January 29, 2012 by E.
I suppose if a third of my writing is going to be dedicated to stories about this man I happen to be in love with, I may as well provide some background information on how we met.
He claims he noticed me on the first day of classes our junior year in college. I don’t know if I entirely believe that story, seeing as he didn’t actually speak to me until over two years later, when we were about to take our first exam in grad school. Nevertheless, once he did deign to introduce himself, we exchanged phone numbers, under the pretense that we lived close together and might want to carpool to the bar that night, where our professor was taking us out for drinks to compensate for the two-hour Friday night Financial Accounting exam he had scheduled. Of course, we didn’t end up carpooling, but it didn’t matter; he had my phone number and that was all I presume he wanted in the first place.
I would say that the chemistry was there immediately, except for the fact that he had a long-term, serious girlfriend. Yeah. Slight detail, and rather confusing for me to try and walk the line of which behavior was just “friendly” and which behavior was “flirty”, especially because there was a very natural, very mutual, attraction between the two of us. He had a girlfriend, though, and I had every intention of behaving (hey, I get an A for effort!), so we stayed just friends.
For an entire three months. Then one night he came over to borrow some notes. Three martinis later, and we finally agreed to drop the “friend” ruse, which had never really been fooling either of us. By the end of January, we were stealing away every second we could. We made excuses to sit next to each other in class, to visit the gym at the same time. All we wanted to do was be alone. And fuck.
I know, I know. I’m a bad person, a tramp, a home-wrecker, etc. You can throw all those names out there, and more.
But if you’re the type of person to take the high road and start the name-calling, you probably should have stopped reading this several paragraphs ago. Because I’m about to tell you how amazing the sex was. (And still is, but that’s a story for another day).
For the first several months, the thrill of our sex was all about the newness, the secrets, and the competition. Both of us felt like we had something to prove, and neither of us were willing offer or accept surrender. I remember sex sessions when I was sore for days afterwards. At one point, I had a handprint-shaped bruise on my thigh. He used to eat granola bars in between rounds. Our sex was thunderous – rough enough to keep us from thinking that the “just sex” arrangement we had might not be “just sex” after all.
To make a long, and rather messy, story short, it took us 2 months to accept that despite all of our previous pacts and promises, our no-feelings arrangement was far from it.
On March 16, he took me on our first official date. Out of town, where his ex-girlfriend was unlikely to see us.
Moral of the story? Love doesn’t always have such a glamorous beginning.