The 7 Month Itch
- Aug 19, 2015
- 6 min read
I decided it was time to try a one night stand, because sometimes you just need to have sex, damn it!
I decided it was time to try a one night stand. At this point, we’re looking at a 7 month stretch and I was clawing my way through the walls. There wasn’t one untorn label in the entire house. The only problem was, and it was really just a tiny problem, I had never had a one night stand. As a matter of fact, I’d only ever slept with guys that I had been seriously involved with and I could count all of them on one hand. Serious didn’t seem to be creeping up anytime soon, and creeping was becoming serious. Swipe left, swipe left. It was desperate times.
One night at a bar in the city, I was out with three of my girlfriends: one slightly older, more mature and definitely more level-headed, the second who is always up for anything and whose weekend stories would make hooker blush, and the third who’s married and who I’m pretty sure has singing animals help her do her laundry.
We were discussing my involuntary celibacy when Sexually-Braver-Than-I questioned, “But, aren’t you dating?” “Yes,” I replied. “But dates don’t always lead to sex!” She looked at me. Then she looked at the bartender. “We need some shots. Please.” “I think it’s good that you’re giving yourself some time.” Thank you for that, Married-Friend. “You did go through a nasty breakup.” AND thank you for that. “Which,” interrupted Sexually-Braver, “is exactly why you need a sexual palette cleanser.” “A what?” I asked. “Like sorbet.” Level-Headed explained.
See, now that she put it in food terms, I totally got it.
She continued, “It’s like in between courses, when you eat sorbet to cleanse your taste of whatever you just ate to prepare you for the next delicious and tantalizing meal that walks by.” “Don’t you have any guy friends who’ve always wanted to bang you?” Sexually-Braver asked. “Couldn’t you just call one of them?” “Yeah!” Agreed Level-Headed, “Maybe it’s time to phone a friend.” “Wait a sec,” protested Married-Friend. “Just because it’s been awhile doesn’t mean you need to go sleep with someone random. You could sleep with any guy in here if you wanted to. You’re not THAT desperate.”
Then, with a quizzical look, Sexually-Braver asked, “Exactly how long has it been?”
“Seven months.”
The bar immediately turns into one of those sitcom scenes where the music stops, everyone looks at you, and a glass breaks somewhere in the background. The bartender slides the shots across to us. “These are on me.” Thank you, bartender, I do not need your pity… but I will accept your free alcohol.
Married-Friend pulls my cell out of my back pocket and hands it to me. “Meesh. There’s got to be someone in there you can call. It’s time to phone a friend.” Maybe I was THAT desperate.
Huddled around my phone, we decided on two viable and sexy options. Choice #1: An actor friend who I met during a show. We had to kiss once while rehearsing a scene and let’s just say I kept accidentally messing up my lines and we’d have to start all over. Oops. We met outside of rehearsal, ya know, just to run our lines, although we really only ever rehearsed that scene. But, it was always a classic case of I was single and he had a girlfriend, then I was with someone and he was single, and now finally I left my fiancé and he broke up with his girlfriend. Perfect.
Choice #2: A friend from the gym who was a personal trainer. We used to work out together and his body, hello! He does those Spartan Mud Runs and his profile pic is him bathed in mud, all hot and sweaty, his shirt clinging to all of those delicious muscles. Do you know what sexy looks like? Because I do, and it’s covered in mud.
It was the night I was to meet up with Matteo. If things went well with him, then maybe I wouldn’t need to phone anyone. But, he must have been too good to be true and I would obviously show up at our predestined location to come face to face with a man who was way too old and way too bald. Conveniently, the Kissing Actor and Muddy Muscles both lived in the city. If things went badly with Fake Matteo, I would phone a friend, be as charming as possible, and then it would be on. I’ll park my car on this side of the Hudson and take the Path over the river and into the city. This way, I can take a cab back to Jersey if I leave late, or I can easily get back to my car in the morning if I just happen to stay the night. Wink.
Shit. Stay the night? What about sleeping with my contacts in? Or morning breath?! I’ll be doing a very long walk of shame in an obviously night time outfit with a mouth that’ll feel like hot garbage. No, no. I grab my extra contact case and travel size versions of contact solution, a toothbrush, and toothpaste so that I can strategically hide them all in my bag. The black top I’m planning to wear is reversible. The other side is gray. Perfect! I can throw my, hopefully knotted bedhead, hair in a bun and turn that night-time outfit walk of shame into a sassy day-time stride of pride! I’d high-five myself if I could.
I look at the travel sized items I have laid out in front of my bag. Really, Michele? Who brings a toothbrush on a one-night stand? There is way too much planning that goes into one night… at least the way I do it.
Since my date with Matteo didn’t end either way that I had expected, it was time to put the phone-a-friend plan into action. Turns out, however, that Muddy Muscles trains for Mud Runs with his equally sexy muddy girlfriend. My choices were whittled down to one. The night arrives when it is time to meet up with the Kissing Actor. I’m wearing killer jeans, a soft henley with a few buttons unbuttoned, THE boots, of course, a scarf and a light jacket. That’s my idea of casual sexy. It’s like taking t-shirt and jeans to a whole new level. I’m asking for it, but subtly.
Time for my entrance. I see him, I melt a little and get it together quickly. He’s just as charming as I remember. He’s a little scruffy, wearing a flannel and a gray beanie, with an old backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s got that sexy Lumber Jack thing going on. He wraps both arms around me to say hi, then grabs my face in his hands and leans in to kiss me softly on the cheek. “You look great,” he says into my eyes. “Cool boots.” It is so on.
Earlier that night, in a peptalk with Sexually-Braver, I boasted that I’d never not hooked up with someone I wanted, so there was no way I’d start failing now. We ducked into a cool quiet bar and he put his hand on the small of my back and allowed me to enter before him. Yup. This is definitely happening.
Several pints of beer and a bit of tequila go by, and sure enough he’s telling me all about this girl he just started seeing and how she demands his emotional presence when they’re making love.
Damn it! Did he just say “making love”? He tells me how she has him biking and doing meditation and blah blah blah. She probably does a perfect stupid yoga headstand too. My phone-a-friend plan was exactly that, time to call up an old pal and catch up. It was not on. Not even a little bit on.
Afterwards on a stroll, he continues talking about the Messiah of Sex and says, “And the best part is that she’s crazy hot. Like dirty hot.” I’m starting to feel just straight crazy, but I decided to test the waters. I mention that I’d like to be thought of as dirty hot.
He stops on the sidewalk and faces me. He cups the side of my face in his palm, tilts his head to one side, looks tenderly at me and says, “Oh sweetie, you’re too sweet to be dirty hot. I mean, you’re an English teacher.”
So much for charming.
Clearly, he’s never seen me naked… nor was he going to. But if he’s right, neither will anybody else. As I rode the subway back home- alone- I wondered, was it true? Had I been in a serious relationship so long that I had forgotten how to be single-sexy? Had the game changed so much in three years? Was the difference between 25 and 28 really so different? Apparently, the answer is yes. And I needed to step up my game.
The next day I went shopping and only bought things I’d never wear to work… like t-shirts… with a REALLY deep V.
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