"No more pouting. Seriously! You know what? You need to get online!" My friend Lucy gripped my wrist tenderly as she topped off my glass. We were neck-deep in a mopey, sometimes-tearful, wine-fueled Friday night gripe session amidst a confusing 'break' with my boyfriend. I knew I must have looked particularly pathetic if she was suggesting a hook-up app as a cure for feeling bad about myself. "One possibility: you have a bunch of no-strings fun and decide to forget about What's-his-face."
"John." I interjected.
"Yeah, I bet you'll forget all about ol' What's-his-face once you get out there and have some fun! Try something different! Show off the goods!" she teasingly cupped one of my bulging funbags through my shirt and bra; I gently batted her hand away. "I guess in another scenario, you may decide you really like What's-his-face... you know, after you finish having a lot of sexy, no-strings fun!" She bit her lip and tickled my sides and ribs until we both burst into a round of giggles that built until we collapsed together on the couch in a heap of hysterics.
We had both consumed a great deal of wine.
Although I sobered up the next morning, her advice stuck with me through the weekend. "Try something different. You can't be afraid to get a little crazy and leave your comfort zone." She had drilled the thoughts into my tender brain until her advice made sense and I created a profile. And that was how early the next week, I had found myself texting with an early-30s accountant named Sam. He seemed very nice and, though his profile picture was a dark, blurry bathroom selfie, he was tall with short dark hair, both big pluses. Also, in a stark contrast to vanilla-and-mayonnaise-John/What's-his-face, Sam appeared to be a black man (it was a really bad picture, and how do you ask that?). This seemed like something different for sure! Early Thursday evening, after a few days of increasingly flirty (occasionally dirty) messages, and seemingly after he'd had a few happy hour cocktails, Sam texted and invited me to come over to "watch a movie." I knew what that was code for and accepted with a devilish grin.
After a quick text to Lucy - who eagerly urged me on - I set about agonizing over an outfit. "Casual... but also seductive. Seductive... but I want to seem casual..." I stared at my closet. Glancing at my phone, I noted the elapsed time, but also a new text from Sam, sent after my acceptance.
"Oh YAY! Im in 13gh" I squinted my eyes at the text and asked him to clarify. "COM! Over 13H! Mt palce!" It seemed like Sam might be a little drunker than I originally thought. "Whatever, I just hope he can keep his dick hard." I muttered under my breath as I selected an outfit.
I settled on a mint-colored, form-fitting bandage dress that was easy to get into (and out of!) but gave the impression of "effort" ... even if my "date" was apparently going to put in zero. A green lace bra gave my D-cups an alluring boost, and the matching skimpy lace thong was a sight I was sure he would welcome. I stepped into four-inch white patent pumps, stuffed my phone and credit card into a small clutch (I was betting I couldn't rely on an online date to pay for a cab), then left before I lost my nerve.
In the cab to his building, I texted again to confirm the apartment number. "its 31g OMG HUrry! e movie 8/ starring ;-$!!" I hoped my cab would reach his building before my date passed out or puked, or my common sense overrode my libido.
Once inside Sam's building, I consulted the hieroglyphs of his typo-filled text messages. The consistent number he had given me amidst the jumbled mess was '13' and he'd capitalized 'H' in one message, which seemed to lend it an air of accuracy. I decided to start at apartment 13H; if it wasn't him, I was sure his neighbor would help me.
"Sarah," I thought to myself as I departed the elevator and approached the door in my form-fitting dress and glossy heels, "If this is the story you have to tell your grandkids about the first time you met grandpa..." I rolled my eyes, swallowed my pride, and rapped three times on the door.
As I stood outside the door to Unit 13H, I heard the opening scene from 'Love, Actually' playing at a high volume in a neighboring apartment. "Must be date night there, too." I thought as I spied a shadow behind the peephole. After a pause, I heard a muffled low voice, but couldn't make out the words. The latch turned and I braced myself for my aggressive first move as the door opened. My stomach fluttered and my heart leapt into my throat, I knew that I needed to act before I lost my nerve.
An attractive black man, tall, even in bare feet, and with short, dark hair, like Sam in his profile picture, opened the door and stood in the shadowy foyer. "Uh, hello...?" His eyes slowly climbed from my glossy high heels, to the flexed muscles of my legs, the slinky green profile of my dress, then finally to my face.
"Hi..." I felt my shyness and uncertainty fighting hard to reach the surface. We'd never met; we'd barely talked, and I knew basically nothing about him! My cheeks reddened, but I swallowed hard and pictured my appearance to an observer. From my bouncy loose auburn curls, to my smoky eyes and shiny red lips, to the bulging shelf of my chest rapidly rising and falling in my excitement, barely contained behind the shimmering green fabric, I knew what message my outfit was meant to convey, and I hoped it was having its desired effect. As we stood awkwardly in the door to his apartment, a puzzled look passed across his face. Glancing back over his shoulder into the apartment, he started to turn back toward the living room when I pounced on him.
I pushed him against the wall of the entryway, mashing my lips over his as the door slammed loudly behind me. A heavy gasping syllable struggled to escape his lips, but I didn't let him complete whatever thought he had. Tossing my clutch on the hall table, my freed hands rushed over his stomach and ribs, pressing my palms against his lean muscular frame as we kissed. I broke off our kiss for a split second.