[Disclaimer: This didn't occur during my current relationship; sometimes I jump around in the timeline to write about someone in my inventory. See the inventory on the left side of my blog for details.]
I sang Johnny Mercer/Harold Arlen's "Blues in the Night" with the university Jazz Band, and I was damn sexy. I didn't really think of it that way at the time. I really didn't. I'm one of the most innocent people I know - or maybe I'm just the most naïve. At least, I used to be innocent, before all "this" happened. You know, the Fall. It's what this whole blog is about. How a sweet, innocent, straight-A student like me ends up in all leather singing a sexy blues tune with a jazz band. I wasn't really attractive growing up, so I still get surprised when I get asked out. Even after a performance like the one I put on that night.
He was black. I hadn't dated a black guy yet. Is it racist to feel like I've accomplished something? He was talented, charismatic, the host of the show - just the kind of guy I'm attracted to, and just the kind of guy who knows what to say to a girl. And I'm just the kind of girl to fall for a guy who knows just what to say to the kind of girl who's gonna fall for what he's gonna say.
He came up to me with a single white carnation in his hand. "Here. Great job tonight. I think I might have to ask you for your number. But first...what's yo' name?" It took him a second to get into the groove.
I laugh nervously any time this happens, and guys love it. They think they're so funny and attractive. Go me. "Adora...what's yours?" Tee hee.
I'm smiling and looking him right in the eyes. He bit his lip. Real smoov, dude. "Emmanuel."
My heart's racing, I can't lie. This is the nature of things. I'm not really that interested in anything except the feeling. I want more of it.
"Say, Adora, why don't you let me buy you something to eat? Then maybe I can ask you for your number."
"Sounds good to me." I was starving.
We went out to his car. It was in bad shape. He took me to IHOP. Meanwhile, I'm letting him lead the conversation, and I'm just responding. It's really not hard work at all.
He flirts with the waitress who seats us at a booth. He's making her laugh nervously, just like he did me. Wow, what a player.
IHOP had a special bacon menu at the time, and we both ordered from it, plus we both added extra bacon to our meals. We started getting into some meaningful conversation after we bonded over our bacon. I told him about my recovery from alcoholism, and he told me about his mom with mental disabilities. It was getting interesting now. I could see us becoming friends.
He thought he was going to shock me with what he said next. "I don't tell any body this...but for some reason I just feel like can tell you. So here goes, ready?" He took a sip of coffee and raised his eyebrows. I'm thinking AIDS.
"I'm a sex addict." Close enough. Shit, if he only knew.
"Hey, that's cool," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "No wonder we get along so well." It's true - addicts of whatever kind find each other kindred.
"But I want to change," he said. "Like you. Two years sober, that's so inspirational."
Should I tell him? Sure, why not. "Actually, Emmanuel, I'm a recovering sex addict, too."
"Really?! You?!"
(Told you, I'm so 'innocent', people just have no idea. But it's about powerlessness, not purposefulness.)
"Yeah, but I'm trying to change that, too. No sex til marriage. That's my new thing."
"Whoa, I wanna calm down, but....I don't think I could do that."
We kept talking for a little longer about it; he told me how many women he dates (and usually "does") a week. Between one and three (and now I didn't feel like such a slut). He told me how he goes to salsa dancing every weekend and picks up women without fail, every time. Even at the beach - he had sex with a random chick last week just hitting on her in the water. Did I believe it? Yeah. He wasn't bragging. He was remorseful, because most of them end up wanting relationships, and he just wants to do it once and move on to the next one.
We moved on to talk about the poetry slam/jazz concert, and I volunteered to start a facebook page for him. It sounded like a great plan - he wanted to expand to other colleges and universities in the area. I work in performing arts publicity, so I wanted to help. We exchanged numbers, he paid the bill, and he took me back to my car at the university.
"Adora, thank you," he said. "I really like you. You're one of the most amazing women I've ever met."
"Thanks," nervous laughter. "I'll send you an admin invite once I get the page set up." I grabbed my box of bacon pancake leftovers and got out. No kiss. Just a hug. Refreshing. "Have a good night."
"Thanks, you too!"
The next day was Saturday; I got the facebook page set up, and called him. It started off okay, but then he started talking about how he's never wanted anyone so badly in his life, and he wanted to see me again. I told him no - let's just be friends. I don't know where my power came from all of a sudden - probably from his talk of how many chicks he bangs every week and how much he hurts them. I didn't want to be one. I had been one too many times with other guys.
But he wouldn't let up. Being turned down must have really turned him on. I tried to talk to him a few more times over the next couple of weeks to discuss what school he wanted to put on the next poetry slam at, and when, but the conversation would always revert back to him talking about what women he wanted to do (but didn't want to do - the struggle of an addict), and of course, how he wanted me most of all.
So I handed the page over to him, blocked him on facebook, and deleted his number.
I know he wanted to change - we all do - but it's just not possible on willpower alone. And I couldn't help him in that regard worth a damn. Quite the opposite. That's like telling your bartender you want to quit drinking...after this one.
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