The Virginity Monologues

I like to think of the last 10 days of my life as just a really bad decision time, with Friday being the Grand Finale. The evening began very innocently with some of my very dearest friends, their boyfriends, and of course, Michelle. We went to a lovely bar down near Union Square and talked and laughed and all the gay men had some very good advice for me on blow-jobs. Eventually the vast quantities of alcohol combined with the lack of food got to us, and we decided to go back to someone's apartment for food and of course, more vodka. We got back to their place, ordered some Disco fries, drank some more vodka and were just having a fabulous mellow time, listening to music and chillin'. I made my gay friend slow dance with me, but the whole scenario was a disaster as he didn't know how to be the guy, so he was the girl and I was the guy, and I learned a very important lesson- no slow dancing with gay men. At 12:30, my phone rang. No, it wasn't Dickhead (everyone's first guess), it was Mr. Wrong. "Baby, where you at?"he wanted to know. I told him I where I was and he said he was on his way over. He came over with a friend in tow. Weed was smoked (not by me) and more alcohol was consumed. Soon, the friend got up to leave, and as he lives very close to me, I asked him if I could leave with him so we could split a cab together. So we left, and Mr. Wrong came with us. I honestly thought that he was planning to stay at his friend's place. Imagine my surprise when we got to his friend's aparment, the friend got out of the cab, but Mr. Wrong didn't get out. The cab continued to my place. At my place, Mail-Room Guy got out with me. What the *#@? Seriously. I had no idea how this had all gone down. All of a sudden, I was standing in front of my building with the man that I had wanted for at least 8 months, but I wasn't even sure that I wanted him to be there. "OK," I said, "you can stay at my place, BUT I am not having sex with you." He was too drunk and high to accomplish anything of worth anyway. I have a tiny bed, having just recently moved from the smallest room in New York City and not having had time or money to get a bigger one. I told him he could sleep in my bed and I'd sleep on the couch. But he grabbed my hand, pulled me down onto the bed and told me to "stay". Who am I to refuse such a request? He put his arms around me, pulled me close, and fell asleep about 30 seconds later. I, did not sleep at all. All I could do was lay there and treasure every single second of laying in his arms. I just looked at him, disbelieving the reality of the situation. I kept thinking that I would wake up and he wouldn't really be there, and the arms around me would be just a figment of my imagination. But, real he was. Especially at 7 am, when he started waking up a little and getting awfully handsy. But nothing of any real substance happened, and at 10, he finally got up and went home.

It's interesting having a dream fulfilled. It's both exhilarating and disappointing at the same time. Now I know what it's like to sleep in his arms. I know the noises that he makes when he's waking up, and what his hands feel like clutched tightly around my waist. It was one of the singularly greatest nights of my life. And it's over. And it probably won't ever happen again. It shouldn't ever happen again.

Labels: Mr. Wrong