THE RELUCTANT ONE-NIGHT STAND

I did something unlike myself recently and I am having a hard time coming to terms with it: I slept with someone on the first date. Even worse, it’s looking like a one-night stand.

I know this isn’t shocking in our modern times for a woman in her twenties. It does happen. Sometimes people don’t even go to dinner first – they hook up without pretense, unabashedly fulfilling their needs. But I tend to be the girlfriend archetype, and I only sleep with people when I am in some sort of relationship.

My parents’ strict moral codes still haunt me. My mother would kill me if she knew. Even though I have needs, I am not supposed to be that kind of woman. I remember her scorn for easy girls in our small town, and the admonition that I had better never be one of them, fooling around in cars with boys. I didn’t even kiss a boy until I was sixteen. I have always gone from relationship to relationship, sex with love.

But first-date sex has now officially happened to me and I am tormented.

I had met Chris once before, through friends. He had thick eyebrows set over piercing blue eyes, a shock of dark hair, and a full, adorably shaped mouth that formed a mischievous grin. He was taller than me. The interaction lasted a couple minutes, and I felt a pang of attraction then thought nothing more of it.

I met him again recently, as he came into my late night hangout.

“We’ve met before,” he said smoothly. “My friend Alan sometimes sees your friend R.”

Chris was dressed rather corporate, which surprised me, and I remembered that he worked on Wall Street. Was I actually attracted to someone with a normal day job?

We had a pleasant conversation and he told me he had recently broken up with his girlfriend of one year whom he had lived with. We talked about relationships, because I had once lived with a guy and knew the perils of dividing up the furniture.

“Are you all right emotionally?” I asked.

“Yeah – I’ve been waiting for it to happen for months. I’m just relieved now.”

Somehow, Chris charmed me. I felt very attracted to him, and he was able to carry on an intelligent conversation.

“We should hang out sometime,” he said, writing his number on a bar napkin and taking a swig of Grey Goose on the rocks.

I called him the next day, so that he would have my number. He said he would call me after Christmas with his family.

On Sunday the 26th he called me and asked what I was doing later. I had planned to go see The Aviator later that day by myself, and invited him to come along.

He called exactly when he promised. He arrived exactly on time to pick me up, and we went to a place called Nessa on Second Avenue. We talked about his career, and he asked a lot of questions about being a Creative versus a Type A person.

“I think I have a creative side buried somewhere,” he confessed. “Sometimes I put gel in my hair and spike it up and then my boss gets mad at me and tells me to tone it down.”

I really liked this guy. We communicated well, had a similar sense of humor, and he was absolutely gorgeous. He drank three Jack Daniels with Coke, and I was on Vodka/Soda. It was amusing going to a movie slightly inebriated.

During The Aviator, I was aware of his hand on my knee, and I was glad I had worn fishnet stockings. I rarely like being touched on a first date, but I took an unusual pleasure in the warmth of his closeness.

The film was long and it had started snowing. We got into a cab.

“Should I go back downtown?” he asked.

“Why don’t you come inside and I’ll make you tea,” I said, feeling like we had more to talk about.

Now, I will admit I thought we might make out a little. By inviting him in, I never planned to go all the way.

We curled up on the couch with hot Sake. I don’t remember the entire conversation, but I do remember him telling me that he tends to bury his emotions.

“If I am upset, I always know if I just go to sleep I will feel better the next day,” he said.

Then he leaned in and kissed me, and it was just the right pressure of mouth upon mouth. He did that neck-kissing thing that leaves women swooning and completely undone.

At one point I told him he should go home. “We have to stop, okay?” I weakly insisted.

“Okay…I promise we won’t take it too far. But the couch is uncomfortable. Let’s just go hang out in your bedroom for awhile.”

What could I possibly say? A fever of desire washed over me, and I was hot and cold at the same time and then things progressed and all of a sudden he was asking whether I had protection, and I went against my moral code and succumbed.

It was wonderful. If it had not been wonderful, I would have resented him, but instead I felt incredibly contented.

We spent a few minutes talking. I am not much for cuddling up after love, and I didn’t mind when he said the inevitable: “I guess I should go…I have to get up early for a dentist appointment. We should hang out again. That is, if you want to.”

I almost choked. Of course I wanted to! This gorgeous man was looking at me with killer piercing eyes and I was feeling so close to him in that second I would have promised the world.

I kissed him on his way out the door.

“I’ve never kissed a girl with fuller lips than mine,” he proclaimed. “Your mouth is dangerous.”

Upon returning to straighten up my bedroom, I noticed he had left his watch on the side table. I smiled. It was obvious he planned to come back for it at some point. I sent him a text message to tell him he’d forgotten his watch, which he did not respond to.

After going to see a matinee of the Nutcracker Ballet, I called Chris. “You forgot your watch.”

“Yeah, I got your text. Thanks. Hey, I am feeling a bit unwell after the dentist, and I just woke up. Can I call you in an hour?”

I waited. He never called back. “Well, he did go to the dentist,” I said to myself, making excuses and ignoring the sick attack of conscience brewing in my ribcage.

I called R. and told her about the date.

“Be careful,” she warned. “Those guys run in a pack and are emotionally unavailable…Alan hurt my feelings so badly I couldn’t get out of bed for a week.”

I forced myself to go to bed without calling him back that night. Indeed, I held out for an entire 24 hours before phoning him again.

“How are you feeling?” Yes, I hated myself in that second.

“I’m okay…I guess the dentist really knocked me out.”

“You probably needed to sleep. Actually, Chris, I need a partner in crime to go downtown to this event tomorrow if you’re free…”

“Well, I have plans with some buddies from college. My nights are all booked up this week. Maybe we can do something in the daytime tomorrow?”

The DAYTIME?!?

“Look, I’ll call you later tonight when I get back home,” he said.

HE NEVER CALLED!

But we had tentative plans, so the next day, I sent a nonchalant text mentioning I was going to the Museum of Modern Art with a group if he wanted to come along and explore his creative side. He never responded.

I immediately fell into an imbalanced, depressed emotional state, obsessed with the fact that I might have blown everything by being EASY.

I called a beloved ex-boyfriend, who I am able to discuss such things with.

“Good for you, A. You needed to get some action, and he probably did too if he just had a break-up.”

My friend, who I'll refer to as 'Reiki Master' had different advice. “He’s a demonstration, a sample of what you want, from the universe. Mr. Right will come along…this is just foreshadowing.”

“Sleeping with someone right away never works,” M. said harshly. “You need to learn the game here. New York men are brutal. Fuck and run. Go back and listen to that old Liz Phair song and you'll get it.”

Instead, I began to play Nick Cave’s torch song ‘She’s Nobody’s Baby Now’ over and over like an anthem… mourning the fact that at one point in my life, men did actually love me.

After two weeks, I am still obsessed with the fact that I haven’t heard from Chris. What does this mean? Was I just a rebound fling? Did he get back together with his ex? Is he afraid of falling into another relationship? Or is it simply game over now that he’s had me?

I’m starting to understand where my mother was coming from…