It all started with an end. That was the very very start.
Truly though if we are looking at the beginning of this journey it’s a conversation with my friend: in my living room, drunk one night when I was complaining about never finding anyone again now that I had separated from my husband. A common fear of the newly divorced, one becomes convinced they’ve given their best years over to someone else only to be left with the shattered dregs one hauls around in their coat of skin.
Unattractive skin. Unattractive contents. Who wants that?
‘Don’t worry’ he said. ‘You’ll find a boyfriend’.
It only took me a second to know that I didn’t want a boyfriend.
No. What I wanted was a fuck. To be touched but not seen. Touch the skin but not the contents. Unknowingly, as a long term single man he was about to give me the golden key. ‘Go on Craigslist’ he said. There’s plenty there. ‘You’ll just have to play the game’ he said. Conclusion number two: I don’t want to play the game.
The following Friday I looked on Craigslist. As a lark at first, I was lying in bed trying to nap when I browsed through the personals. Even in the personals section there are a lot of pictures of cocks. If you love looking at cock selfies this is your place people. But more on that later. One ad caught my eye ‘Just looking for a good old fashioned tipsy make out session’. Make out session? I can do that! I got in touch with him and after a bit of email argy bargy we agreed to meet in a bar in the East Village just after midday the same day. It was that fast, it was that easy. I put on some deodorant, a bit of mascara, jumped in a taxi and took myself there. This is it. Strangely, I didn’t even feel nervous. After all, I knew he wouldn’t be touching the contents.
I waited at the bar and ordered myself a martini. Since there weren’t many people there it was pretty obvious who he was when he walked in. He was a little taller than me, above average looking and had a friendly face. He was pleased to see me. I have always considered myself average, probably the feature people might comment on most would be my smile. Wide and goofy, in photos I look like a muppet, nothing in particular to write home about, not a head turner by any stretch of the imagination. However, he seemed relieved, grateful even. Apparently, the people that answer these ads largely consist of other men, prostitutes and those who look nothing like their description of themselves. But what did I think of him? I could see that objectively he would be considered good looking. He was a fireman from Staten Island. He loves Stephen King, he has a son. Definitely not my type but someone’s type somewhere. We exchanged a few sentences and then he just said ‘well I’m going to kiss you’. So he did. I sprang at his touch. I’d been starved of the type of affection that’s born from lust or want for years. ‘Woah, you’re very passionate’ I wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a compliment or if he was overwhelmed. A good kisser, it wasn’t long before he was touching my breasts and brushing his hand against my crotch. I heard the bartender groan. It seemed like a ‘wtf?’ groan. This guy and I were an unlikely couple and it showed, clearly we’d just introduced ourselves one minute ago and now this. Or was it a groan of disgust? I didn’t care.
After about 40 minutes of kissing and heavy petting he walked me to my subway stop pausing to jam me up against the wall and stick his tongue down my throat every few minutes. When we made it underground we had a final kiss as he was trying to shove his hand down my jeans. I could feel his hard on against my leg. ‘Steady on there!’ I mean… in front of hundreds of commuters? I was not ready for that. I said goodbye, he asked if he could see me again and I told him no. I hopped on my train heading to pick my son up from school.
It was fun, it felt adventurous, I was wet. I wanted more but better.
I had no idea I had just become an unintentional radiator.