This classic rehash is from nearly 10 years ago....but...remarkably...still quite relevant. Enjoy.
It was now Sunday night and I was trying to find the necessary energy to be able to rally and go out for a fourth consecutive night. Three nights in a row is normally my limit, but this was a special occasion. I was in Atlanta for a friend’s wedding over Labor Day weekend. The partying started Thursday night with the bachelor party and continued through the wedding on Saturday night. My buddy, who came into town with me for the wedding, was done. Despite his intensive military training (he’s an Army Ranger), he was cooked. Three strikes and he was out. My other friend, whom we were staying with, has never been able to sustain any long stretches of debaturay. He even skipped the bachelor party. In fact, this guy starts losing it after 2am. No way was he going out on a Sunday night, even though the next day was Labor Day, and he was off from work. Believe it or not, some of my friends actually have real jobs.
It was now Sunday night and I was trying to find the necessary energy to be able to rally and go out for a fourth consecutive night. Three nights in a row is normally my limit, but this was a special occasion. I was in Atlanta for a friend’s wedding over Labor Day weekend. The partying started Thursday night with the bachelor party and continued through the wedding on Saturday night. My buddy, who came into town with me for the wedding, was done. Despite his intensive military training (he’s an Army Ranger), he was cooked. Three strikes and he was out. My other friend, whom we were staying with, has never been able to sustain any long stretches of debaturay. He even skipped the bachelor party. In fact, this guy starts losing it after 2am. No way was he going out on a Sunday night, even though the next day was Labor Day, and he was off from work. Believe it or not, some of my friends actually have real jobs.
That left with me Nando. And let me say for the record, I was more than happy to go out with just him. If this guy didn’t live with a pseudo wife and have a kid, we’d be real tight. Nando is the perfect guy to go out with because he loves to play the game. It’s not that he cheats or anything like that, but, as a wingman, he’s the best. Now that he’s tied down, I think he gets just as much pleasure out of watching the game. You know, kind of living vicariously through us single peeps. He’ll talk to anyone and say anything. He’s also a very cool cat and never seems to get rattled. And he’s black. Political correctness aside, he’s one of those black guys that can swing both ways. Meaning, he can hang with the brothers, but also dip with us crackers. He’s kind of like smooth white chocolate. Anyway, Nando was critically important to the evening that lay ahead.
We were headed to Otto’s, an ethnically diverse upscale club in Buckhead. Sunday night was the night at this place. Nando had been there one or two times before so he knew what to expect. It’s the kind of club that I love. The crowd is mixed. The music is Hip Hop and R&B. There’s multiple rooms and levels split between lounge and dance areas. And there are lots of beautiful babies. We had one other thing going for us too. Nando had somehow become friends with one of the Atlanta Falcons and we were meeting him at the club. This was not a bad thing.
Before going forward, you should know, I have a weakness for brown sugar. I love fine black women. I don’t know if it’s the attitude, the taboo or the exotic aspect, but the attraction is there. My friend and I kid each other all the time about who’s going to sleep with a black woman first. It’s kind of silly and a bit immature, but all I know is he’s sitting at home tonight and I’m not. And he’ll be pissed if I do score some chocolate candy tonight.
Anyway, I pull up to the club in a cab and it’s a mob scene outside. Nando is already inside, but had left my name at the door. The line is all the way down the block. And the cover is like $20. There’s no way I’m waiting in this thing. So, I walk right up to the front and tell the door guy that I’m supposed to meet this Falcon player inside. And he should have left my name. The guy is like, “Anybody else with you, or just you.” I tell him calmly, “Just me man.” And boom. He parts the velvet rope and lets me in.
It was about 11:30 and the place was slammed. Lots of nice stuff. Also, very black. From what I had been told, I was expecting a 50/50 black/white split, but from the looks of it so far, it was more like 80/20. Of course, I notice a few glances my way as I head to the front bar for my first beverage. Actually, I drank some before I left, so it wasn’t really my first of the night.
After about 15 minutes of checking the place out, I run into Nando in the back bar. He’s got a half-finished drink in one hand and a cigar in the other. And a big smile. He tells me, he left our boy upstairs to come down and find me. I didn’t even know there was an upstairs. The layout of the club is very cool. Downstairs is more the laid-back lounge style. There’s like three separate areas down here, with lots of couches and a couple of different bars and there’s a small dance area too. The downstairs is like a pre-party room filled with couples and those who can’t get upstairs. The action is upstairs. So, ebony and ivory head over to the stairs, and of course, there’s a line and a bouncer. You know you’re at a trendy place when there’s velvet ropes and lines inside. Some people don’t like putting up with this kind of bullshit, but it doesn’t bother me. I just kind of laugh at the whole thing. However, we do have a potential problem. How the hell are we going to get up there now I wonder? The line is more like a free-for-all shoulder to shoulder NY subway ride at rush hour. We try to tell the bouncer who we’re with….you know the Falcons player…and he’s like, “So what.” He says something like: “Do you know who is else is here? Everybody’s here man. I got players, musicians, actors, models….who isn’t here?!”
Standing against me happens to be a particularly sweet Vanessa Williams esque female. Apparently, unlike most clubs, this place does not discriminate when it comes to women and this cutey is having just as hard a time trying to squeeze her way up the stairs as we are. She’s got the most beautiful eyes and I smile at her. She smiles back. We start some small talk. I ask her if this place is always this crazy and she says she doesn’t know, this is her first time here. Rather than bullshit her, I decide to play the honesty thing and tell her the same. About now is when Nando nudged me to tell me how sweet this girl was. As I turn to him, I see my Nubian princess being led up the stairs by her friends. I catch her in time to say bye and that I’ll see upstairs. And she waves and smiles, but there was something different about her goodbye. It wasn’t the typical see ya later, I’ll never see you again bye. It was an unexpected, optimistic looking, hopefully, I do see you later bye. I turned to Nando to confirm and before I could say anything, he goes, “Dude, I think she liked you.”
“Where the hell is our boy?! We need to get upstairs!” I say out loud to nobody.
A couple of minutes later, our black knight appears at the top of the stairs. He spots Nando and yells to him, “What the hell are you doing down there?” He walks down to the bouncer and points us out and just like that, we’re in…or up that is. Cha-ching. The upstairs is going off. It’s like a brown sugar Disneyland. The Falcon dude is cool as shit. Like Nando, he’s got a cigar and half-a-drink. The three of us hangin’ together is kind of funny to see. He’s like 6’3, 230…big and black. Nando is like 5’6, 140…little and black. And I’m 5’9, 150…little and white. It was a scene. I offer to buy everyone a round. After all, that’s the right thing to do. I’m here because of them. Of course, they both like that idea. I quickly find how upscale this place is when the round is like $25. Some brother next to me orders a bottle of champagne, calmly hands over a c-note and just as calmly says, “Keep the change.” Everyone that’s in this place thinks they’re big time. And they’re not afraid to let you know it either. Thinking that my whiteness might actually work to my advantage, I roll around with Nando with a bright confidence no money can buy. We hit some small talk here and there, but nothing really evolves. A couple of drinks later and I’m ready for one of Nando’s patented cigars. Although we’re getting drunk, smoking, and having a good time, I am not unaware of the reality setting in. This may have once been an equal opportunity club, but times have changed. The black women here want black men. And the 5-10 percent of the white women here, they also desire brothers. Nando agrees. I wish I could find that girl from the stairs.
We’re now in one of the upstairs back rooms. It’s a little more low-key here with a back-bar and some couches and sofa chairs scattered around. I’ve carelessly let my cigar fizzle out so I ask Nando for a light. And then I notice a cute little blonde with straight hair to mid-way down the back, casually smoking a cigarette on one of the couches. She appears to be sitting there by herself. And she’s white. I tell Nando to standby and that I’m going to ask her to light me up.
I normally can’t stand girls who smoke. I don’t like the smell or the attitude that usually comes with it. However, tonight, I’m feeling a little indifferent. Probably because I’ve chosen to smoke a stogie myself might have something to do with it, but I’m also in the middle of a pretty decent weekend. And, although I haven’t got laid yet, I have managed a public make-out each of the last 2 nights. I guess I’m willing to put up with the smoke for now.
She notices me coming over. Then, as a smoker does, promptly takes one of those I’m all that last second puffs, before allowing a smile to break across her face. I lean over with my flamed out cigar and politely ask her if she would re-light me up. She teases me about letting it go out. I reply with some quick sarcasm about not being man enough to smoke it all at once. I guess she found my silly remark kind of funny because she laughed and pulled out some matches. Without hesitating, I ask her if she minds if I sit down with her. She says no and slides over to make room. Her name is Julie and she is smokin’. She’s wearing those black fuck-me pants and a matching, sleeveless, tight little black top. Nice rack. I’m as cool as could be, puffin away on the cigar, casually checking her up and down.
Suddenly, I remember a conversation I had with two women a while back in a bar. They tried to tell me they would never date a guy they met in a bar. They said, “Look at everybody here, it’s a meat market. When you meet a guy here, he’s only interested in one thing.” Now you know, I had to put them on trial. In my best lawyer-like naiveté, I baited them with “So, who, do you date?” They answered, “Ohh…guys we meet through work or through friends.” They were in trouble. I continue with my sarcastic innocence, “So, these guys from work, they don’t go to bars?” They tried to reason with me that somehow these guys they knew from work and through friends were somehow different from the guys standing and scamming all around me in this bar. By the way, I took myself out of the equation right from the beginning by telling them I had no interest in sleeping with either one of them. And what kind of reaction did I get from that comment? “Gee, thanks a lot.” So, if I told them I was interested in having sex with them, they would? These women had not yet evolved and accepted one of the most innate facts of men: Ultimately, we think and act the same no matter where we are or what situation we’re in. Most women do their best efforts to romanticize and idealize us, based upon false truths and contrived perceptions, in order to justify their personal needs and fantasies. The fact remains, we all just want to get laid.
Julie and I seem to hit it off right away, trippin’ on all the wanna-be players struttin’ by. She tells me she’s been here before, back when there were a few more white people. “Not only that,” I tell her, “But the few whites that are here all got jungle fever.” Of course, I don’t mention the fact, that I am one of those people. I tell her I was beginning to think there was nobody here interested in white dudes. She laughs and puts her hand on my leg. She wants to do some tequila shots. There are lots of things I’ll do for women, unfortunately, tequila is not one of them. Just the smell makes me want to vomit. I tell her, “You’re on your own…surprise me with something else.” And she’s like, “OK, don’t move, I’ll be right back.” So she gets up and heads for the bar while I sit back to take a few more puffs and watch that hot little ass walk away. Nando comes over and he’s all excited, like a little school-girl at recess. I’m like, “Dude, did you see any of that?!” And he says, “Yeah man, I was standing right over there watching the whole fucking thing. I’m saying to myself, man, Steve is one lucky motherfucker. Look at that girl laughing at all his stupid shit, rubbin’ all close up against him. She is cool as shit man.” He goes on to say, “Man, I can’t take it anymore watching this shit. I’m gonna’ try and find (the Falcon).” He gives that patented Nando laugh and takes off. I love that guy.
Julie rolls back with a pair of shots, one drink and one extraordinary, sexy smile. Tequila for her, and for me, something that doesn’t smell too bad. We toast and down the hatch. Tequila, gone. I didn’t finish mine. It wasn’t that bad. Like I said I can’t stand tequila, but, I do greatly admire a girl that can suck it down with ease. She makes me finish. I like this girl. She’s got some real attitude. The drink is some Vodka based concoction that she wants to share. Yummy. That I can do. By now in the evening, I’ve had more than enough alcohol to want to rip this girl’s clothes off right there on the couch. I ask her what she does and she tells me she doesn’t want to say. Of course, I know what that means. “What are you, a garbage person?” I ask her just to kind of throw her off a bit. She’s amused, but not fooled. I can tell by that little smirk, the kind that all women do when they realize, you know, what they know. Guys don’t care what women do. They can be trash-collectors, lawyers, seamstresses in a sweat shop, whatever; as long as they’re hot and they like us, that’s good enough for us. We are a simple kind. I press her for an answer and she proclaims, “I’m in the entertainment field.” She says it like it might have an adverse affect on me. Why should I care? I tell her that’s cool, not wanting to act overly excited by jumping to any preliminary judgement. She won’t tell me where she works or anything else. She’s being very mysterious. Is she a stripper? An escort?, A bartender?, Maybe a promotions coordinator? I decide not to press it. I just hope this night doesn’t turn out to be too expensive.
Nando returns to tell me he’s taking off. This is good because now Julie knows I’m flying solo without me having to tell her. Although, I still haven’t told her I took a cab here and I don’t have a ride home. Obviously, I’m planning now to go with her, wherever she is going. Julie gets up and grabs my hand and tells me we have to try and find her friends. She leads me around the club, holding onto my hand the whole time. Her hands are soft and warm. She has good hands. We bump into some guy she knows and quickly introduces me. He notices we’re holding hands. I just give him the cool, “Nice to meet you man.” Julie asks him if he’s seen so and so (I can’t remember the names). He says they’re all meeting back at the car. So the three of us walk out together.
As soon as we get outside, a photographer comes rushing up to us. You know, one of those club photographers that will snap a polaroid for $5. Well, Julie wants one. I mean she’s begging for one. Except the picture was $10. Of course we take it and I come out looking like a drunken idiot. I hope she doesn’t still have it. We find the rest of her group, but the person that drove can’t find her keys, and now we have to wait for a locksmith because she thinks the valet might have locked them in the car. Great. Luckily, the guy friend we walked out with offers to drive just me and Julie. She’s cool with that, and so am I.
Before heading home, they want to stop at this after-hours bisexual place. I’ve actually been there before, with other girls, and I figured, as long as I was still with Julie, things would be OK. The group is now me, Julie, 3 guys and a girl. By the time we get to the new club, it’s around 4am. And, I’m still holding Julie’s hand. We order a few drinks, walk around. She starts recognizing people and saying hello and looking a little too comfortable in this place. But, I don’t care. There’s only one thing I’m thinking about now. We stay for about a half an hour before finally heading to Julie’s apartment. I’m riding in the back with Julie and I start playing with her hair and she’s got her leg wrapped inside mine.
The group decides they all want to stop at Steak and Shake for some chili. I start making a little more nice to Julie and the next thing I know she’s got her teeth clamped on my hand. I mean, she was biting me. It kind of came out of nowhere and I think she was trying to be a little sexually freaky because she did not appear angry. The group kind of just laughs it off, but my hand was hurting. And I had the teeth marks to prove it. At least there was no blood.
We get to the Steak and Shake and Julie wants me to join her in the bathroom. Normally, I would have jumped on this opportunity, but given the prior circumstances, I did not want to chance a random biting somewhere else. She tells me it will be worth it, but I just tell her that I can wait until we get back to her apartment. I know. That was probably a mistake. Somebody wants to make another stop at a convenience store to buy some chips or something. I actually like this idea ‘cause I need to get some condoms. I won’t have sex without them and I was hoping not to bring it up with Julie. You never know how she might react even though it seems like a sure thing at this point. A girl might be planning on having sex, but if a guy says the wrong thing or brings it up first, poof! It could all go away just like that.
Julie and another girl went into the store and I followed behind. But how was I to get to the counter and pay without her seeing? I kind of lagged behind. And as they finished paying, I walked up with the condoms in hand, closely guarded. I kind of looked at the cashier and he kind of looked at me like, all right dude; either like he didn’t know I was about to pay for something else or he knew what I was paying for and was letting me slide out undetected. Whatever the case, I slipped the 3-pack in my pocket and rolled out of the store, fully protected, back into the car.
We finally reach Julie’s apartment around 5am. And wouldn’t you know it? Everyone decides to come upstairs. So now, it’s like a party. Except, I’m tired, horny as hell and not in the mood to eat, any food that is. Julie whips out some sexy lingerie pictures of herself and a couple of cuties. She mentions something about her job, but I’m not sure. Everyone else in the room seems to know what’s going on except me. At this point, I feel a little neglected, almost ignored. They pop in a movie. I think it was Scent of a Woman. Who-ahh.
Anyway, I’m still trying to be cool. I try and say something to Julie. Maybe I should just go and give up. Call it a night. I don’t want to do it, but it doesn’t seem like these guys aren't leaving anytime soon. I probably should have asked to see Julie in her bedroom or just yelled out, “Can all of you please go the fuck home, so I can bang the fuck out of your little friend here.”
Instead, I said, “It’s late. I should probably get out of here. Can you call me a cab.” Julie asks if I was sure and I said, “Yeah.” I figured this was her chance to put up a fight for me if she really wanted me to stay. Once all her friends got involved in the night, it got kind of strange. It’s always better when it’s just you and her and nobody else to interfere, offer opinions or pull her away.
The sun is starting to come up when the cab finally shows up. To my pleasant surprise, as soon as I get up from the couch to leave, Julie pops up and says, “Hold on, I’ll walk you down.”
We were on the third floor, so it’s a long enough walk to have a little conversation with her alone. I tell her I kept hoping for her friends to leave so we could be alone. She tells me she had a really good time and the next thing I know is I’ve got her pinned against the wall and I’m making out with her. I tell her that I had wanted to spend the night with her. And then she really surprises me with, “Well, it’s not too late. I was about to go to bed.”
The cab is honking me to c’mon. I look up and see one of the guy friend’s looking down at us through the window. As much as I wanted to sleep with her all night, believe it or not, I felt like I was done. I was so tired. I told her I was still in town for another night and I would call her later that day. She gave me her pager number and I got in the cab and left. The night was over. The sun was now up.
Post-Hash
I called Julie the next afternoon and never heard back from her. I called her again when I got back to New York and she didn’t return that one either. I tried one more time a couple of weeks later and she returned that call. She apologized saying the second time I called she was at a concert and her pager only holds numbers for so many hours. She never offered a reason why she didn’t get back to me while I was still in Atlanta, but claimed to be happy I finally called again. We talked and agreed to see each other the next time I was in Atlanta. When I did finally return two or three months later, she never returned my calls. I think I ended up paging her about six or seven times one night, before my friend thought it might be wise to put an end to this nonsense and burn the number, which we then proceeded to do.
I normally can’t stand girls who smoke. I don’t like the smell or the attitude that usually comes with it. However, tonight, I’m feeling a little indifferent. Probably because I’ve chosen to smoke a stogie myself might have something to do with it, but I’m also in the middle of a pretty decent weekend. And, although I haven’t got laid yet, I have managed a public make-out each of the last 2 nights. I guess I’m willing to put up with the smoke for now.
She notices me coming over. Then, as a smoker does, promptly takes one of those I’m all that last second puffs, before allowing a smile to break across her face. I lean over with my flamed out cigar and politely ask her if she would re-light me up. She teases me about letting it go out. I reply with some quick sarcasm about not being man enough to smoke it all at once. I guess she found my silly remark kind of funny because she laughed and pulled out some matches. Without hesitating, I ask her if she minds if I sit down with her. She says no and slides over to make room. Her name is Julie and she is smokin’. She’s wearing those black fuck-me pants and a matching, sleeveless, tight little black top. Nice rack. I’m as cool as could be, puffin away on the cigar, casually checking her up and down.
Suddenly, I remember a conversation I had with two women a while back in a bar. They tried to tell me they would never date a guy they met in a bar. They said, “Look at everybody here, it’s a meat market. When you meet a guy here, he’s only interested in one thing.” Now you know, I had to put them on trial. In my best lawyer-like naiveté, I baited them with “So, who, do you date?” They answered, “Ohh…guys we meet through work or through friends.” They were in trouble. I continue with my sarcastic innocence, “So, these guys from work, they don’t go to bars?” They tried to reason with me that somehow these guys they knew from work and through friends were somehow different from the guys standing and scamming all around me in this bar. By the way, I took myself out of the equation right from the beginning by telling them I had no interest in sleeping with either one of them. And what kind of reaction did I get from that comment? “Gee, thanks a lot.” So, if I told them I was interested in having sex with them, they would? These women had not yet evolved and accepted one of the most innate facts of men: Ultimately, we think and act the same no matter where we are or what situation we’re in. Most women do their best efforts to romanticize and idealize us, based upon false truths and contrived perceptions, in order to justify their personal needs and fantasies. The fact remains, we all just want to get laid.
Julie and I seem to hit it off right away, trippin’ on all the wanna-be players struttin’ by. She tells me she’s been here before, back when there were a few more white people. “Not only that,” I tell her, “But the few whites that are here all got jungle fever.” Of course, I don’t mention the fact, that I am one of those people. I tell her I was beginning to think there was nobody here interested in white dudes. She laughs and puts her hand on my leg. She wants to do some tequila shots. There are lots of things I’ll do for women, unfortunately, tequila is not one of them. Just the smell makes me want to vomit. I tell her, “You’re on your own…surprise me with something else.” And she’s like, “OK, don’t move, I’ll be right back.” So she gets up and heads for the bar while I sit back to take a few more puffs and watch that hot little ass walk away. Nando comes over and he’s all excited, like a little school-girl at recess. I’m like, “Dude, did you see any of that?!” And he says, “Yeah man, I was standing right over there watching the whole fucking thing. I’m saying to myself, man, Steve is one lucky motherfucker. Look at that girl laughing at all his stupid shit, rubbin’ all close up against him. She is cool as shit man.” He goes on to say, “Man, I can’t take it anymore watching this shit. I’m gonna’ try and find (the Falcon).” He gives that patented Nando laugh and takes off. I love that guy.
Julie rolls back with a pair of shots, one drink and one extraordinary, sexy smile. Tequila for her, and for me, something that doesn’t smell too bad. We toast and down the hatch. Tequila, gone. I didn’t finish mine. It wasn’t that bad. Like I said I can’t stand tequila, but, I do greatly admire a girl that can suck it down with ease. She makes me finish. I like this girl. She’s got some real attitude. The drink is some Vodka based concoction that she wants to share. Yummy. That I can do. By now in the evening, I’ve had more than enough alcohol to want to rip this girl’s clothes off right there on the couch. I ask her what she does and she tells me she doesn’t want to say. Of course, I know what that means. “What are you, a garbage person?” I ask her just to kind of throw her off a bit. She’s amused, but not fooled. I can tell by that little smirk, the kind that all women do when they realize, you know, what they know. Guys don’t care what women do. They can be trash-collectors, lawyers, seamstresses in a sweat shop, whatever; as long as they’re hot and they like us, that’s good enough for us. We are a simple kind. I press her for an answer and she proclaims, “I’m in the entertainment field.” She says it like it might have an adverse affect on me. Why should I care? I tell her that’s cool, not wanting to act overly excited by jumping to any preliminary judgement. She won’t tell me where she works or anything else. She’s being very mysterious. Is she a stripper? An escort?, A bartender?, Maybe a promotions coordinator? I decide not to press it. I just hope this night doesn’t turn out to be too expensive.
Nando returns to tell me he’s taking off. This is good because now Julie knows I’m flying solo without me having to tell her. Although, I still haven’t told her I took a cab here and I don’t have a ride home. Obviously, I’m planning now to go with her, wherever she is going. Julie gets up and grabs my hand and tells me we have to try and find her friends. She leads me around the club, holding onto my hand the whole time. Her hands are soft and warm. She has good hands. We bump into some guy she knows and quickly introduces me. He notices we’re holding hands. I just give him the cool, “Nice to meet you man.” Julie asks him if he’s seen so and so (I can’t remember the names). He says they’re all meeting back at the car. So the three of us walk out together.
As soon as we get outside, a photographer comes rushing up to us. You know, one of those club photographers that will snap a polaroid for $5. Well, Julie wants one. I mean she’s begging for one. Except the picture was $10. Of course we take it and I come out looking like a drunken idiot. I hope she doesn’t still have it. We find the rest of her group, but the person that drove can’t find her keys, and now we have to wait for a locksmith because she thinks the valet might have locked them in the car. Great. Luckily, the guy friend we walked out with offers to drive just me and Julie. She’s cool with that, and so am I.
Before heading home, they want to stop at this after-hours bisexual place. I’ve actually been there before, with other girls, and I figured, as long as I was still with Julie, things would be OK. The group is now me, Julie, 3 guys and a girl. By the time we get to the new club, it’s around 4am. And, I’m still holding Julie’s hand. We order a few drinks, walk around. She starts recognizing people and saying hello and looking a little too comfortable in this place. But, I don’t care. There’s only one thing I’m thinking about now. We stay for about a half an hour before finally heading to Julie’s apartment. I’m riding in the back with Julie and I start playing with her hair and she’s got her leg wrapped inside mine.
The group decides they all want to stop at Steak and Shake for some chili. I start making a little more nice to Julie and the next thing I know she’s got her teeth clamped on my hand. I mean, she was biting me. It kind of came out of nowhere and I think she was trying to be a little sexually freaky because she did not appear angry. The group kind of just laughs it off, but my hand was hurting. And I had the teeth marks to prove it. At least there was no blood.
We get to the Steak and Shake and Julie wants me to join her in the bathroom. Normally, I would have jumped on this opportunity, but given the prior circumstances, I did not want to chance a random biting somewhere else. She tells me it will be worth it, but I just tell her that I can wait until we get back to her apartment. I know. That was probably a mistake. Somebody wants to make another stop at a convenience store to buy some chips or something. I actually like this idea ‘cause I need to get some condoms. I won’t have sex without them and I was hoping not to bring it up with Julie. You never know how she might react even though it seems like a sure thing at this point. A girl might be planning on having sex, but if a guy says the wrong thing or brings it up first, poof! It could all go away just like that.
Julie and another girl went into the store and I followed behind. But how was I to get to the counter and pay without her seeing? I kind of lagged behind. And as they finished paying, I walked up with the condoms in hand, closely guarded. I kind of looked at the cashier and he kind of looked at me like, all right dude; either like he didn’t know I was about to pay for something else or he knew what I was paying for and was letting me slide out undetected. Whatever the case, I slipped the 3-pack in my pocket and rolled out of the store, fully protected, back into the car.
We finally reach Julie’s apartment around 5am. And wouldn’t you know it? Everyone decides to come upstairs. So now, it’s like a party. Except, I’m tired, horny as hell and not in the mood to eat, any food that is. Julie whips out some sexy lingerie pictures of herself and a couple of cuties. She mentions something about her job, but I’m not sure. Everyone else in the room seems to know what’s going on except me. At this point, I feel a little neglected, almost ignored. They pop in a movie. I think it was Scent of a Woman. Who-ahh.
Anyway, I’m still trying to be cool. I try and say something to Julie. Maybe I should just go and give up. Call it a night. I don’t want to do it, but it doesn’t seem like these guys aren't leaving anytime soon. I probably should have asked to see Julie in her bedroom or just yelled out, “Can all of you please go the fuck home, so I can bang the fuck out of your little friend here.”
Instead, I said, “It’s late. I should probably get out of here. Can you call me a cab.” Julie asks if I was sure and I said, “Yeah.” I figured this was her chance to put up a fight for me if she really wanted me to stay. Once all her friends got involved in the night, it got kind of strange. It’s always better when it’s just you and her and nobody else to interfere, offer opinions or pull her away.
The sun is starting to come up when the cab finally shows up. To my pleasant surprise, as soon as I get up from the couch to leave, Julie pops up and says, “Hold on, I’ll walk you down.”
We were on the third floor, so it’s a long enough walk to have a little conversation with her alone. I tell her I kept hoping for her friends to leave so we could be alone. She tells me she had a really good time and the next thing I know is I’ve got her pinned against the wall and I’m making out with her. I tell her that I had wanted to spend the night with her. And then she really surprises me with, “Well, it’s not too late. I was about to go to bed.”
The cab is honking me to c’mon. I look up and see one of the guy friend’s looking down at us through the window. As much as I wanted to sleep with her all night, believe it or not, I felt like I was done. I was so tired. I told her I was still in town for another night and I would call her later that day. She gave me her pager number and I got in the cab and left. The night was over. The sun was now up.
Post-Hash
I called Julie the next afternoon and never heard back from her. I called her again when I got back to New York and she didn’t return that one either. I tried one more time a couple of weeks later and she returned that call. She apologized saying the second time I called she was at a concert and her pager only holds numbers for so many hours. She never offered a reason why she didn’t get back to me while I was still in Atlanta, but claimed to be happy I finally called again. We talked and agreed to see each other the next time I was in Atlanta. When I did finally return two or three months later, she never returned my calls. I think I ended up paging her about six or seven times one night, before my friend thought it might be wise to put an end to this nonsense and burn the number, which we then proceeded to do.
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