Timothy Stobierski muses on how his worst date somehow turned into his best.
I am going to tell you the story of the worst date I have ever had. And I mean that wholeheartedly: it was terrible. And I have no one to blame but myself.
The girl I was seeing (who I am still, somehow, despite this terrible date), is nothing short of amazing. Beautiful, smart, funny – the whole package. And to top it all off, she was one of my best friends before we even started going out. I was a really lucky guy. I’ll call her M.
So we had been sort of dating for about two months when my parents decided they wanted to take me out to dinner for my birthday. She can come too, of course, they said. We like her. Even better.
My birthday happens to be located smack-dab in the middle of the single hottest, stickiest month of the year, August, and this August has set a record with its humidity. It is truly disgusting. And now I have to get dressed up for dinner with my parents and sort-of not-official girlfriend. Already you can see the night was not designed to be easy.
The plan goes something like this: M, who lives a bit of a drive away, is going to meet us at my house and then we’re all going to drive together to the restaurant. Should be easy.
But I’m a little stressed that she’ll get to our house early, before I’m dressed and groomed, and there’s no way I’m going to leave her alone with my mother and father for even a minute if I can help it. They have a penchant for saying things that they just shouldn’t say, as all parents seem to do. The only solution: get dressed ahead of time to make sure I’d be ready when she got there, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem, except it was a whopping ninety-six degrees and our air-conditioner had chosen this to be the day it finally shit the bed. So, great. I don’t have to worry about her being alone with my parents; I just have to worry about sweat-stains.
I’m cursing the weather as she pulls up in front of our house – a good half hour before she said she would, I might add, and I go out to meet her. And as soon as I see her I forget all about the heat. Do my pits have stains under them? I couldn’t tell you. My eyes are focused on her.
She’s wearing the sexiest floral-print sundress that I have ever seen: the neckline falls to just the right height so as to show just the hint of cleavage; the fabric clings to her sleek body in all the right places. She looks beautiful without overdoing it. I give her a hug and a kiss, tell her how great I think she looks. She blushes. We go inside.
There’s a bit of small talk, but we decide to head out early since everyone was ready. We get there, we were seated promptly, order our drinks and meals. All in all, it goes off without a hitch.
Afterwards, we drop my parents off at home and decide to go for a drive. I knew this romantic spot just down the street from where I lived that I thought M would get a kick out of. In all honestly, it’s a park and wildlife preserve. But M likes animals, and there are plenty of animals to be heard there after night falls. And of course the stars shine there like nowhere else. And what girl doesn’t like stars?
“I’m really glad you came tonight,” I say, an owl hooting in the distance. We’re sitting on top of a picnic table overlooking a playground. It’s a moonless night, so the stars are clear and numerous. “I had a much better time with you here than I would have with just my parents.”
“I’m really glad I could come. Make sure you tell your parents thanks for me.” She’s looking at the sky. “The stars really are beautiful.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But they’re nothing compared to you.”
This, I might add, is the closest thing to “game” that I’ve got. It’s embarrassing, really. But she liked it enough to turn towards me, laugh, and lean in for a kiss. This was going really well.
So we’re sitting there for a little while, looking at the stars, turning towards each other every couple of moments for a kiss, and I put my arm around her waist. It hasn’t cooled down that much since nightfall, but her body is noticeably warmer than the night air.
She looks at me—she’s got this mischievous look on her face that makes her all the more beautiful—and she stands up. Taking me by the hand, she leads us back up to my car in the parking lot. She opens the back door, pushes me down on the backseat, and climbs in, shutting the door behind her.
Things get pretty hot from there. There’s a lot of fumbling. Articles of clothing wind up in the front seat, on the floor of the car, and, somehow, on the pavement just outside the driver’s side door (how her bra got out there with all of the doors and windows shut, I will never know). We’re pressed against each other, and she starts to kiss my neck. She works her way to my chest, then lower. I am about ready to burst at the seams with excitement. Holy shit, I can’t help but think. I’m finally going to have me some birthday sex. This is great!
My boxers are the last piece of clothing to be removed from either of our bodies, and she does it skillfully – with her teeth. And so things begin.
She’s about two minutes into giving me my birthday present when I hear a train blowing its whistle somewhere in the distance. Huh. Strange.
“Where is there a train around here?”
Fuck. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?
And as quickly as it began, it came to an end. She looks at me and I know I’ve messed up. The look she gave me said something like this: I’m here giving you the most intense pleasure of your life, and you’re focused on a train?
We got dressed (I followed her lead) and got out of the car for a cigarette. She’s pissed, and I can’t do anything except tell her how sorry I am; how I didn’t know why I said that.
(And it’s true: at the time, I didn’t know why I said it. I didn’t know why I would say something that I knew would kill the mood. But I’ve reflected on it a lot over the past six months, and I think I know now why I said it: It was an extremely romantic and sexually charged moment, and at some level I was a little uncomfortable with it. The intimacy scared me a little. I mean, here I was, in the backseat of a car with a girl who not three months ago was one of my best friends, and she’s giving me a blowjob. There was too much tension; I had to release some somehow. Not to mention the fact that I was used to interacting with this girl on the level of best-friends – not on the level of romantic or sexual partners. This was a different dynamic that I hadn’t yet fully managed to shift myself into. She was no longer just a “friend” – she was my girl.)
I must have apologized around a hundred times before we both finished our cigarettes and got back in the car – the front seat, this time. I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek to show her how much I mean it.
“I’ll drive you home.”
Up until this moment, she’s been glaring out the passenger window, but as I say this, she turns and looks at me and she’s got that same mischievous face as before.
“I never said I was done.”
And in another minute we’re in the backseat again, and there’s more fumbling, and articles of clothing are being removed. I decide to make it up to her, kiss her down her neck, her breasts, her belly. I remove the last piece of clothing with my teeth. She seems to be enjoying this.
Another train blows its whistle in the distance.
“Huh. You’re right. Where is there a train around here?”
You know, on second thought, I guess it wasn’t so bad after all.