dice. I didn’t panic, though, because the idiots who installed my new battery replaced it with ill-fitting hardware, so in order to start the car, I must pop the hood and manually tighten the cables. I had my keys in my hand holding up the hood when I felt them slip between my fingers and drop down inside the car. Fuck.
I climbed back into the drivers seat staring dead ahead with my 1000 mile gaze caught in an exasperated look of, “what now?”. The drunk jackass in the back was climbing over the seat to get better access of me, but I ignored his attempts, though he was becoming more aggressive in his attempts to bed me. Stan texted me.
Or rather, he’d been texting me all night and I’d ignored the messages.
I briefly skimmed over the rest as I was x-ing out boxes to read the current one. “Where are you?”
“Fucked. thats where.”
“Come over.”
“I’m stranded. I’m locked outside with a drunk guy, whom I was trying to take home.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t wanna say. Help! I’m practically beating this guy off of me.” It took him a bit to grasp my urgency, but he eventually, regretfully, reminded me that he doesn’t have a car for a week.
“Cab over here. I’ll spot you fare.” Ok, If I had really thought about it, I would have realized this was a terrible idea, but the prospect of a couch to sleep on and ridding myself of octopus arms was so welcoming. So welcoming, and the lesser of two evils.
“NO, IN THE BACK!” I shoved arms off of me and directed him into the cab.
“Is that your boyfriend?” asked the driver unimpressed in my choice of men.
“No, I found him.”
He eyed him through the mirror while he drooled against back of my seat he was propped up against. “HEY BUDDY! BUDDY! DON”T PUKE!” speaking slowly.
“He’s a comedian.” I smirked, already anticipating the expecting joke.
“Yeah, he is.”
____
Stan kept texting me, asking me where I was on my way. I couldn’t really tell if he was worried about me or just anxious that I hadn’t arrived as soon as he’d hoped. Hopefully the former.
He had the TV on in his bedroom and asked if I wanted to stay up a bit and watch. Dumbly agreed.
We were sitting on his bed not even a minute when I felt him hand rest against my thigh. Ok, easily dismissible as an accident. I waited, not long, mind you, before it slid up my skirt.
He turned his lips to my ear. “Do you wanna keep watching TV or go to bed?”
“Go to bed.” He got up to turn off the TV—and take his clothes off, of course. “I sleep naked. Hope you don’t mind.” Of course, I do, too. And seriously, when I thought that, I meant that honestly in the most naive manner. I took my clothes off.
I don’t remember what happened first. Not even the following day, could I recall. I remember eventually straddling him while he lied down, and kissing him. I moved my lips to his neck, and then the questions came. “How long have you wanted me, Taylor?” he asked sounding very perplexed. It was a serious question, not an ego booster. “How long have you been in to me?”
And then reality hit me. I have never been in to you. I am not attracted to you at all. I said none of this. “Well, how long have you wanted me?”
“Since I first met you.” This was a year ago. And I think I knew this to be true. I knew it that night we met, when he flirted with me at that restaurant. I ignored it. He flipped me onto my back and plunged his fingers into me, rubbing at the softness of my inner sanctum. Mechanically, euphoria, but I suddenly realized how dark the room was.
I have never acted so automatically. I just was given a scenario and sex was the instinctive action. I knew I wanted to fuck, I kept doing it, sex for the sake of sex. I mean, I know my libido is high, but … And I have never regretted sex, before this. He penetrated me, while manipulating my position, bending my legs as he pleased. It was less than ideal.
I pulled off, and pushed him back down on the bed, tracing my lips down his torso. I was about to exhibit my godliness. What a contradiction though? It seems like such a degrading action, yet I often initiate my services without thought. I was like a fallen angel. So good at what I do, able to control a man with the action of my lips, but at the price of my dignity. And I am, sooo good at what I do.
Maybe I’ll find a partner who is as good as I am one day.
Ok, that was off topic. So even after that, and we were laying there, he directed my actions. I can’t say that this domination is always my preference, but it did give him some points in my book. He pulled me onto him with his arms around me as he drifted off to sleep. As usual, I couldn’t fall asleep. General and warranted paranoia about being in a strange place with a man and the stimulating excitement of sexual activity never let me sleep. I was freezing and we were uncovered and naked. I pried myself away, apathetic to his displeasure, covered myself with a blanket and fetched my phone before curling back up next to him, facing away.
Hiding under the blanket, I clicked through my phone to determine where exactly in the night things went awry. His text messages started early and were innocent enough, “What are you doing?” ” Why did you leave the bar?” “Come back” Then they became more suggestive. “Wish you were here.” “I’m at home … so come over” “my bed, be here.”. I didn’t read them before coming over that night, but I didn’t need to. It’s not like I was blind sided by his proposition. Plus, it’s happened before where he’s unsuccessfully tried to arrange a sleep over.
Then I remembered the girlfriend who had moved across the country. There was no evidence that they were still together, but there was also no reason to believe that they weren’t. I don’t know the terms of their relationship, but I’m sure that whatever we did wouldn’t be allowed.
In the morning, he stirred and turned on his side to spoon. I pretended to be asleep. He pulled the blanket off of me and I was covered in goose bumps from the shock of the frigid air. With his left arm under and around me, he ran his top hand over my body. He traced my tattoo in the middle of my back. Then he ran over my waist, my hips, then over my ass, lingering for awhile, squeezing it for awhile, hard. Then he fingered me from behind. I felt his breath deepen with the flexing of his abdomen against my back. He exhaled hot air, passing from lips to the surface of my exposed chest.
Oh to be young and make such mistakes.
___
Attempting to pick up the pieces, I texted him the next day, not to sound crazy, but I figure the sooner I grab the bull by the horns, the less time there would be to build up resentment and uncertainty. “We should talk. I want to make sure things aren’t sour between us.” Of course I didn’t hear back from him, making me feel like an ass.
Maybe to understand our relationship better, I’ll explain it like this. Stan was always the cool, older brother type who knows a lot of people through his bands and his job and excels in things I have interests in, like music. From a social standpoint, I honestly thought he was too cool for me. From a romantic standpoint, people would say I was actually way out of his league, not that that shit matters to me, he just isn’t the total package I want. I really value our friendship.
I felt like I was dragging around with a scarlet A on my chest. Though I am not the adulterer here, I realize that resentment could build towards me since I “messed things up”. I’m that bitch that comes in and fucks up peoples relationships, despite the extent in which I may have been pursued. But really, it’s none of my business if he was single or not. Why? It doesn’t involve me; their alleged relationship is between themselves, and I have no intention of engaging in a romantic relationship with him. It’s all on him.
As of now, I do not know where I stand, though after my appearance at his show last week, his over the top enthusiasm and subtle attempts at physical contact suggested that he may still be expecting for something to manifest. I intend on correcting this as soon as I can.