Yes, Craig, the nicest man alive, being shoved at me from every angle, from every set of married friends? Well, I haven’t been able to shake him. We haven’t been dating per se, but he’s been persistent, so he’s seen me about 4 times in the last few months.
I sometimes wonder if Craig tells his mother (main lady in his life) and the women at the office (whom also mother the hell out of him) if we are “going steady” like it’s 1956 or something. I don’t want him to tell people we’re dating. You are probably going to hate me for this, call me a snob, call me a bitch, but I don’t like the guy. But he has a passion for very good food and very fine wine that I appreciate. And he can be downright charming, he is never rude to waiters or waitresses, and he always pays, and always opens the door for me - a trifecta of consideration rarely found in today’s modern American male.
So, what’s the problem?
No damn sexual chemistry. On my behalf, that is. He’s gone in for the kiss each time during those first 3 dates, and each time, I was able to snog him *adequately* and not recoil in horror. He was not a good kisser – it was messy, wet, extremely-open-mouthed, and just not good. I had already heard about the high school sweetheart, and the college sweetheart. Each time I had to contend with that snaking tongue near my mouth I silently cursed those two women for not giving the poor dude any feedback.
Well. Damn – shit just got real, like they say in my favorite action movies. That last date did not end with just a sloppy kiss and an awkward grope on my front doorstep. This time, I had too much to drink. And this time, we ended up back at his place.
Yes, my sisters, my silent majority! I gave the guy a pity f***! Groan together with me, in a symphony of regret! Ohhhh!
It was a double date with Lara and Andy, the people who have been pushing us together like *their* marriage depended on it. We went out for very fancy ooh-la-la 5 star French food. The four of us tore through more than one bottle of wine, each one better than the last, until we could not finish the third bottle.
My head was foggy from damn good Cab Franc when we stood up from the table. I think I was the drunkest of our four, so outside when I was off having a cigarette, I didn’t hear Craig suggesting to Lara and Andy that they not bother giving us a ride home, we could take a taxi. I walked up to Andy’s car, the valet had the door open for me. I was drunk, confused – and in that split second, I gave the valet a quick glance. He was probably just a bit younger than me, with languid brown eyes and the lightest impish grin on his face. He seemed to know that the couples were being split up for a reason. He gave me a the quickest of appreciative once-overs, and then looked at Craig. I saw him stifle back a sneer of frat boy-ish disrespect. I took a step forward like I was going to get into Andy’s car anyway, just to psych out Craig a little. I’m mean like that.
Craig took me back to his very tidy place where he put on some jazz in the background (obvious), and poured me another glass of wine (really obvious). I sat on the couch flipping through a coffee table book about the wines of France. I looked upon those rows of grapes in the big glossy book and knew that the wine in the picture was probably influencing women all over the world to dole out pity f***s to guys like Craig.
And dole it out I did. I closed my eyes and let Craig swoop in on me right there on his beige boxy couch. He was murmuring all kinds of lovely drunken compliments at me that I couldn’t quite hear over his heavy panting and excited groping. I escaped from his enthusiastic clutches long enough to turn the nearby lamp off.
Ahh, there.
There, in the dark, he could be the valet with the with the devilish wisecracking eyes, he could be the unattainable married man at the office, my platonic best friend, my torturer, my confessor. Hell, he could be Clive Owen – why not, the imagination is a flexible little muscle.
And that night, Craig scored (or Clive Owen, depending on your perspective), and all the angels in heaven that cheer for the boring guys of the world did sing hymns of sweet rejoicing.
I put myself back together an hour later and strode out into the cold night despite his protestations that he would make me breakfast, feeling generous and expansive. I only pity f*** when I’m truly inspired to. Craig’s a good guy, he’s been nothing but good to me. Wouldn’t you say he deserves it?
Comments
misty blue
November 19th, 2009 - 1:04:20 PM
did Craig "deserve it"? I don't know. What I do know is that sometimes, sex is just sex, and usually only for one of the parties involved - in this case, you. In Craig's case, I'm pretty sure this was not just sex. It sounds like he's really into you and the sex was probably a little bit meaningful to him. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not being judgy here, and I am speaking from experience; this Craig guy is going to be back with some much higher expectations now, and you're going to have to deal with that. Whether you choose to do it kindly is up to you. Will he "deserve it" if you treat him badly now?