About eight months ago…
One Friday I went to dinner with a colleague. He has a great mind and we always have fun talking together, and that evening was no exception. After dinner, I asked him, “what next?”
“You’re inviting me to your place,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t 100% sure where this was going, but I had a pretty good idea, as this fellow had been a little suggestive on occasion. I was still well within the time frame I’d designated for having casual encounters, so I figured, “why not?!” I won’t bore you with the details just now (you can find them here), but…I looked at the clock after he left; it wasn’t even 10pm.
I texted Chi-guy: “Just sent my date home. Ugh. U up?”
Him: “For what?”
Him: “Oh, sweet! I’m out tonight. Tomorrow?”
Me: “Sounds good. Enjoy!”
The next day, well after noon, I received this: “I definitely had more fun than u last night! Call u after I get the little one to sleep.”
Me: “If your fun night just left, I don’t want to hear about it. Talk later.”
Was I jealous of the thought that Chi-guy might have had better sex than I had the previous night? Or was a I jealous about the thought of him with another woman? Then it occurred to me: I wanted to be the girl to recharge his mojo, dammit!
Chi-guy called at 11:15pm and we talked about relationships, marriage, divorce, children and more. He confessed that, leading up to the dissolution of his relationship, he’d begun to drink too much, maybe been a little depressed and other admissions that eerily paralleled the demise of my own marriage. At one point, he told me how the end had begun: his wife asked him to see a counselor with her, a safe venue in which she could ask him to move out. The counselor advised him to respect her wishes, move out, cooperate and “make things easy on her,” because she would ultimately realize that he was not the problem.
“Dude, your counselor sucks!” I teased. “Mine told me to go out and get laid before my ex had even moved out!”
“I want your counselor!” he joked.
We confided and shared, comforted and laughed for more than two hours. His voice had grown more resonant than I’d remembered from years before and, while still not terribly masculine, there was something kind of sexy about it. I had always felt some sort of energetic connection with Chi-guy, but now a genuine emotional warmth was beginning to blossom.
Late the next morning I texted him: “Can’t remember the last time I talked on the phone for more than 2 hrs and enjoyed it!”
Him: “I know, so high school. Now I just need to hang your picture in my locker and give you a hickey.”
I immediately updated my Facebook status: “Was just offered a hickey…tempted, but it’s not quite turtleneck weather.” Within moments, my bawdier girlfriends had commented, “Who says it has to be on your neck?” and the like.
“Going to wear your Letterman’s jacket everywhere. p.s. ck my fb status,” I texted.
Him: “Now I see where u get your inspiration. If you out me, I will give you a hickey next time I see you! p.s. you’re going to have to give more than a hickey for my letter jacket.”
We bantered in high school terms for the day, until I wrote: “Why, I do believe you’re flirting with me!”
“I like flirting with you,” he wrote back.
And so my crush blossomed, and I began to believe in the possibility that Chi-guy could be back in action by Labor Day.
Meanwhile, my girlfriends were asking about the men in my life. I was still texting with Max, Anthony and Brendon, who were unavailable for various reasons, but gave my ego a little boost. Add Chi-guy — who was not a match geographically or astrologically. And I had dated a guy in college with the same given name, which sullied even that. Whatever this might be, it was going nowhere…but it might be a fun romp (and just what the doctor ordered).