Fuck me, I’m a lady after all.
Wait. Strike that, reverse it. Spank me I’m a lady.
After a long run of throwing caution and panties to the wind, I’ve been holding my ground and my underpants. The during, always good; the right after and next day not so much. So I decided to reign it in a bit, focus more on my heart, body and spirit and get up from the quick and casual horizontal. Make friends with men again, or at least first.
Out of the blue and over Facebook, I invited one to lunch. An old friend from school, circa 1982. We’d met up again five years ago or so for a meal and a chat. Last we’d talked he was married with kids. Last we’d talked I was 30 pounds heavier and unhappy and nervous and trying too hard to impress.
Did I mention the unrequited crush I had more years of my high school experience than not? Or that it felt a little giddy to see that name pop up on my caller ID box two decades later?
Did we even have caller ID back then?
He complimented my appearance immediately and after a brief one-armed hug, went in for the two, tight and with something of a swing to it. “Is he trying to pick me up?” I thought to myself. “Literally and physically lift me?" Been years since a man picked me up in that sense. Or any, really.
Can’t speak for him, but it turned out more like a surprise date and a surprisingly nice one at that. Opening doors and walking to the car after and leaning in, on both elbows, paying attention to words, asking questions. He even paid the check, then sent a e-mail the next morning thanking me for lunch, apologizing for keeping me so long, but reminding, “…the time just flew by." Some of the men I’ve slept with haven’t even called or checked in the next day, mostly because I didn’t expect them too.
Who’d have guessed it would take a boy from the past to make me feel like a lady.
And yes, he’s single now.