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And now, I'm equipped with truly tantalizing knowledge that
I can safely go down on him. He can safely go down on me.
We can have sex bareback if we want.
How am I supposed to think of anything else?
I try, really. I finish my homework. I get ahead on my reading. I give up on reading and watch TV. I call the TV a failure and change my outfit three times.
This crop top or that one?
The dark wash jeans or the black ones?
Jade talks me into a blazer and wedge shoes. I let her do my makeup, so I stay distracted. It's the most stereotypically girly thing I've ever done. (Julie is not a winged eyeliner and berry lipstick kind of girl).
Patrick arrives exactly at six. After the usual introductions (my pre-med roomie Jade, my new date Patrick), I kiss him hello, head to his car, and endure the slow, agonizing, perfect torture of driving to a mysterious bar where I'm going to torture him.
* * *
The place doesn't matchmy mental image, but it's beautiful all the same. The top floor of a hotel in Hollywood. High ceilings, modern couches, wide windows.
And a perfect view of Los Angeles from every angle. The hills, the Hollywood sign, the skylines of downtown and Century City, the sunset over the Pacific.
Gorgeous.
The people here match. They're all beautiful and effortless, a mix of truly carefree outfits and California casual (jeans and polos or button-ups for guys, sundresses and wedges for women). In my crop top and jeans, I fit into the cool, youthful atmosphere.
I don't just feel stylish. I feel badass.
Or maybe that's my plan to have my way with Patrick.
Probably my plan to have my way with Patrick.
He presses his palm into the small of my back. There are too many layers of fabric in the way—the blazer, the stretch denim of my jeans. I need his hands on my skin.
I need my hands on his skin.
Now.
I force myself to take a deep breath. I try to recall a single word of our conversation in the car (something about music… maybe). I focus on my surroundings (there's air-conditioning in here, but it isn't keeping me cool).
"Do you want a drink?" Patrick leads me toward the bar. "A soda?"
"A gin and tonic," I say. "Just one."
He nods with understanding and leads me all the way to the bar, cool and confident and totally at ease.
Is he really this carefree about our plan?
I guess most men would be happy to hearI want to suck you off on the balcony. Especially after my insistence on taking things at my own pace.
He is more experienced. Maybe he's done this kind of thing a lot. But he hasn't donethis. He hasn't agreed to help anyone else experiment to figure out exactly what they like.
That's ours.
Patrick makes small talk as he orders. He and the bartender discuss their tattoos (of course, he's a tattooed hipster) and the weather. Isn't it a beautiful night? And it's nice how the heat fades along with the sun.
Really, this is a classic summer evening. Warm but not hot. Comfortable for jeans or dresses or taking off your clothes on the balcony.
