It lasted no more than 5 seconds.
But let's start from the beginning.
When one is nearly 33 and without plans for the weekend and a little bored and lonely, bad ideas start to seem intriguing. So, finding myself alone on a Saturday evening and exchanging flirtatious bits of text with someone I've just met online, I frowned over the offer to meet up immediately for sex.
Said offers are not uncommon, frankly, and many of them come from married men eager to escape the sheer monotony of their existence with a strange piece of ass. Which, I suppose, is all fine and good, though it hardly gives me the warm-fuzzies about the institution of marriage and finding love in general.
Anyway, I have a rule about sex on the first date, let alone sex as the first date, as, I'm sure, do many of you. But upon viewing my current situation, I decided said rule may be counter-productive. Perhaps my plan of simply having sex a few times would loosen me up, enable me to relax into a relationship that would eventually send me seeking other companionship from the sheer monotony of it.
So we were chatting and he asked if I had a house and I said yes.
He asked when he should come over and I pursed my lips and put him off and he nudged again and I thought 'what the hell' and gave him my address.
Then I frantically threw away clutter and tossed dirty laundry downstairs and jogged up my steps to shower. I didn't think about it as I dealt with hair removal and scrubbing my skin smooth. I paused, naked, at the edge of my bed that rests on the floor before shrugging and tossing my blanket over the mounds of pillows on which I'd napped this afternoon. And I took a breath and dressed in a sheer camisole and silky pajama pants before adjusting my breasts into cups designed to lift and separate, sighing at the disparity between my hair pulled into a bun behind a face wearing glasses and the scraps of fabric I wore below my shoulders.
I waited, wanting to be swept away. Overwhelmed with passion. Drowning in desire.
I continued to wait, smoothing on lavender lotion. It's somewhat soothing and sits midway on my favorite scents list. So if something were to happen that ruined the fragrance for me, no huge loss. I trimmed one toenail and plucked a stray eyebrow hair. I finished one bottle of water and fetched another, wondering for a moment if I should switch to wine.
I began to practice deep breathing, growing rather frantic with worry, and running upstairs to dig the condoms out of my closet, frantically searching for an expiration date before tossing them in a drawer. On a whim, I put carpet cleaner next to them - you know that spray-foam kind? I decided that if things got out of hand and he was too insistent, I'd spritz him before scampering away. One assumes cleaning products sting at least a little.
There was more waiting and increasing levels of worry and no small amount of wondering why I do this when it's so miserably difficult.
Then Chienne's ears perked just before Sprout ran upstairs to hide, his nails catching on the carpet as he accelerated. I closed my eyes, wished I was someone else and went to answer the door.
"Hi," I said upon flipping the lock and opening the door. He stepped inside before I could invite him in and I set about introducing me to my dog as she jumped and whined eagerly, missing him as I explained she was blind.
"OK," he replied, moving toward me even as I stepped back and putting his hands low on my hips and reaching to kiss me.
There was a moment in college - upwards of 10 years ago - that a very cute boy at a rather interesting party unfastened his pants and let them fall. And while whoops went up from the crowd, some of us looked and others didn't.
There was no conscious choice to avert my eyes. I kind of wish I'd looked. I was rather envious of those who could whisper and giggle approvingly when he walked through the hallway. But in that split second of decision, I was instinctively shy.
And so, when he reached to kiss me in my foyer, I turned my head so he'd miss my mouth and nudged him backward with two taps of my palms on his shoulders.
"Relax for a minute," I requested when he inquired about what was wrong. "I'm just having a moment of..." I trailed off, wondering what the hell I was doing and how in the world to explain something I didn't understand.
"Then I'm going to go," he said and I nodded, reaching to help him with the door and locking it behind him with relief and regret.
And despite writing upwards of 800 of them as I sit here in a revealing camisole and no panties, I really am too asinine for words.