The Encounters

Course 2: Tension release

My freshly manicured fingers traced slow, deliberate lines up his thigh, as if I were physically coaxing more information out of this increasingly intriguing man.

That’s when Jack leaned in.

“Why don’t we finish this back at my place?” he said. “I can’t promise much — but I make a martini almost as good as this.”

I kept my hand where it was and held his eyes.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t do house calls on the third date,” I said.

A beat.

“If I come home with you I mean it.”

With that, he stood and leaned over me while I stayed seated, close enough that I could feel him before I heard him. I forgot how big his biceps were. Fuck.

“Well then, permission to replay you saying that in my mind for the rest of the night?” he whispered.

“Granted.” I whispered back.

“Good, because it sounds like it will be a lonely one for me.” We both giggled at that.

My Birthday

The next two weeks were a blur of mediocre holiday parties, Q4 work drama, and random spiraling over turning 34. I couldn’t believe I was one of those women who were going to be single in her mid thirties. I couldn’t believe I was one of those women who cared about being single in her mid thirties.

Jack served as a bright spot in many ways. We’d meet for drinks, one of us would arrive horrendously late, and the rest of the evening would consist of swapping stories, making out, and discussing which cocktail iteration we were going to order next. Maybe I liked being single in my thirties after all.

On my birthday, Jack made a plan, which was rare for him. We were going to scope out the new Korean BBQ space on 14th St., a close but more upscale competitor to his Korean BBQ restaurant in Shaw. Then, we would sip our way down to Logan Circle and close the night at Le Dip.

I knew it was going to happen that night. Granted, after a truly traumatizing micropenis-meets-whiskey-dick disaster a few months prior, I did stop to think about whether I wanted to risk associating my birthday with bad sex for the rest of eternity. That said, my folicular phase was in full swing, and I wasn’t going to start my 34th year sexually frustrated on top of everything else. And, despite the logistical nightmare that is sleeping over at a man’s house for the first time, I felt excited at the thought of seeing those biceps in action.

Jack votes blue and watches soccer, which means he goes down on women. These are things you pick up on after 20 years of dating straight men. And while I was not wrong in this assumption, I did heavily underestimate the types of things a man’s tongue gets good at after 25 years in the dating scene. Very much so, actually.