The light of the sun is what wakes me. Its not dawn, but the sun is finally coming up over the hills, which would place the time at around half past 7 in the morning. We didn’t get to sleep until six. I’m not normally a morning person, even on 8+ hours, so this is especially hard to fathom.
And yet suddenly, I don’t care. There she is.
As cliché or non-poetic as this may sound, it feels like a movie. I can’t recall a time in which I have had feelings for the girl I’ve slept with. That’s not to say that I’m not attracted or felt the small butterflies of love when I talk to the girls, but I always know, even if it is faintly in the back of my mind, that it is not going anywhere. But that has never been the case with Justine.
We’ve known each other for a while now. I’ll be honest; I fell for her instantly. We were at Big Pop’s, this local, piece of shit 24 hour restaurant with a couple of friends. She was new to the group, but there was something about her that made it feel like she had been there the whole time. Because of how fast I fell, I had to make a move. But also because of how hard I fell, I only wanted to be sweet.
You see, I have a reputation of being a bit of a ladies man. I don’t get every lady I see, but I try to hook up with every lady I see. It usually involves my wit and charm, which come and go at various times. But now I wanted to act like I was in Junior High:
Do you like Charlie?
__ Yes
__ No
__ Maybe (you always add the “Maybe” because she really likes you if she checks it)
So, I did what any 23-year-old guy would do: I shot a spit wad at her. A beautiful shot, I might add, right between the eyes. At first, she was completely taken aback, locking eyes with me as if I had just insulted her war hero grandfather. But then she grinned like The Joker before his plan is hatched and fired back. She hit me in the eye and it hurt like a bitch. But that didn’t stop the fight. I fired back and like a magic bullet, it managed to end up her nose. Our group collective lost their shit at this one and we were linked from that moment on.
I didn’t want the usual things with Justine. I wanted to brush back the loose strands of hair that got in her eye. I wanted to stay in that perpetual drum roll before the kiss, just to hear her breathe.
But I also experienced something I hadn’t in a long time: actual butterflies. I would nearly piss myself anytime I got a text from her and found myself smiling ear to ear with every little thing she said. My roommate commented on my weird smiling habits, but I didn’t take the time to explain the situation. I left my love life to myself.
There was only one problem with the situation. She only seemed to view me as a friend. Try as I might to get her to notice me, she just seemed to just want to be friends. We went to dinner several times, but split the check. We went to the movies, but she paid for her ticket and bag of Skittles (which she said she always needed for her movie watching experiences). We watched TV for hours on end at her place, but there was no hanky-panky. It was like I was the gay friend whenever I tried to make a physical move on her. She would treat me like her brother if I put my arm around her. But she let me in so deep.
The night I had just woken up from was not the first time we had stayed up til the early morning. The first month of our friendship, we basically knew everything there was to know about each other. I let her in on my secret obsession with The Beach Boys, how I regretted not seeing my grandma before she died, my hatred of mayonnaise, how I always wanted to be a painter for a living and how I love Christmas lights more than my father. She let me know that she wanted to go to Israel, why she wears plaid so much, what happened to her father, why she loves Bob Newhart and what her perfect pizza would be.
But despite all of this, we remained friends. She went on dates (which I never told her secretly drove me insane) and I still met girls at parties. I imagine that they were all Justine and that led to some awkward name swapping a few nights. My sexual desires had shifted. I only wanted her and any other girl was a terrible substitute. Then last night happened.
It was my friend Chuck’s birthday and if there was a person who threw one hell of a party, it was Thomas Chuckstein, Chuck for short. It was a crazy experience. The music, a mix of the shit that is on the Top 40 lists and Chuck’s favorite, Led Zeppelin, was deafening. My theory was that Chuck was encouraging alcohol and drug use because being intoxicated is the only way to be able to handle Lady Gaga and “Kashmir” playing back-to-back. I was there with Justine, mixing drinks for the both of us, having stolen a bottle of vodka and some grape soda from the fridge.
We were in our usual groove of talking about our days as well as commenting on what was going on around us. But after about fifteen minutes and two shots of this ritual, the scene changed because the perfect mixture of slut and hot walked in the door in the form of Amy Arkley. My eyes were fixed on her. Despite how many guys she had been said to have been with, she was still considered the Holy Grail for most guys, a slutty prize to be won.
I found an excuse to leave Justine, knowing that I wasn’t going to be getting any action from her, and went to Amy. We had a class together last semester and had talked at length after class a few times. That’s usually all I need to get something going. We did a shot of tequila and I picked my hand slowly rising up her hourglass frame. Her skin was glass, perfect and without blemish, a great addition to the belt notches.
If I had looked at Justine, I would’ve seen her the most pissed she has ever been. Lucky for me, Justine is a woman of action. Just before we went for shot number 2, Justine grabbed my glass and downed the tequila like it was a cure for cancer. She then kissed me softly and pulled back just slightly and said “If you want to make me jealous, please don’t use skanks to prove your point.”
I thanked Amy for the lovely talk and Justine and I went to claim Chuck’s room for the night.
We didn’t even make out that night. All of our kisses were tender and had purpose. They were delicate and precise. There was no ounce of hormone in either of us, no foreplay to be had. It wasn’t about the act, it was about what it represented. Justine had told me that she was a virgin and that she would only sleep with someone she was in love with. I knew that and knew what this meant. She didn’t need to say it, nor did she ask of it from me. We were just there. There was nothing outside of our two bodies and we treated existence in the same way.
I had never held a naked body before that night. She was my first.
When I woke in the morning, she only had her underwear on. She was topless and I only felt love for her. She was beautiful and that was only driven home in the light of the new day.
I don’t know what will become of us. I just know that it feels like I’ve come home when I am with her.
I finally spoke up. She was a little startled, but smiled sweetly at me. This is the start of something new. But for now, I just wanted some breakfast. Justine felt the same way.
And yet suddenly, I don’t care. There she is.
As cliché or non-poetic as this may sound, it feels like a movie. I can’t recall a time in which I have had feelings for the girl I’ve slept with. That’s not to say that I’m not attracted or felt the small butterflies of love when I talk to the girls, but I always know, even if it is faintly in the back of my mind, that it is not going anywhere. But that has never been the case with Justine.
We’ve known each other for a while now. I’ll be honest; I fell for her instantly. We were at Big Pop’s, this local, piece of shit 24 hour restaurant with a couple of friends. She was new to the group, but there was something about her that made it feel like she had been there the whole time. Because of how fast I fell, I had to make a move. But also because of how hard I fell, I only wanted to be sweet.
You see, I have a reputation of being a bit of a ladies man. I don’t get every lady I see, but I try to hook up with every lady I see. It usually involves my wit and charm, which come and go at various times. But now I wanted to act like I was in Junior High:
Do you like Charlie?
__ Yes
__ No
__ Maybe (you always add the “Maybe” because she really likes you if she checks it)
So, I did what any 23-year-old guy would do: I shot a spit wad at her. A beautiful shot, I might add, right between the eyes. At first, she was completely taken aback, locking eyes with me as if I had just insulted her war hero grandfather. But then she grinned like The Joker before his plan is hatched and fired back. She hit me in the eye and it hurt like a bitch. But that didn’t stop the fight. I fired back and like a magic bullet, it managed to end up her nose. Our group collective lost their shit at this one and we were linked from that moment on.
I didn’t want the usual things with Justine. I wanted to brush back the loose strands of hair that got in her eye. I wanted to stay in that perpetual drum roll before the kiss, just to hear her breathe.
But I also experienced something I hadn’t in a long time: actual butterflies. I would nearly piss myself anytime I got a text from her and found myself smiling ear to ear with every little thing she said. My roommate commented on my weird smiling habits, but I didn’t take the time to explain the situation. I left my love life to myself.
There was only one problem with the situation. She only seemed to view me as a friend. Try as I might to get her to notice me, she just seemed to just want to be friends. We went to dinner several times, but split the check. We went to the movies, but she paid for her ticket and bag of Skittles (which she said she always needed for her movie watching experiences). We watched TV for hours on end at her place, but there was no hanky-panky. It was like I was the gay friend whenever I tried to make a physical move on her. She would treat me like her brother if I put my arm around her. But she let me in so deep.
The night I had just woken up from was not the first time we had stayed up til the early morning. The first month of our friendship, we basically knew everything there was to know about each other. I let her in on my secret obsession with The Beach Boys, how I regretted not seeing my grandma before she died, my hatred of mayonnaise, how I always wanted to be a painter for a living and how I love Christmas lights more than my father. She let me know that she wanted to go to Israel, why she wears plaid so much, what happened to her father, why she loves Bob Newhart and what her perfect pizza would be.
But despite all of this, we remained friends. She went on dates (which I never told her secretly drove me insane) and I still met girls at parties. I imagine that they were all Justine and that led to some awkward name swapping a few nights. My sexual desires had shifted. I only wanted her and any other girl was a terrible substitute. Then last night happened.
It was my friend Chuck’s birthday and if there was a person who threw one hell of a party, it was Thomas Chuckstein, Chuck for short. It was a crazy experience. The music, a mix of the shit that is on the Top 40 lists and Chuck’s favorite, Led Zeppelin, was deafening. My theory was that Chuck was encouraging alcohol and drug use because being intoxicated is the only way to be able to handle Lady Gaga and “Kashmir” playing back-to-back. I was there with Justine, mixing drinks for the both of us, having stolen a bottle of vodka and some grape soda from the fridge.
We were in our usual groove of talking about our days as well as commenting on what was going on around us. But after about fifteen minutes and two shots of this ritual, the scene changed because the perfect mixture of slut and hot walked in the door in the form of Amy Arkley. My eyes were fixed on her. Despite how many guys she had been said to have been with, she was still considered the Holy Grail for most guys, a slutty prize to be won.
I found an excuse to leave Justine, knowing that I wasn’t going to be getting any action from her, and went to Amy. We had a class together last semester and had talked at length after class a few times. That’s usually all I need to get something going. We did a shot of tequila and I picked my hand slowly rising up her hourglass frame. Her skin was glass, perfect and without blemish, a great addition to the belt notches.
If I had looked at Justine, I would’ve seen her the most pissed she has ever been. Lucky for me, Justine is a woman of action. Just before we went for shot number 2, Justine grabbed my glass and downed the tequila like it was a cure for cancer. She then kissed me softly and pulled back just slightly and said “If you want to make me jealous, please don’t use skanks to prove your point.”
I thanked Amy for the lovely talk and Justine and I went to claim Chuck’s room for the night.
We didn’t even make out that night. All of our kisses were tender and had purpose. They were delicate and precise. There was no ounce of hormone in either of us, no foreplay to be had. It wasn’t about the act, it was about what it represented. Justine had told me that she was a virgin and that she would only sleep with someone she was in love with. I knew that and knew what this meant. She didn’t need to say it, nor did she ask of it from me. We were just there. There was nothing outside of our two bodies and we treated existence in the same way.
I had never held a naked body before that night. She was my first.
When I woke in the morning, she only had her underwear on. She was topless and I only felt love for her. She was beautiful and that was only driven home in the light of the new day.
I don’t know what will become of us. I just know that it feels like I’ve come home when I am with her.
I finally spoke up. She was a little startled, but smiled sweetly at me. This is the start of something new. But for now, I just wanted some breakfast. Justine felt the same way.
No comments:
Post a Comment