In my mind, first dates have always been to get to know someone. It’s that opportunity to see if the handsome stranger from your roommate’s office party or from the gym where you pretended to fill out an application is worth being the engaging love interest. There’s something nerve wracking about showing up to spend an evening with a person you barely know as you run conversation topics in your head like a roll-o-deck, as you discard shirt after shirt into a pile of ‘when did that become so unattractive?’, as you tell at least three friends where you’ll be just in case he is a crazy. Anxiety and eagerness hold hands on the roller coaster in your stomach and you just wonder, will we like each other when we’re not hiding behind *fill in the blank: facebook, text, email, social events, parties, group gatherings, all of the above*? After being alone for no less than three hours, will we still want to look at each other?
But I already knew the answers to these questions when it came to JR. When your first date is with someone you’ve been friends with, who’s known you for years, an entirely different set of curious wonderings mingle in. I knew we’d get along. My concern wasn’t about filling the time with small talk. Instead, it was first date filled with intention. I wondered where he and I would go, and I didn’t mean for dinner. Six years ago, JR had wanted to sleep with me. And there were no relationships in the way anymore. Was this a friendly outing for someone who was in town or was this a chance to make up for lost time? Generally, I’ll never sleep with anyone on a first date. But JR was not a general scenario.
By the time I arrived at DuPont Circle on Friday afternoon, I still wasn’t any closer to deciding what I would do if JR made an overture. But I had dressed on the assumption that I wanted one to be made. I’d picked out a short burgundy skirt and pinstriped sleeveless blouse. A gay guy stopped to tell me I looked fabulous about a block from the tapas bar I was meeting JR, which gave me an extra swag in my heels.
He was sitting outside with three girls from his office. He’d texted me that they’d gotten out early for the holiday weekend and started drinking. There was Ruthie, the white girl; Gina, the Asian; and Taliyah, the black girl. His nonprofit office was a one stop diversity shop. JR was the token white guy among mostly females. At drinks on Tuesday, he’d talked about the girls from work with unhindered affection. He bragged about them the way parents did about their kids. Of course, JR had had a vasectomy years ago in order to never have kids.
Still, I felt almost as though I’d walked into an audition. The work girls were the gatekeepers to the part I wanted, which was JR’s interest. So, in a strategic twist, I barely spoke to him. Instead, I focused all my attention on these new women with JR’s love.
I apologized for being late as I sat. “This guy stopped me outside the metro. He took my money,” I said, completely composed, letting that audience pause sink in. Before they could ask, I continued. “He was working for a charity. He complimented my bag. So I had to give him something for the starving children. It was polite.”
The girls laughed and from there they became my new DC friends. I got my own menu, ordered some sangria. We talked about their office, what I liked about the city. Apparently, JR had already talked about me, so they asked some questions about my PhD, my being from the south, and my cousin who I was visiting. Taliyah particularly since she had served in the military as well. From time to time, JR joined the conversation, but I knew him too well to assume he was normally this reserved around these girls. I gave him the occasional glance, and saw the lilted corner of his lips, that subtle half smile. He was enjoying the show, or rather enjoying me not needing him as buffer. But I got the feeling JR remembered enough to expect as much from me.
I liked the way he watched me, the way he smiled. Dressed in slacks and another white button up, he was still just as sexy as when he walked through the door at Jack Rose the other day. Maybe even more with the afternoon sun making everything seem to glow (or maybe that was the sangria coupled with the wine I’d had with my cousin earlier). I knew then it was going to be a good night.
After another hour or so, JR leaned in.
“You ready to go after this?” He nodded towards my nearly empty drink.
“Whenever you are,” I told him.
Taliyah’s boyfriend showed up and that was the final cue to disperse. But when Taliyah and her bf discussed getting sushi, JR asked if I was interested. I was amenable to most anything, particularly since Taliyah and I had been getting along. Just another couple blocks down, we had a double dinner date. We got another table outside and I switched to margaritas, JR to whiskey. Over our rolls, I found out that JR was planning on taking me to a burlesque/comedy show after food.
“If that sounds good to you.”
“Absolutely. I’ve never seen a burlesque show. I’m curious.”
Taliyah and I took bathroom trips together, continuing to bond. I’d never been on a real double date before. I relished in the female company, but I also took pleasure in the immediacy of the pairing. By the format, JR and I became attached in parallel to Taliyah and Drake. He and I sat along the bush side of the table, drinking, sharing across from another couple. I liked feeling linked to someone again. Sometimes I miss that too about a relationship, having someone wrapped in you. Not that JR and I were starting a relationship, but it was nice to talk about how long we’d know each other and how we’d become friends. It made it feel less like a first date and there’s a thrill to that proverbial ‘we’. It’s less lonely. But besides that, I don’t remember as many of the talking points at the sushi restaurant. That coupled with my four trips to piss during one meal were good signs that I was already getting drunk.
While JR and I headed towards Columbia Heights for the burlesque show, Taliyah and Drake went to their movie downtown. We were finally alone on the bus. I took the seat on the inside. The intimacy carried over from dinner. Our legs grazed together. I was flush with alcohol and the grin as JR joked with me about seeing naked women. The date was beginning to feel like its own foreplay.
JR had laid out for drinks and dinner, so I pulled out a tenner for the tickets at the bar before he could. He hadn’t asked me to pay for anything, which was one of my biggest turn-ons. But I’m also a girl who likes to reciprocate (in more ways than one), even if I don’t make much money. The girl at the stool drew smiley faces on our hands and pointed us to the stairs behind her. They wound down to the basement area of the shoddy sort of place. Downstairs one end of the room was lit up with a couple cheap spotlights and a lot of colored fairy lights. Plain bed sheets were hung like a scrim for the backstage. A couple of couches were set up as the front row, which we had been informed were reserved. The rest of the thin space was crammed with a short bar at the other end and rows of barstools for the audience. JR and I staked out two stools on the left and he grabbed us more drinks. I moved on to vodka and sprites.
My head was getting fuzzy by the time the first girl came out, swirling around and stripping down to Pinball Wizard. At one point, she pulled a table sized pinball game from the audience, clicking the flippers while her titties shook, only pasties covering the nipples. I screamed and cheered as loud as the rest of them. A majority of the audience seemed to be other women. It may have been a burlesque show but there were no horny old men getting their rocks off. The audience was mainly young, mixed genders and (a good guess) sexuality. It seemed something of a hipster haven, but I was more concerned with the scantily clad women to be too distracted by the other people watching.
I knew going in this was not going to be a Christina Aguilera movie scene, but from the offset it was clear none of the girls would have even been cast as extras since they were shorter than six feet and well over 125 pounds. The female host and first dancer had chubby thighs and less than taught midsection like myself. The tallest girl wasn’t hardly curvy at all, but she entertained with A Midsummer Night’s Dream set where her male partner (who unfortunately did not strip down) wore a donkey mask. The most experienced dancer, who apparently had her own show at another joint, was fat. Not to be derogatory, but that’s what she was, fat, overweight, lightly obese, whatever you want to call it. And I nearly screamed myself hoarse, whooping and attempting to whistle as she rolled down her elbow gloves. I cheered when the corset came off and all her rolls were free and open. Because the bitch was gorgeous, because she was enigmatic. There was an allure to all the women who danced, but I wouldn’t say any of it was particularly erotic. I would describe it as powerful, self-proclaiming, sexy without being objectified. They were women who were shameless and after the show were still strutting around in some of the barer costumes. That was the part that turned me on, not their bodies, but the freedom exemplified.
“Let’s face it,” I told JR. “This is not the kind of thing you could bring a normal girl to on a date.”
“This is true. And you love it, don’t you?”
“I do. I guess you remember me well. I’m not a normal girl.”
Between each dancer was the comedy part of the show. The women danced, the men performed. However, between the alcohol and the long night, I barely remember the comedians, much less their routines. I just remember laughing, laughing until I cried, until my sides hurts, until my drink spilled, until I leaned onto the back of the chair in front of me to keep from falling off my stool.
“Are you okay? You gonna make it?” JR asked between his own laughs, during the one where the guy wrote a letter to his roommates pretending to be the mouse they saw, requesting help from someone fluent in the dark arts. He rubbed my back and I took deep breaths trying to regain my composure before the next line send me chortling again.
My favorite was the British comedian from around Crystal Palace in London, whose accent made me instantly homesick for Kingston, where I lived for near two years. He was talking about how bad the food was in England, something I’ve thought was an unfair reputation. Personally, I like British food. But even I had to give in when he started talking about blood pudding.
“It’s worse when you have the munchies,” he said. “Smoking weed in England is like being horny in prison. It’s not pleasant.” I nearly died laughing so hard.
“Hit a little close to home?” JR laughed, knowing how much weed I’d smoked abroad.
“Oh my god yes.”
“Maybe I should take it up again,” he said. “It’s been forever since I’ve smoked.”
“No, you shouldn’t smoke. You hated it,” I reminded him, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Freaked out after thirty minutes each time. Someone who had terrible trips shouldn’t do it again.”
“Jesus, how do you remember that? I told you that six years ago.” He looked at me like I’d suddenly told him his social security number from memory, but more impressed rather than bothered.
“Fuck, I dunno. It just stuck.”
There was an intermission, where I pissed…again. There were more drinks, more dancing, more comedy. The second half was quite a bit hazier than the first. But once the show ended, we started to mingle with the entertainers and some of the audience. I complimented the ladies I saw on a great show. One of the comedians told us about a show he was having Tuesday, but of course I was planning on heading home that day. I starting gaining solid ground once more. Still that giddy air of being inebriated lingered, that inner warmth and fluid sense of thought. By the time JR was ready to get the tab, I was buzzed on liquor and high on new people, new experiences, and a new town. We paid at the bar, still talking about show. Though much, much taller than me, JR’s face got closer and closer to mine. He stopped shy of being close enough to kiss me. He continued to talk. I knew it was the moment that would decide where the rest of the night would go. If I turned away, JR wouldn’t press it and we’d probably still have a great night hanging out before I caught the metro home. But if I didn’t turn away…
And suddenly the only thought I had was that I was leaving on Tuesday. There was only tonight.
I took my hands to the collar of JR’s shirt and pulled, closing the gap between our faces, lips locking. He braced his hands against the bar, kissing me back. It could have been a real disappointment to kiss someone after half a decade of waiting…but it wasn’t.
“Oh, get a room,” one of the girls in her corset and fishnets yelled.
“Hey, we just started,” JR said with a shrug.
And we had.
Holding hands, JR led me outside. We were barely down the block when I stopped, pulling him in by our laced fingers and we began making out in the street between a couple of trees as shamelessly as the girls had taken off their clothes. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing against me. I reached, squeezing at his ass. He laughed, breaking away and leading me again down the street towards the bus stop. When a cab came first, we took it. Neither of us felt like waiting.
It was cheap, so I pulled out my wallet first, then followed JR out of the car. Mild groping, mostly on my end, continued as he showed me to his apartment. There were some brief courtesies, liking asking if I wanted anything to drink. I declined. We started kissing again, stumbling over each other towards his room. He told me that his roommate was gone for the night. We had the place to ourselves, which is why his bedroom door didn’t even close. And I didn’t have to worry about being quiet.
He turned on the lamp. I dropped my purse. Shoes came off.
“I have a strong desire to rip off your shirt, buttons and all,” I said. “But I wont, because it’s a nice shirt.” I barely remember unbuttoning the damn thing at all, but I remember the moment it came off. He was so tall that his chest consumed my vision. In front of me was nothing but hard pecs, muscular arms, and a taught stomach with a six pack poking through. I had to turn my head up to see his face again.
As we kissed, his pants came off and my skirt and blouse were discarded. Once I was down to just my underwear, JR gripped my thighs and pulled me up from the floor until my legs were wrapped around his hips. He lifted me like I was a light sack of flour and then lowered me, back on the bed, just as effortless. We continued to make out. I sucked and nipped at his lips while we grinded against each other with him on top. My bra came off and his mouth went to my breasts.
“Wait, stop,” I said somewhere amid the breathless grabbing and grasping.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pausing like I requested.
“Yeah, fine. I just want to take a minute to address how surreal this is. We met when I was nineteen and you were twenty-six. And this is just now happening. Crazy, right?”
“Do you want me to lose my hard-on?”
“Oh…no, no. Alright, moving on.” I used my legs to push him into action, hips between my thighs. I dug my hands into his back. We pulled apart again just long enough for him to grab a condom from his bathroom. And then we laced right back together, stripped of our last bits of clothing. I had a moment as he made sure the condom was on properly to brace myself for him. His one arm held my knee, the other propped on the bed beside me, and then JR thrust, burying himself into me. It had been awhile, for both of us. My muscles spasmed, clenching around him. My back arched as he thrust again. It was like seeing stars, head spinning stars, and they made me hungry for the moon.
JR tossed me around like a poppet, but I didn’t mind feeling small beneath him. Sometimes it’s nice to be with man who can flip you over like playing card, and he did, railing me from behind. But even as he shifted positions, we fucked hard and I took my opportunities for more. He wasn’t the only one who could dominate. I got on top, riding him half off the bed. And when I was ready, I turned, reversing until I was holding his hips behind me, my ass pumping towards his face. We shifted again and again, trying everything like it was brand new, because in a way it was. Neither of us asked or suggested, we pushed each other into position like molding clay.
It was pure drunk sex, my favorite kind of sex. I can go for hours when I’m drunk—the downside is that my sense of touch is muted. I got a little rough, JR asked me to go softer on his lips which had started to hurt. I clawed too hard at his back as well. He wanted me to cum, but part of my desensitization contributes to a near inability to cum, call it my whiskey clit. Still, it allows me to fuck until I’m nearly mind numb, even if a bit too rough or wild.
After a while though, the liquor got to JR too. He hadn’t cum and began having trouble keeping it up. We slid back to making out, grinding to give our lower halves a break. With one hand, I massaged his shaft as we kissed, still lightly of course for his lips. The breather was all he need to rise to attention.
“I think you’ve got it,” he whispered into my ear, kissing down along my neck. But I wasn’t taking chances. I pushed him up until he was standing on his knees. I took the condom off and started sucking, all the way down to the base. “Oh god. Mmmm, you know what you’re doing, don’t you?” He laughed a little. I was learning quickly that it was different laugh from pure amusement. JR had his own laugh for when he was being sexual, either teasing, flirting, or for when something turned him on, especially if it surprised him. That laugh was enough to make me wet even if I wasn’t. But it also told me how much he was enjoying getting head. I had planned to keep fucking, but I liked the way he moaned and even laughed between those guttural utterances. I liked how he stroked my hair and how he leaned back and into my mouth without pushing on my head. I decided to make him cum like that, so I kept going. I cupped his balls, massaging them softly as I took him into the back of my throat until he came, gasping, trying not to fall backwards.
We both dropped back to the bed to catch our breath. When we sat up, I held out my hand.
“High five, dude,” I said, panting slightly. He slapped me some skin.
“I was actually thinking that was a high five moment too.”
And well worth the wait.