Excuse me while I wander around the lovely landscape of cloud nine, because I had the best sex of my life this weekend and I’m still up here enjoying the high.
So, let’s bring it back a week. After my grandma passed away, my communications with Baby Face became more and more frequent. Before our date/catchup/death dinner we’d text each other a few times a day to flirt and shoot the shit, but since then things have certainly accelerated. We chat in the morning on our commutes in to work, briefly throughout the day via text, and almost always in the evening before bed (sometimes there’s even an actual phone call, which I love). Mid-last week, Baby Face asked me if I wanted to go out with him and a couple of our old college friends on Friday night after work, but I’d already made plans with some of my girlfriends. We decided to compromise and hang out with our respective pals individually, and then meet up later in the night, with or without the others.
After dinner and drinks with our people, Baby Face and one of his bros (who I knew in college, but not well) came to meet us. Looking as good as he did the last time I’d seen him, button-down, sexy beard and all, he gave me a hello hug and a kiss on the cheek. I introduced him to my friend and he re-introduced me to his before we grabbed some more drinks and hung out for a bit. As expected, the chemistry that was very evident the first time we went out was back in full force. As we caught up, tiny gestures hinted at the possibility of us hooking up that night: he would put his hand on the small of my back, brush my hair out of my face and tuck it behind my ear when I was telling a story, and throw his arm around me, all the while listening intently, looking me in the eye and asking me insightful questions which proved he was listening. Things were going well.
After a couple of drinks, I needed to catch a train back home. It’s worth mentioning that my apartment is in the opposite direction of Baby Face’s house, and traveling mass transit would probably take us just over three hours to get from one place to the other. On a drunken, flirtatious whim, I asked Baby Face if he wanted to come stay with me for the night.
“Well, the train times run less frequently on the weekend, so it would probably take me over four hours to get home tomorrow,” he considered. “But fuck it. Let’s do it.”
On the train ride home, we kissed. It was hot, passionate and he used just the right amount of tongue. Eager for mere, he flipped my legs over his lap, held one arm around my back and we made out until we reached our stop. It was one of those makeout sessions where you feel like you just want to melt into the other person and stay there forever. In the meantime, my friend had taken the seat across the aisle from us and fallen asleep. For some reason unbeknownst to me, we got off the train at 3 a.m. and decided to grab one more drink. We closed down the bar, they turned the lights off and we walked outside into the pouring down rain. He and I made a run for my apartment, occasionally stopping to kiss and not giving a shit that we were drenched. In agreement that we were both too drunk to attempt having sex, we stripped out of our clothes, crawled into bed and fooled around a bit before falling asleep.
The next morning when I woke with Baby Face’s arm stretched around my back, I wasn’t feeling self-conscious at all, which I so often do when I start dating someone new. I wasn’t rushing to the bathroom to freshen up, scrambling to find clothes and cover myself up, or thinking I was being judged. I felt comfortable and at ease. I don’t know if it’s because Baby Face is genuinely a sweet, caring guy or if it’s because I’ve known him for years, but whatever it was, it felt right. Once he woke up, one thing lead to another and we ended up having sex … for hours. It was the perfect combo of passionate/sweaty and playful/fun. I’ve had a lot of lays in my day, but this sex was MIND-BLOWING, and felt like an out-of-body experience. He knew just where to touch me, just what to say and exactly how to move. It was probably the best sex I’ve ever had, and neither of us could get enough. After each time we did it (ahem, three), we would stop, talk, laugh and just be. We finally got out of bed, showered, ate lunch and hung out until later that evening when he headed home.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smile when he texted me to tell me how glad he is that we reconnected and how much he likes me. “I wasn’t sure if last week was a date or catchup or what,” he said, “but I was hoping you’d want it to be a date. I like you a lot and can’t wait to see you again. I definitely want to see where things take us. Also I should mention … you’re absolutely beautiful, inside and out.”
I smiled. “So you mentioned! Quite a few times last night, actually…”
“Well, get used to it,” he said. “Because you’re going to be hearing a lot more of it.”
My phone went off again. It was Do Me Eyes, the New York City fireman: “What’s a guy have to do to take a pretty lady out to dinner around here?”
SHIT. Now what?