Yet another story from years ago – this one I was reminded of last night when a friend did something similar (and called me LATE at night – after I’d suffered through another freezing game in the Bronx – to talk about it). She felt bad and I commiserated – but didn’t volunteer my own story to make her feel better.
I’m a bitch.
That doesn’t mean I won’t share the story with my readers though. In fact, it will be good to get this one off my chest – I haven’t really known what to make of it since it happened anyway. Just keep in mind, I was young and stupid then – so don’t judge me:
Several years ago my parents decided to take everyone on a cruise. The family used to go on cruises once or twice a year when I was younger, but as everyone grew up and went away to school/graduated and got jobs, my parents stopped taking us. They kept going away. They just stopped inviting us along.
Anyway, with all of us out of school and working, finding a time when everyone could get away was hard. But we managed. And before I knew it we were in Europe aboard a ship. It was beautiful, nice to have everyone together, and relaxing. And I needed a vacation – I had just broken up with my boyfriend. We’d dated for a while, and while I was happy to see him go, it was still stressful. So what I needed were naps, lots of good food, and many massages.
I was in the right place.
I guess it was about three or four days into the cruise when I noticed this guy. He was an officer on the ship (and had the cute white uniform to prove it), and he kept watching me. Whenever I saw him he would be looking at me. And he was scrumptious.
Not only did he have the uniform, but he was JUST MY TYPE. By my type, I mean he was tall, lean, and he had blonde hair. I have a thing for blonde hair. (I would later find out he was from Norway – let’s just say he looked like he would be from Norway.)
But I decided he was off-limits. Why? Well, I was on vacation with my family, I had just gotten out of a relationship, and I did not need a guy. I needed a break from guys. So I pushed Blondie to the back of my mind.
A little over a week into the trip, I knew I had made the right decision. I was having a great time. How had I forgotten how much I LOVED cruises? I love lying around all day, I love stopping in for quick look-sees at different ports, and I love just standing on the deck looking out at the ocean all around me. But most of all, I love the evenings. I love getting dressed up every night, going for drinks before dinner, and going to the casino after dinner. It’s decadent and perfect.
I didn’t need anything else. Well, except for maybe…
One night after dinner I walked into the casino. Still in my formal dress, I saw my sister across the room at a blackjack table. As I started to make my way towards her, I noticed a blonde head sitting to her right. Hmmm.
Sneaking up behind my sister, I tapped her on the shoulder and quickly stole a glance to her right. Yup, it was Blondie in his formal uniform. Uh-oh – he looked good enough to eat.
After a quick chat with my sister, I settled back to just watch them play (my luck in the casino during that cruise was beyond awful). And somehow Blondie and I got to talking. He had a charming little accent, blue eyes, and dimples. I was in trouble.
Not helping things was the fact that I’d had a drink before dinner, a couple glasses of wine with dinner, and I was sipping on some Chambord at the casino (after-dinner drinks almost never work, but on a cruise they’re practically required). Either way, I was under the influence – I had spaced things out enough to not be drunk, but I wasn’t sober.
All of a sudden Blondie and I weren’t just talking, we were flirting. My sister noted this and excused herself. I didn’t leave with her. Instead I stayed with the man. (Big mistake.)
At some point we wandered from the casino to the nightclub, and from the nightclub to his room. I honestly don’t even remember how it happened. But however it did happen, I somehow found myself sitting on the couch in his room, and we were kissing.
And it was weird.
Don’t get me wrong, he was gorgeous. He knew what he was doing. But it was weird.
His tongue felt too big. His hair felt strange. His body – which was perfect – felt odd. ‘He doesn’t feel like [my ex]’ I thought.
Where did that come from? What a ridiculous thought. And what the fuck was I doing thinking about ANYTHING, much less my ex, at that moment anyway?
I mean, sure, it made sense that I would find it a little strange to kiss a new guy after kissing someone else for the previous two years. But eventually I’d get swept up in the moment and my brain would shut down. Right?
So I waited. I waited to get swept up in the moment. His kissing technique was great, I thought. He was sexy, I thought. He was doing everything right, I thought.
So then why was I still in my own head?
Shit. Keep trying.
I kept trying as he unzipped my dress. I kept trying as I unbuttoned his jacket. I kept trying as we moved to the bed. I kept trying while my hand was down his fucking pants. And all the while, I was thinking, ‘I’m not enjoying this.’
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed a break. Sitting up in the bed, I said something about using the bathroom and escaped.
Closing and locking the door behind me, I turned and stared at myself in the mirror. I was not wearing a whole lot at that point, but it was my eyes that I was concentrating on. Nope, no answers there.
With a sigh I turned, and sat on the edge of the tub. I just needed to think about things logically. If I wasn’t enjoying myself, then I should just stop. Right?
Ugh, but I couldn’t leave at that point! I was not (and I hate this word, but what else really applies here?) a cocktease.
[Note: I don’t believe in owing a person anything. Just because a guy buys me dinner or a drink doesn’t mean I owe him anything more than a thank you. I also don’t believe in rules like ‘you need to go on three dates with someone before sleeping with them,’ etc. My whole theory is and has always been: Do what you want and what you’re comfortable (and can live) with. As long as everyone involved is a consenting adult, who cares what anyone else thinks. Period. Now, having said that, I don’t generally try to give men the impression that they’re going to get something when they’re not. So this situation had become a bit of a moral dilemma.]
After about three minutes, I took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom. I needed to man-up and make a decision. Either go through with it or ends things right then.
And there was Blondie, stretched out on the bed in his unbuttoned pants and nothing else. Long, tanned, and hot as hell.
Wait, what was the problem?
So I walked over to the bed and crawled on top of him. I started kissing him again, thinking everything was solved. Only his lips still felt strange. His hands still felt weird.
What the fuck?!
Trying to calm down and STOP THINKING, I felt momentary relief when he pulled my hair a little bit and kissed my neck – I love that. Only…shit, it wasn’t working. That trick always works!
OK, no problem. Leaning over I kissed his neck, nibbled on his ear, started kissing my way down his chest, and…
He chucked, said something in Norwegian (I’m assuming) and rolled me on my back. And then he was kissing me everywhere again. Only that left me with nothing to do. I couldn’t just lie there – that left entirely too much time for thinking and concentrating on relaxing.
Just as I thought I was getting a handle on the situation, he started to move south. And one thought jumped into my head and sent me into panic mode – ‘No way. Much, much too personal – not gonna happen.’
So, as he headed…down, I half sat up and said, “I think I should go.”
Just like that. No explanation. Nothing. I said it, scrambled off the bed, grabbed my dress and slipped it on, and scurried to the door. Then I stopped.
Agh, what was I doing? I couldn’t just leave like that? I couldn’t turn into THAT girl? I had to at least say something.
So I turned and looked over at him – sitting in the middle of the bed looking all beautiful and confused – and opened my mouth to at least say I was sorry. But nothing came out.
Feeling like the biggest pussy in the world, I just turned the knob and left. I totally wimped out. I froze under pressure (and I NEVER do that – I am fucking great under pressure)! I turned into someone I would usually mock. And it sucked.
Needless to say, I avoided Blondie like the plague for the rest of the cruise – which did mess with my relaxation plan quite a bit. But I deserved it.
And…that’s it. That’s the story. I have never, ever told anyone about this. Ever. So do me a favor – after you read this, feel free to comment a little bit, and then banish it from your mind forever. Because it never happened. Got it?