Warning: this is pretty dirty.
Did he say he was the only one in the band without a girlfriend? Yes. Then again, he also had three attractive women in his living room in the early am of a Saturday night speaking of sexual liberty in foreign accents.
We took stock. Multiple guitars, Ikea Expedit for records-keeping, stand up piano – its bench as a coffee table, USB keyboard controller, dirty laundry, crumbs, lyrics on loose paper – his. Batik mural from India, framed grave rubbing of a Medieval couple – his father’s, a historian.
Hair straightener? “An ex-girlfriend’s.” We assume the same of the collection of shampoos and make up in the bathroom.
“Who’s that?” Blair pointed to the photos tacked to the corkboard. Self-portraits with a pretty Blonde.
“Oh just a friend of mine.” And what of the note left atop his Mac Powerbook?
I came to pick up my toothbrush
Then I had a nap
Then I had some chocolate <3
Unsigned – girls with open access to a man’s home usually don’t need to sign their notes. He hid it, unknowingly <i>after</i> we had read it. But, he said he didn’t have a girlfriend. So, fair game, right?
Somewhere along the emptying of red wine bottles and a live, private performance of his catchy schmaltz, I found his hands stroking my hair and down my back. He excused himself for a piss while my two cohorts texted for an exit strategy. One was too young, the other had a boyfriend.
“We’re going to 751. Fuck him.”
Ok, I guess I’ll take one for the team. It didn’t take long after the click of the door for him to put down the guitar and put my legs on either side of him. We made out as he unzipped my body suit, confused with the mechanics of the garment. I swiftly helped us both undress.
“You’re so beautiful.”
We stumbled into the bedroom, feverishly kissing lips, ears and those soft spots of the neck. He popped me on the bed then tossed me on top.
“Let me suck your pussy.”
“LET ME SUCK YOUR PUSSY.”
“Suck my dick.”
“What did you want me to do?” I like to take orders.
“I want you to suck my dick.”
Although genes had blessed him with above-average height (6’4″) the same could not be said of his cock. Still, I heartily lapped and deep throated until he came. I rinsed my mouth under the tap and again with whatever wine was left in each of the four glasses.
I returned to the room and he kept kissing me. We lay awkwardly along the width of the bed, his long legs hanging off of the side. Trying to keep balance, he shifted his bottom half forwards. The head of his penis pushed against the fold between my thigh and snatch. Ugh. This move, boys. Does it to me every. time.
“Do you have a condom?” We fumbled, rushing for the first thrust. He took me from behind as I repeatedly told him to “Fuck me, fuck me.” He finished, sank on to my back and indifferent, I got dressed as he reminded me not to leave anything behind. We stood in the living room and he bent down to me on my tiptoes for another kiss.
“You are really small.”
“Yea. I’m 5’2″. You’re more than a foot taller than me.”
“Will I see you again? Can I get your number?”
“If you can remember my name.”
He entered Sass into his cellphone.
“I’ll walk you out.”
I hadn’t heard from him. I didn’t expect to. Then two weeks later he texted me on a Friday night.
“Who is this?” I hadn’t asked for his number in return.
“[Name redacted] from [Band name redacted]”. Hah. Of course he would reference himself solely in the context of his rockstardom.
“Hey. Grabbing a snack and heading out to West Queen West.”
No further reply.
Oh, but he did facebook message my best friend the other day; “I’d like to take you out for drinks sometime.” Classy. Did he really think I wouldn’t have told her (and now, all SDTC readers) what had transpired? Did he really think she would hop right on that train that had just choo-chooed in ME? Too bad she has a boyfriend, is 8 years his junior and a decent person. Lesson learned? Dirtbags who fuck you when they (probably) have girlfriends are dirtbags.