Going for the Gold

We have a second date tonight, if this is how it's to be labeled. I hate labels...And our first so-called date was rather impromptou and accidental, anyhow.

Because all I did was sit at home and from out of nowhere he picked me up. It's not like it was scheduled. I never penciled in anything. The Shesek...Oh, why do I do this to myself? He paid. What the fuck does that say? Imported beer.

You all know that moment when you know something is about to happen between you and They. It's not up to definition, really. I just knew when he took my hand and said he is fascinated by my fingers. I am always told I have beautiful hands, I know, I get offers to do hand modeling(previously I had always assumed that this occupation didn't really exist). So fucking what, right?


"I could stretch beyond an octave," was all I could really say, because I'm not good when it comes to accepting compliments.

Just smile and say thank you, dumbass.

The Sweatshop had ruined my once-perfect nails. I feel disfigured but he seems to see things through the Photoshop filter reserved for non-obsessive males.

Oh, to be like him.
I can't.

Anyway, I know that there may be a slight chance that this evening will end up with me straddling him. I just feel it, you know. I remind myself to be a good girl, and that I am often paranoid, so maybe I am just imagining this.

But I wanted to jump his bones when I was seventeen, I can't help it.

Why are we here, really? We've been friends for some years, via the on and off route. But I don't think we've gone out for a drink together since the last century.

I don't pull back my hand.Instead, I am wondering when they'll kick us out of here.
They finally do, at around 6:30 AM.

We float out into the sunshine.

"I don't feel like going home," he says.

"Neither do I."

"You..."

"Well, I hope you're not thinking of going to an after, because I'm positively wrecked."
I know it's coming, but it's so me to fuck with his mind a little.

"No, I was thinking of something a little less grand," he finally says.

I really hope he's not about to suggest something disgustingly shmaltzy such as going for a walk on the beach. I hate the sand and I'm wearing really nice shoes.

The kiss goes off like a firing squad. I've had really fantasic lays in my ten months of renewed singledom, but no one has kissed me like that.

You're imagining, I tell myself, but it keeps getting clearer and clearer.

I see Shiri's face, inhaling a Marlboro 100 and telling me what a killer fuck he is. We were fifteen, maybe. What the fuck did we know.

She had woken up from a dream screaming that she loves him. They'd never met before.
Life is so...Fuck it.

I feel a little weird, because two blocks down there's a guy who's been waiting the entire week, looking forward to our usual encounter. There's another guy in Germany who's bought a goddamn ticket to come visit me here in a month's time.

And here I am, in all my indecisive glory.
Why is everything such a big fucking deal?

Shiri used to cheat on him and then call me hyperventilating to tell me all about it. God, we were terrible. I can't remove it from my mind.

I need to quit feeling so fucking responsible for everyone else.

We are now parked outside my place, and the sun is shining on us through the windshield. He wants me to come over tonight, but I never know what I want. I prefer my comfortable place on the fence. I do know that I don't want to leave the car just yet. I have that oh dear god I want to just sit on you sensation sweeping through me.

But there might be consequences. Like finding yourself in a relationship, for example.

I undo my safety belt, shift a little, and reposition myself on him, on the driver's seat. Frankly, I'm too aroused to let him go home, but having sex in a car is just too Degrassi for me.
Oh, the humanity.

"Why don't you come to rehearsal?"

"Because I'm not in a band," I smile. I've done this whole girlfriend-of thing too many times. Another goddamn musician. I need a cure.

"Then why don't you come over to my place tomorrow?" he says.

"Because it's morning. Tomorrow is actually today."

"Good, then come today."

"We'll see."

Of course, I never called.

Tonight is a door off its hinges. I see it slamming back and forth against the frames.
Volatile winds and mood swings. Candies tasting of pheromones.
He's picking me up at ten.