Like promised, he called after work, somewhere around 3:30 and by this point as I so eloquently told him, “I’m too drunk and useless right now to hang out.”  He found this amusing and said he was having a cookout the next day and I should come.  Yes, please.

I woke up to a mass text from him, announcing the cookout he was having that day at his house.  After figuring out where he lived and what he needed, I proceeded to make myself cookout cute.  I threw on a simple, titty tastic, plaid, strapless, sundress that screams, “I look this fantastic without even trying.”  Really, it’s just because it makes my tits look like they are wrapped like a present with them peeking, err..falling, out of the top. Add a pony tail, flip flops, a giant matching red flower and some sunglasses and I was good to go and already a half an hour late. I picked up some quintessential Magic Hat No. 9 and with GPS in hand, I was on my way.

He lives in a quaint, little house downtown in the historic district.  The hardwood floors, giant front porch and zen room his roommate had set up were enough alone to get me to stay awhile. And for the first time ever, I was the first to arrive despite that I was an hour late.  I was given a tour, handed a beer and a Wii controller for a round of bowling.

Seeing him from across a bar ledge, I could tell he was tall, actually standing next to him, he towered a grand 15 inches above me–perfect to look right down my dress.  I couldn’t but notice him trying not to and it was quite humorous.  After awhile several people from my restaurant and his showed up and it was fun—full of good food, Wii bowling, drinking games and stories. But slowly, one by one left until it was just me, him, the petite blond cocktail and the petite, redheaded cocktail–both of which have become great friends.

The four of us sat on the porch. He and I on the porch swing, the two petites on the floor, all of us playing with citronella candles.  It was in these moments and the encroaching beer buzz running through us that led me and the redhead to tell Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome of our masochist tendencies.  The talk of pain drew our attention to the candles, which ended in us pouring them on ourselves.

The wicks flickered as she and I tilted them sideways, letting the liquid wax fall to our arms and sizzle into warm, hardened bracelets.  I could feel Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome watching me as I did this.  The burning sensation was delicious.  As I relished in the feeling I looked up at him and caught his eye and with the swiftest of hands poured the wax down his leg.   The redhead laughed, I smirked, and he screamed.  He’s not a masochist, I guess, so instead I helped him scrape all the dried wax off.

Slowly, the two cocktails took their turns leaving to meet up with other people and then it was just the two of us, the porch swing and a warm June night.  The citronella candles had melted into waxy puddles on the wooden porch floor and the lightning bugs were making their nightly appearance.  And it was no longer the cute porch, wooden floors and zen room that kept me staying behind.

We sat and swayed for awhile, talking of our equal clumsiness, and the strange hand like feet we have. All through the night, he had made innuendos, well played ones, that I even more tactifully ignored. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I didn’t want another fuck buddy or to be “that girl” from the restaurant, so I pretended to be a good girl.  Albeit, he already knew I liked to be slapped, have my hair pulled and to be burned…so much for a complete good girl image.

I hesitated when he asked if I wanted to watch a movie, but acquiesced after I saw the collection he and his roommate have.  I scoured through hundreds of movie titles, some greats, some bad ones, some I had never heard of, when I noticed some cd cases. Graceland by Paul Simon was on the top.

“Who’s Paul Simon cd is this?”

“Mine,” he said.

“Really? I love Paul Simon, but I like Simon and Garfunkel more.”  I had grown up occasionally listening to S&G and then the ex got me into them even more.

He said he did too and I had him put on The Boxer for me. While S&G played, I ran off to the bathroom, which was in his room.  When I came back out, he was sitting on his bed waiting for me.  I knew better and sat on the farest edge of his mattress, cross legged and looking oblivious.  Instead I asked him about all the art on his walls. He proceeded to lay down and tell me all about where he got them and what they meant to him.  This guy likes good music, art, movies, to drink and is cute…what the hell is going on here?

When the conversation drifted from art to other things, he asked me for a kiss.  Not to find myself laying in a bed, making out with a guy I hardly know, I told him he had to come to me.  Look at me! Being prude! Who knew I could do it!?! Not me, that’s for sure.

After a simple kiss, I quickly rerouted us back to his living room and chose the movie Choke and set myself up to prove that being prude is in fact very hard… literally.

to be continued…