#singlesurgeon

I finally found this guys apartment building and the parking garage right below it (he sent me a picture of it when I got closer for QuikPark). I walked outside of the parking garage just to take a picture of the city skyline in the rain. The fog and the colored lights during a rainy sunset were perfect. It quelled my nerves. A first date. 

We had talked on facetime before, something I had dreaded but did anyway with a full glass of wine (carefully out of view, sipping subtly to not appear like an alcoholic). He was handsome, with really good hair. I think he used to have a speech impediment, he had to slow down to talk to me. He seemed passionate about his job, whatever it was (I swear I tried to understand it). Something about business solutions and IT and team management. I laughed a lot, and I didn’t roll my eyes once. Right before we hung up he asked when I could come and see him. 

Here I was now cruising down the highway, the bass reverberating through my bones, feeling sultry, but tired. My tiredness lived in me now, had settled into my bones. I sipped the coffee, something I carefully matched it with water intake during the day. It felt like liters of coffee and liters of water. 

His apartment was hot, it was uncluttered. He had 2 pictures on the wall and a lamp that changed color when has asked Alexa to change it. His bathroom had toothpaste still stuck in the sink. But the toilet was clean, so was his shower when I peered around the curtain. The view was amazing (see above). He was wearing a t shirt and shorts and socks. I had spent hours getting ready, to be honest, to look like I was always this sleek and clear skinned. Poor women of the world.

He talked to me confidently after he made Mojitios using mint from his quarantine project indoor garden. He wasn’t scared of me. I made up an elaborate lie that i had to go at 7:30 to pick up my friend at Penn Station who had been in town enjoying tapas restaurants with her friends from med school and she didn’t want to take the train home since it took too long. I had her call me at 655 reminding she would be ready on time. God bless her.

So this guy sat on the couch at 7:15, said I could sit down too. I did, but I was at least six feet away, maybe quarantine habits had sunk in hard. Our fluid conversation became jagged, I knew what was happening. I asked if he was afraid of COVID, he said “not enough to stop from kissing you soon.” He actually said that. And he scooted over, across the distance I had placed and kind of pushed me down and took over me and touched my face and neck and it was a good make out session. But I designed this so I had to go. I had mentioned it one hundred times. And he stopped and lifted up his body and said to me “please let me go down on you, please? Please? I want twenty minutes.” 

Was I dreaming? And also, how did I say no? I could feel my hair pushed into twenty directions. I could fell my lips burning from being rubbed against his stubble. I could hear my ragged breath, but I said no, in as cute of a way as I could, I pretended I just really had to go. We kissed goodbye, but he had this look of fascination in his eyes, his facade had been broken. I like that look, but I also feel like I won too early.

I left the apartment, I felt neutral, not on a high or in a low. It was misting outside, I put up my hood and walked for a mile. I found a pizzeria. I ordered a Margherita slice at 8pm in the rain.  I stuffed napkins in my pocket and walked outside, unwrapping the pizza. I will eat pizza in the rain in the city because I don’t care. It’s a story, it’s romantic, it’s artistic. I saw the yellow-white lights in all the apartments, people in all of them, sitting around tables, one guy with a guitar. Interesting curtains, weird wall hangings. And the voice I fight now everyday was very loud in the rain in Long Island City on this Sunday while I ate melted cheesy pizza dappled by raindrops: I want to be an artist. 

I found the parking garage. My brown boots were wet, my toes were getting wet. I paid 21 dollars for parking. 4 dollars for pizza. 3 hours of driving. I listened to the entire Bronze Whale album twice. I wondered what I could do about new resolutions in March, did I need a self help book now, why was I turning down a man begging to go down on me, who lost all his composure because he wanted so badly to give me pleasure? Was something wrong with me? Also, why do men beg me lately to come over, come inside, have sex? What happened to mixed drinks at pricey restaurants and being nervous about kissing by a car before saying goodbye? Was this thirties-something dating, or New York dating, or was I giving off thirsty sex vibes that made them all beg?