I hate talking about things that I’m not at least marginally knowledgeable about. Even more than that I hate thinking that I know what I’m talking about only to be proven wrong by someone else, and usually very publicly. This is all why I was pretty shocked that I started dating Ned. He’s a know-it-all ten times worse than I ever was, and he loves correcting me and proving me wrong. Ned and I met on the most prolific app ever for hookups, TINDER! How fucking millennial-ly typical. I was so nervous because he super-liked me and was very aggressive about meeting up. I played the field a lot on the tinder scene but never got to the point where a meet up was going down. (Hold on to the going down idea for a little.) He pushed just right, and called me to keep me company on the drive out to him (I elected to be the one with the getaway).
He was very nice when I pulled up to his house. I got there a little bit before him, because he was picking up pizza, and so he approached me sitting in my car. At first the sheer intensity of him – he’s build very solid, his eyes are almost feminine (long lashes) but super accusing, and his bald hair just screamed no-nonsense – scared me into my seat. But I got out and brought the drinks that I volunteered to provide.
His apartment was very studio-ish. By his standards it was clean, which just meant that the piles of stuff and books were all packed into corners. The couch was ratty, clearly tenth-hand, but it was very homey. Walking in, the kitchenette and the living room were all the same space, with the kitchenette braving taking that name only having a mini fridge, sink, and old microwave.
It wasn’t love at first sight for me. It was love at first touch. His gentle hands, rough from his days as a laborer, guided me into the apartment and onto the couch. Because of the limited space, and I guess my clear nervousness, he preferred to sit on the floor in front of the couch to eat. We watched an episode of Game of Thrones, one of his choosing, and talked about our affinity for the show. Wait! I forgot that before we elected to watch Game of Thrones we did awkward “Well what do you wanna watch?” thing, and he showed me his collection of DVDs and Bluerays. I mini-fangirled at Dragon Ball Z and he proposed to me right then and there.
After the pizza was eaten, and I spilled my glass of coke in glorious fashion. We sat on the couch together, at first not near each other, but then he offered for me to move closer. It was like it is in the movies. I snuggled him, breathing in that musky man-scent and it was going amazingly. Then the bastard started tickling me. I jumped like my ass caught fire and put that distance back between us. We were both laughing and glancing at each other, by tickling me he turned the tides on the growing sexual tension towards playful rather than pure passion that we would have no doubt bumbled through. And then in an instant he jumped on top on me, kissing me hard and urgently. It was literally the best way he could have done it. My cowardliness would have stunted me from moving closer and probably ended the night right there.
Getting steamy on the couch led to him asking for us to take it to the bedroom. This is the embarrassing part for me. I had a little visit from my monthly stalker and was trying to use it as an excuse to keep my ladylike reputation intact. Not on him. He promised nothing would happen I didn’t explicitly ask for, and if I wanted to we could just lay down together.
Well that was all she wrote. His sense of maturity and adventure let him look pass my temporary road block and we took ourselves right through to that blessed event no lady likes to admit she goes to on the first date (and this was like hour 2).
That is the beginning of my story. I had a life before him, and I will have a life after him, but for the person I am right now, life begins with this night. We enjoyed each other over and over again. In the months to come we would know that same enjoyment and the pain that it would also bring.