Tonight and the Rest of My Life

As our date was coming to a close, I walked a little closer to The Grown Up, briefly grazing his hand with mine. We made our way from the pub to the car, and I knew I was a little tipsy, but far from drunk. I was giggly. Honestly, I was probably fucking adorable. He HAD to be falling in love with me. How could he not?

Tonight and the rest of my life

The car ride home was the complete opposite of the car ride to the restaurant. We chatted the entire time. I’m pretty sure I did most of the talking, but it seemed so easy…and he appeared to appreciate my ridiculous quirks. He laughed at my bad jokes and cracked a few of his own that I’m sure most people would cringe at. It was the most natural thing in the entire world.

When he pulled into my parents’ driveway around 11:30 pm, I wasn’t ready to get out of the car. I wasn’t ready for this night to end. So I kept talking. And talking. And talking some more.

The Grown Up reached up to my neck and started gently running his fingers through my hair. I lost all control of my heart rate and started thinking, is he going to kiss me?

We kept talking. I moved a bit closer to make kissing me easier. He’s not going to kiss me, is he? Why isn’t he kissing me?

And then he blurted out something that seems so peculiar, and yet completely fitting.

“I’m not good with people,” he confessed. He’s definitely not going to kiss me. What the fuck? He keeps touching me as if he likes me…you know what? Balls out, Chrissy. Balls out.

I was thrown back for just a second before I responded, “That’s okay. Just be good with me.” And then I kissed him. And it was magical. We kept kissing forever. Was it five minutes? An hour? I couldn’t tell you. But do you remember those days? The dating and kissing, and JUST kissing for hours? I loved that. I needed that.

Kissed Him

At some point, we resumed talking, with interspersed kissing. The Grown Up realized how late it was, and asked if I wanted to come home with him. Nevermind we had driven from a bar nearish his house back to my house which was in the opposite direction. Nevermind it was our first date. Nevermind he had to work the next morning. Nevermind every last bit of reason. Because wherever he was going, I was going too.

I confirmed that I would go, but I would NOT be banging him that night. It was just to sleep. And he agreed. I’d like to tell you it’s because I wasn’t that kind of girl. But really, it’s because I didn’t want to be that kind of girl. Not with him. There was something about him. I liked him. A lot. More than one should in the midst of a first date. But that didn’t matter because he liked me too. Well…at least he liked me at 1 o’clock in the morning when I was kissing him with fervent adoration…One could only hope that the feeling would continue through to morning, but only time would tell.

I ran into my house, grabbed a toothbrush and a few other essentials, and returned to the car with eager anticipation. I was going to see where this Grown Up lived. I was going to spend the night snuggled next to him. I was going to kiss him until I fell asleep. And I did all of those things. It was quite lovely. His room was small and just a little messy. But he didn’t share his room with anyone like a previous boyfriend. And he didn’t live with his grandparents like another guy I had dated. He was…a motherfucking grown up. We kissed some more and eventually fell asleep. I don’t entirely know how much sleep I got, but I slept in his arms the whole night…and for once, didn’t hate it. Who WAS this guy?

Someone pinch me, I think I fell in love that night. Of course, with my track record, I couldn’t help but think…how long would it last?

Think back to the last best first date you’ve had…how did it end? Did you scandalously spend the night or chastely make your way home? What are your thoughts on copious amounts of kissing? What’s the most magical kissing experience you’ve had in your adult life?

Read the next episode of The Handsome Grown Up, How to Lose a Guy is 6 Steps

When the guy you've been dating for a week or so seems too good to be true, you start busting out the big guns to see how far he'll let you go. Sometimes relationships are really weird.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

I Kissed a Girl

OK, so we all know that a pretty decent percentage of college girls eventually kiss someone of their own gender for one of three reasons.

1. They’re truly experimenting with the girl on girl thing.

2. They’re drunk.

3. They’re drunk AND looking for attention from dudes.

There may be other reasons, but those were the important ones.

So at some point during junior year, Claire and I decided that we hated men…after the Lumberjack and the Ethiopian respectively broke our hearts. Who needs ’em?! Right? We swore off men and decided to become lesbians. Except since neither of us is really into girls…and we still secretly wanted boyfriends, we became lesbian boyfriends (in name only.)

Do not discount the “in name only” part. We had a serious bond that could withstand the test of time. And marriage. And babies. (Yes, Claire still considers me her “lesbian boyfriend” despite her fancy house and husband and child and 3 dogs…although I still think one of those dogs should be mine…you know for balance. She could still have visitation rights…)

Rightfully so, this is mostly a giant joke. But on Penny’s 21st birthday (in which I was defo still under age, but using Mama Missy’s state ID for access to bars), The Lumberjack and the Ethiopian were both kinda hanging around…along with a lot of other handsome fellows.

Claire, Penny, Sheila, and I got shmammered that night. Penny kept shouting to the world in an adorable sing-song voice, “Who’s the birthday giiiiiiiiirl?! Penny’s the birthday girl!”

Near the end of the evening, Claire and I were explaining to our ex boyfriends the lesbian boyfriend relationship. They didn’t get it. “Wait, you don’t kiss? You should kiss.” And there in the back room of Gorman’s in front of a huge audience of drunks, Claire and I shared a ridiculously un-passionate kiss. It was then that I knew I would never. Ever. Be a lesbian. When you’re into dudes, kissing a girl is like kissing your hand (if your hand were to kiss back.) This is not to say that she wasn’t a good kisser–she was. Just you know…there was nothing there.

Of course the Ethiopian and the Lumberjack were significantly more impressed, as were a large portion of the male audience. Case in point: Girls kiss girls to rile up the boys.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!