I was a first generation college student, a Boston brat going to school in Los Angeles simply because “they paid me to”.I went downstairs and just asked if anyone would help deloft my roommates bed, him being the gentleman he would later prove to be offered to help. He came upstairs and helped deloft the bed, and as he walked out introduced himself. I avoid introducing myself out of dislike toward the awkward moment of saying my name, hearing someone mispronounce it, and having to break it down. If necessary I give a nickname which will later be forgotten or mispronounced.
“My names Nelsen.” That's what he said as we walked out my room. We were headed in some direction I don't remember. I just remember him saying that.
“Like Nelson Mandela?”
“Yeah except its spelled with an E not and O”
….yup that was the great big bang, our meeting. We lived in the same dorm had those casual conversations normal people do, but I'm rarely capable of. We had small conversations here and there, talked about his life and mine. I asked questions he answered. He asked questions,but because I am me my answers were vague or required other questions.
He would sit with me watching TV or a movie, arm around my shoulder. We'd be awake doing homework, taking shots of tequila or Bacardi, and we would just talk. Spent months just hanging out, and then one day it just changed. We were in the common room of that dorm, the one that has all the memories, and his arm was around me. He had tried before, touching me, being with me. I knew he was a gentleman, cautious, and always asking if it was okay. I grabbed his hand and put it where I ,figured he'd want to put it. The chemistry in the room instantly changed, and then he had a phone call to make.
He had some errands to run, and I tagged along so we ended up at the park. I'd never been there before. We walked around me in my black boots and favorite pair of sweats, him in his robe and of course the orange flip flops. We walked and then were heading back to the car when we stopped, I hugged him for warmth and he leaned in to kiss me, being the attention brat I am I pull back a little, but his lips still reached mine. We go over to the picnic table and I'm sitting on top of him kissing him, and he stops me first.
“So what are? Are we friends, or are we friends with benefits or...-”He says this looking up at me trying to look at my eyes grab my attention, and I just look away up at the sky where the sun was rising.
“-we're friends.” I say in the most awkward way one could ever imagine. It was firm, two words, but hiding something, something that to this day I haven't discovered.
I feel his warm lips against mine his tongue going into my mouth his hands on my waist and then lower. I'm not promiscuous, I told strangers I wanted to be a nun, told those that really knew me that I was waiting for marriage and I was. I found him attractive though, not because he was so cute or what he wore but because of who he was.
“What would Alexa say if she knew?”
“See I was thinking she wouldn't find out.” His hands are around me and I start kissing his neck, sucking it a little. Wishing I could read minds for the simple reason that I'm inexperienced and don't understand why that would be one of the first questions he asks.rn rn“Have you hooked up with her or any of my friends?” I blurt it out, like I do all questions. If you appreciate bluntness chances are we'd get along. If you value sincerity we should be friends, but if you expect people to take your feelings into consideration or sugarcoat everything don't even bother looking my way.
“Are you even attracted to me?” and as I say it laugh at the ridiculousness of my timing. Probably should have asked that before I was on top of him his hands on me, at a park I wouldn't be able to find on a map of a city to which I'm a foreigner.
“Yes, I am. Since before...” I start doing the math in my head, but he keeps my mouth busy while I do the calculations. Figured that means somewhere around five months? Maybe more, but probably less.I see a person coming down the trail from the corner of my eye, most people would want to close their eyes, but I like to see facial expressions, the aftermath when I detach myself. I get off him and he comes up behind me and holds me.
In a low voice, soft, even deep voice which I've rarely heard from him before he says, “What took you so long?” Someone clever would have had a witty response. Someone else probably would have done something different, but I just start walking toward his car. He catches up again, and all I think to say is “You know you kissed me first right?” a reference to earlier conversations where he mentioned that he never made the first move, gave that authority to the womyn, acknowledging his male privilege and working against it. He would be a socially conscious man.rn As we walk back up to the car our hands brushed a result of the curved manner I walk. Most girls would get a jolt or something from that brush, but of course I just walk further away from him. I believe he said something about hoping this wasn't the last time. I'm not sure. I was too busy trying to dissect the situation, remember every detail, making every literary comparison I can think of.rnrn However, I remember answering something about going back to Boston in three weeks.
“Oh so now you're definitely going back.” I laugh at the fact he caught that. I had wanted to stay in Los Angeles that summer. Experiment with true independence without school just rent and work, and earlier that night had mentioned the fact I was thinking about staying. After those events, those kisses, the touches, even the looks I knew it would be better to leave. My greatest precaution, growing up around guys, was the female that stays “on their dick.” Most guys have that one ex that still has feelings and clings around, that girl that will cry over a guy. The type of girl I vowed never to be. The vow that made me stoic, the vow that justified never having moments like this with a guy more than once. If you came back to the same person a second time it showed attraction even emotion and I didn't want to have either. I wanted to be the virgin Mary, Sor Juana, unique and strong with an independence from everyone and everything except God.
“If I start talking to to other girls or start to like them do you want me to tell you?”
“Sure, we are friends.” I answer because it's habit, but it takes me a while to process. He keeps asking questions, I keep blurting answers. Eventually we make it to the car, a tan convertible which has been steaming when we arrived, but by the time we get back looked normal. We go to get in he goes to his door I go to the passenger side shaking my head at the ridiculousness of this situation.
“If I start talking to other guys do you want me to tell you?” I ask expecting the response I imagine any guy would answer. Something territorial, assuming that regardless of actual feeling no one wants someone else's seconds.
“I don't care.” Confusing me for the thirty-seventh time that morning, but I say nothing I get in the car and watch his strife as he turns the key and his car fails to start. He turns it multiple times forces it, and then I interrupt suggesting letting it cool and walk out heading toward a playground, he follows.rnrn We sit on the playground playing something like 21 questions about everything imagineable. The playground has sand which I thought would help him out considering he was in flip-flops, but even through my boots I could feel the coldness of the sand and the California morning. rnrn“What's your fantasy?” I ask him this just like I've asked Tommy, Marcos, Marc, Lucas and who knows how many others before him. I don't ask because I have the intention to fulfill it, I ask simply because it's an interesting question, open ended and always changing.
“I'm not sure. What's yours?” I figure he's measuring his boundaries, something I probably would have done if I were in his position.
I answered fast, an answer I've known for a while with no intention of fulfilling it for the simple reason that I was waiting for marriage. I looked him in the eye something I do often especially when saying something for a reaction “to be really high and in the shower”. He smiled. I of course want an answer, “so what's yours?”
“Backseat of a car,” I smile. We start walking out the playground, and this time I grab his arm.