This post, nay missive, is about John, and how I keep screwing up with him. And screwing him. In the fucking sense. You’re read about him before, but I feel I should give you, dear reader, a perspective on the man I now refer to as My Biggest Mistake. This is the story of the night I Really Fucked Up.
I don’t particularly like John. I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, we get along nice enough, and if I can keep him from bringing up his deadbeat father or jailbait siblings, the conversation is mostly enjoyable. He has a limited amount of schooling and it shows, as common things you or I could chat about easily I had to explain to him, things like science or literature. He’s unemployed. He’s not incredibly or even mildly attractive. He smokes too much pot and has a stupid laugh.
But hot damn, when we get naked, it’s like I’m the best cello in the world he knows exactly how to play me.
I’m getting ahead of my self.
This past weekend, John called and invited me up for dinner last night. I didn’t really want to go, as it’s a long-ass drive to the middle of nowhere and, well, I don’t really like John all that much. But even though I dickeled around on which night I was available, he wasn’t getting the hint and I didn’t really see how I was going to get out of it without being directly rude.
I chose that night for two reasons: 1) I had work the next morning, so if things really sucked, I could play the work card and come home. 2) There was a meteor shower and I really did want a good place to watch it.
Well, I get there, late, and he has dinner mostly ready. I get a tour of the house, meet the roommates. Ron, a black man in his late 30’s who likes to fish and spent the night in his room watching action movies at high volume and laughing his ass off. Jose, a Mexican man, early 30’s, works at a vineyard and is apparently frightened of me, as I saw him once when he walked in, didn’t make eye contact, and then never saw him again. And, of course, Brian, who I totally forgot about him living with John until he strolled in and said a very quiet hello. Awkward, at least on my end, but I truly think I managed to be very smooth about it. (For you see, the night before I first slept with John, I slept with Brian. And John knew about it. Probably overheard it. Even commented on how glad he was his friend was getting some. Like I said, the whole thing is pretty fucked up.)
Dinner was good, made from his mother’s recipe book, which he showed me. I had brought dessert in the form of date-nut bread. All good so far.
We play some pool (that’s all his front room has in it, a pool table, stick holder thingy, and ashtrays…men) with Brian, which it turns out I win a few games (hurray them scratching on the 8-ball) and wasn’t at all as nerve-wracking as it should have been. I feel this is largely due to me not being awkward and Brian and John possibly not caring. Brian left, as quietly as he came.
Time for stargazing. We try a few different uncomfortable positions in the plastic chairs out on his balcony, which, I mention a few times, is facing the wrong direction. After about half an hour of hemming and hawing, John produces two twin mattresses from Lord Knows Where and we pile under blankets on the front lawn and watch the stars fall.
What the fuck was I thinking, watching a meteor shower with a guy a barely like?
Of course we’re doing the cuddle cuddle. It’s ass cold and I hate the cold. He takes my hand. We have heavy hand petting. We see about ten or eleven little one, three really good ones, and one Really Awesome One that streaks completely across the sky and causes us both to ooh.
About this time, I can no longer take the cold, wussie I have become (as I write this, a space heater is literally a foot from my legs and still I want more) and can’t stop shivering. John makes the brilliant observation that we could be doing this inside and naked. I agree. So, we gather up everything, throw it on the porch, and go up to his room.
Have I told you about the house? It was built in 1833, has a wraparound porch and awesome fireplaces. Everything is wood, save the appliances, and everything creaks like a motherfucker. There is no sneaking in this house. None.
We settle in. John turns on his TV and puts in a BBC comedy about a book store with the prick boyfriend from Shawn of the Dead and that wierd guy with the long hair who tells the awesome pub joke, mostly to cover up any potential noises. I turn up his space heater, then proceed to have incredible sex with him. On a bed. And mostly sober. Check those off.
(Actually, check them off three times.)
We finally gave up the ghost around four AM, having ignored an entire DVD of what looks like a really awesome TV show that I’ll have to watch some time. I don’t even remember sleeping and suddenly it was 7:45 and I had to go to work.
I got up, did the oh-so-stereotypical bed sheet wrap, and tiptoed across the freezing hardwood floors to peek out the window. I had arrived in the dark last night and was curious to know what the land around the house looked like.
The sun was just rising, turning all of the dried grape vine leaves golden and bronze. In the west, heavy storm clouds were rolling in over green and verdant mountains. A small barn lay off in the distance, cattle close by. It was such a beautiful, peaceful place. I wanted to stay there and watch the sun climb higher, warm in the arms of an excellent lover.
I had a moment of clarity, dear reader, one that frightened and excited me all at once.
Standing at that window, I saw a future I could have. I could wake each day with such a sight, watch the vines grown and die season after season, live in an old house with chickens roosting in the eaves, chasing blonde, blue-eyed, chubby children around the porch, cooking food I grew myself, having a helpmate who worshipped and adored me.
I turned from the window and saw him looking at me, like I was a goddess to touch. It shook me hard, cause I honestly believe he was thinking the same thing.
Grabbing for my clothes, I dressed with furtive movements, like I was back in middle school gym. I left an hour early, citing the need to avoid traffic on the highway.
I scared the shit out of myself with all that thinking of home and family. It surprised the hell out of myself to know I wanted all of those things, and I wanted them bad.
But I did not want them with him.
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