I have a rule about one night stands. It’s a rule that I only formulated recently as a result of experience. And the rule is this, if I have any kind of feelings for a guy, I can’t have sex with him. Because it will end badly. I’ll get attached, he’ll say it was only sex (or worse, not say it but mean it) and I’ll get hurt. So if the feelings are anything more than physical attraction, sex is off the table. Of course the opposite is also true. If there are no feelings, if he just looks like a good lay, then game on. It’s a good rule, it’s worked well for me. So why did I just break it?
That’s right, I’m writing this on my phone, on the N train at 5 am as I head back to my apartment because I managed to not break ALL the rules. I met this guy at a friend’s birthday party, in the most obvious but heartfelt setup I’ve ever been a part of, and we hit it off. I’ll be honest, I didn’t find him incredibly attractive at first sight. He was cute, sure, but cute is not really what I look for when I’m scanning the bar. Cute is for puppies, shoes, and friends. Cute is not for one night stands. I guess that was mistake number one. Mistake number two was allowing myself to be sucked into such an obvious setup. I humored my friend and allowed the adorably geeky Cat to come out to play. And play she did.
I couldn’t have been more flirtatious if I was an actual feline flicking my sexy tail. And this with a guy who could not, would not take me home, no sir. He was fun to tease and flirt with at the bar, but that would be it. Even when he kissed me outside in a way that was sweet and gentle instead of the usual bar fare of intense, hungry making out, I thought that was the end. I’d rejoin my girlfriends, adventure accomplished for the night, then head home to my cozy little bed, alone. Except he continued to place his hand on my lower back while guiding me through the crowd, slyly grabbed my hand under the table, and not for any dirty purpose, and he talked. He asked about what I wanted to do with my life, why I was studying children’s lit, why I loved NYC, what my political beliefs were, you know…a real conversation. And he was intelligent, sweet, well-spoken. So why did I go home with him? Why didn’t I then say hey, thanks for the drinks, you’re lovely so I can’t sleep with you? And when he said that he wasn’t looking for anything, why did I decide to fuck him anyway, even though my stomach dropped down to my toes at those words? I suppose the why doesn’t matter all that much now. It’s the “what now” that really matters. We exchanged numbers, I told him I wouldn’t call or text, that if he wanted to see me, he’d have to call. It was the last bit of self-restraint I could dredge up. Too bad I couldn’t find that before we did the deed.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret the act. It was…well, that’s a topic for another post, but let’s just say it was good. But I knew even while doing it that this immediate pleasure, the instant gratification would likely come back to bite me, most likely in the form of my hoping for something to develop and then being disappointed when it doesn’t. Because it won’t. I don’t care how evolved the dating scene is, but that saying about the cow and free milk is still true. Relationships just don’t start out with people jumping into bed together. Stay tuned dear readers, I’m sure I will have an emotional rollercoaster for you to ride with me very soon.