February 15, 2012 by E.
As someone who has never been a serial dater, I haven’t had many memorable Valentine’s Days. A few years ago, I did have a boyfriend with potential, if you could call it that. The timing was almost there, anyway – we were still dating at Christmastime. He could have been my first Valentine, except I broke up with him two weeks too early. It wasn’t working out, and I saw no reason to have the relationship linger painfully. It worked out for me, though, because he’d already purchased my present, which he couldn’t return. Moral of the story – always wait until the last minute to buy gifts.
For someone who has been single for 99.8% of her life, I actually love VDay. When I was growing up, my dad always bought me flowers in chocolate. When I got to college, I bought myself flowers and wine. The holiday has its flaws, sure; but it is what you make of it. If you’re lonely and miserable about being single, you’re going to sit around and mope no matter what the calendar says. If you’re independent and patient and content with your life, you treat it like just another day.
Which is what I did, on this day, one year ago.
Last year, Valentine’s Day was on a Wednesday. I remember this distinctly, because Wednesdays were when I got laid. (This was between January 18 and March 13, when A. still had his girlfriend. After he broke up with her, I got laid every day, multiple times a day.) On Wednesdays, my roommate had class until 4, and A. had “golf lessons” from 2 – 3. That meant we had an entire hour to ourselves before he had to sneak out of my apartment and back to his house.
Anyway, on this particular Wednesday, I had zero expectations. Although I was disappointed at the thought of having to wait an entire additional 7 days, I certainly was not expecting A. to visit me. It was Valentine’s Day, and surely he’d want to get home to his real girlfriend. On this particular Wednesday, I figured I would have to miss out on the incredible, mind-blowing, slap-the-wall, rough and tumble sex sessions I’d been enjoying for the past few weeks.
How wrong I was.
When I mentioned my assumptions to A. he looked at me like I was crazy. Of course he was coming over to my apartment. It was Wednesday! He had a golf lesson he didn’t want to miss.
That afternoon he walked into my apartment, picked me up, carried me into my room, and proceeded to fuck me against the wall. Then from behind. Then me on top. Our sex was particularly sweaty and loud, as we each avoided contemplating the potential implications of spending time together on Valentine’s Day. He left my apartment looking disheveled and reeking of sex.
Shortly after, he sent me a text that went something like this:
“You know what’s almost as good as being so exhausted from sex you forgot where you parked? Your girlfriend wanting to give you head as soon as you walk in the door.”
A lot of people have sex on Valentine’s Day, but rarely without the relationship to go with it. It is a holiday about love, after all. I hadn’t even begun to analyze my feelings for him, nor considered the possibility that we, the two of us together, might exist outside of the bedroom. But that day – when I stood at the door to my apartment silently wishing he would stay for just a little bit longer, just five more minutes – that day, was perhaps my awakening. At some point that day, Cupid had set me in his sights and pricked me with his arrow.