Back in October, I alluded to a strange attraction to someone. We hooked up a few times about a year ago.
I love this story, so I'd like to write about it.
I had a moderate flirtation with a coworker that had been going on for around a month. Perhaps "moderate" is too strong a word. We talked a lot, and I had the teeniest inkling of attraction to him -- but I have the teeniest inkling of attraction to anyone!
He's tall (good), and pretty thin (good), and he has dark hair (good), but he has the WHITEST skin you can imagine. Let's call him Alabaster for that reason. People rib him about it. He has a very young-looking face. (When he grew a goatee, another coworker told him he looked ten years older and could now pass for fourteen.)
Anyway, it was a late night at the office, and we finally got out at the same time. He asked me if I wanted to go get a drink with him and his friends in his neighborhood. (Alabaster lives in our city, but in a neighborhood about 20 minutes from me that is filled with college students.)
He had invited me a few times before, and I always tossed off the casual "No, no, no, no" that we girls employ so often, the polite initial refusal. But this time, I surprised myself.
I piled into his car with his friends. Miranda called me while en route to their house (which helpfully made it look like I was popular -- thanks, Mirand!). The whole time, my heart was beating rapidly. I wasn't friends with the rest of these guys -- only Alabaster. And, truth be told, I often have difficulty being the new person in a group of people who already know each other.
We got to his house and walked to the bar. I made sure to get enough money for a cab at the ATM. It was fun at the bar, especially as I began drinking those vodka tonics and loosened up. Alabaster and I flirted a tad, but I tried to make it seem like I didn't care.
Alabaster has a roommate who also worked with us. I'll call him Upstairs. Upstairs is not my type in the least -- big and black -- but he's a very smart and personable guy, and I like him. We spent a lot of the evening talking as Alabaster was off with his other friends, and then Upstairs started buying me drinks. Good ones. Belvedere, not that Absolut crap I was drinking before.
It gets a tad fuzzy at this point. We went to another bar. By now, Upstairs was hitting on me -- HARD. (Not literally hard. He was just hitting on me a lot.) But I was paying more attention to Alabaster, and he was paying attention to me. It got flirtatious. Very much so. We were holding hands by the time the bar closed.
Alabaster was cheap. As soon as he got home, he shotgunned 3 Bud Lights in a row.
For a few hours, we hung out in the kitchen. And that's when Upstairs started getting a little bit scary.
"All I'm saying," he told me, "Is that my bedroom is UPSTAIRS and ON THE LEFT. Upstairs and on the left. I'm just throwing it out there! That's all I'm saying! Upstairs and on the left! I mean, I'm just throwing it out there...." etc. etc. etc. On and on and on and on.
I joked back with him, hoping that he understood that I meant it as a joke. Apparently, that didn't work, and he tried to pull me into his room.
I fought back and told him firmly, without smiling, that no, I did not want to go upstairs with him.
It got more normal after that, even though Upstairs still believed that he had a sliver of a chance with me.
Earlier that evening, while at the second bar, I slurred to Alabaster, "Would you mind if I just crashed on your couch? I'll take the train home tomorrow morning." He told me that yeah, it was fine, no problem whatsoever.
Before long, there were three people left in the kitchen: me, Alabaster and Upstairs. Alabaster and I were standing on opposite sides of the table. Upstairs was seated at the table.
Eventually, Upstairs conceded defeat.
"Well, I guess I'll go to bed, then," he said. THANK GOD. It was about time. At this point, I think that both Alabaster and I were well aware that we wanted to hook up. We looked at each other. I waited until Upstairs had shuffled upstairs and on the left to his bedroom.
"So," I said casually, "Would you be up for any spooning tonight?"
"I would definitely be up for spooning tonight," he replied just as casually. "Spooning sounds like something that would be great."
I went into his room and lay on his bed. Of course, I use the word "bed" loosely -- it was a twin-sized mattress on the floor with a single sheet on top of it.
I need to talk more about Alabaster. Everyone thinks he's a douchebag. That's probably the best way to describe him. People make fun of him. He tries to be cool. Yet he's pretty high up in the social hierarchy at work. People are friends with him, but they also mock him, most often to his face. It's tough to describe. He can be a jerk, but he's not malicious or mean.
That's why I found it so odd that I was attracted to him.
Anyway, he was in the bathroom. And he came back.
I was on the bed, on my side, facing away from the wall. In typical girl fashion, I tried to take up as little room as possible.
He turned out the light and came to the bed.
I assumed that he was just going to lie there, cuddle and spoon with me.
He lay down facing me.
We started wildly making out.
Oh, God, it was FANTASTIC. That's up there in one of my favorite first kisses. I just remember arms, and lips, and falling all over each other.
He wanted to do more than I was prepared to do (did I honestly think I'd be hooking up when I went to work that day?), so I wouldn't let him get beyond second base. (Heh.)
It was good. It was really good. And I don't want to write that much about it, because it was more about a feeling, a moment, that you couldn't describe through writing.
The next day, we cuddled and talked, and he drove me home. As soon as we got out of bed (or off mattress), it suddenly became awkward, and remained that way for the 20-minute drive home. We gave each other a quick smooch as I left.
Our next two hookups were strikingly similar. Fantastic making out, such chemistry, and then chilly awkwardness the next morning.
And after that, nothing ever again.