something = someone.
how i feel when you update on how happy you are with her. keep it to yourself dammit.
“What do you mean what?”
“What are you sorry for?” I asked, half cockily.
“I’m sorry for Friday.”
“Well, what did you do on Friday that you feel the need to apologize for?”
“I’m sorry for pulling up your dress, I was really drunk,” he said with a smile on his face seeing how un-serious I was.
“No, see I don’t feel better.”
“Why don’t you feel resolved?”
“Because you just accepted it like it was nothing.”
“Well, I know you mean it.” I said laughing.
“Ugh” was all I managed to understand from under his breath.
After the “unresolved apology” we continued talking. We talked for quite a while. I was honestly surprised that someone so quiet before chose me to speak to after all this time. He seemed distracted, looking down with a slight smirk then meeting my gaze. His confused expression had melted onto his face for the remainder of the night, it was adorable. He felt uncomfortable in my room, antsy in anticipation for my roommate. He wanted to leave to “listen to music” in his room. Conveniently, his roommate had gone for the weekend due to an unexpected bout of food allergies.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said uncertain with his tone.
“Never mind, you’re going to get mad.”
“Just ask me, I promise I won’t get mad.”
He looked at me, deep into me and asked with that confused smirk, “Are you a virgin?”
A slight chuckle slipped passed me after escaping his stare only to answer, “I’ve done things, but not necessarily that.”
“Hmm,” he said still looking at me intently.
I had no idea what he was thinking. He never struck me as someone who thought a lot.
“Are you?” I curiously asked out of politeness as well as self-satisfaction.
Replying with the same answer, “Yes, but I’ve done things… too.”
I replied, “Okay,” with a disbelief that could match a reaction to a sighting of Bigfoot.
“Can I try something?”
“What?” I said, unsure of what he would try after asking such interesting questions.
“Move over,” he said with a strong push.
I was half lying on his bed, now on the side with him trapping me against the wall. He continued to push my leg until he held it and gaze into my eyes and then at my lips. He snickered that creepy but adorable snicker. He put his free hand beneath my hair where my neck became vulnerable, just as I was.
His open mouth met mine in a forceful manner as I could feel my face tighten and my eyebrows converging. My mind went blank other than the fact that it kept telling me to listen to my body. I’ve never not thought during a kiss, but this one was different. I wasn’t mentally prepared; there weren’t any signs to tell me to prepare myself like there were in my now previous life. He was, however, only the second boy I’ve ever kissed.
He wasn’t very good, especially in comparison to the next one I laid my lips on. Now the third boy was pretty good. I was drunk when he first kissed me, though I couldn’t forget how impeccable it was. He was so much sweeter compared to my overall expectation of him. He was black. It shouldn’t be an interesting fact, but is to me. I never thought I’d be the object of his affection; he always seemed indifferent in my presence.
“____’s texting me. He’s asking about you. What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know” I replied half-laughing from the number of drinks I had consumed.
I always knew he liked me, since the second day we met. He was an ass the first day. During the second time, he just kept looking at me, still no sign (at least to me) that he liked me. I usually just tell myself that I must remind him of someone he knew. He made me laugh, a lot. Not just then but the whole time. Then, he just observed me as I observed the room only later to tell me of his findings. Findings which only concluded that I stared a lot. He wasn’t much of a deep talker.
That night I was the first time I was drunk and showed me a lot about myself. I’m very flirtatious when I am inebriated, and stupid. I was practically falling. He was high. I was holding onto someone I barely spoke to – him. He brought me back to my room and laid me down as we spoke. He sat with my head on his lap facing the door, hoping my roommate wouldn’t walk in. We talked for what felt like hours, he was trying to sober me up. Something I look back on with humiliation but pride- proud that I didn’t choose a jerk. He laid next to me as we spoke for a few minutes before coming in for the kiss. It was short and sweet and then turned into sweet and passionate. He left, I didn’t want him to. He was good, leaving at the height of impulse. Good move, bravo.
He quickly texted me the next day hoping it wasn’t just “Drunken shenanigans.” “It wasn’t for me,” I replied. From that point on, we hooked up at least once a day for 5 days straight to the music of Sebastien Tellier and Wu-tang. The former being from the first non-drunk night we had together. Making out to an album entitled “Sexuality” was much better than making out to 1960’s Latin dancing music (the last guy’s choice of music).
written October 10, 2009. Freshman Year.