Superheroes: Thor
{excerpt from memoir number two}
Ah, single life. I’ve been a little boy crazy. When have I not been? With the exception of my lesbo years, of course. I've had a couple boys in succession right out of the break-up gate with Cole. A bunch of random one-night stands.
The bartender. Erin and I called him Thor. On account of his dope ass shoulders, big hands and basic demeanor. We’d been flirting for a long time (when I was still with Daniel). Harmless. Really more coming from me than him. As you know, I’m shameless. Both of us hitched, but both unhappy and sexually frustrated made for super fun over-the-bar energy. Safe, but charged. Then suddenly Thor was single. Hell yeah!
I should mention that Thor was newly clean and sober. He was trying overly hard to be responsible and appropriate. Not as much fun for me, but I was so turned on by him that I overlooked it. His flirtations were present, but reserved. Driving me nuts. I’m a forward, let’s-be-adults-and-do-this kind of gal. So just when I had given up on the idea and had accepted our platonic friendship, bam! He pulls a fast one.
I went in one lazy Sunday with my girl, Chase, to wet our mouths and look for new talent. I thought he had stopped working Sunday’s. It was me and Erin’s regular drinking day there, so we sorta new his schedule. But not in a creepy, stalker kind a way. Leaning more on the bar hero side. I wasn’t trying to avoid him, I was actually trying to be less creepy, drinking on his off day, but there he was, in his tall and handsome glory. He was managing. this was new. My side of the bar. He sat and ate dinner with us. It was all very sweet. Chase is amazingly ridiculous and our time together is never boring. We usually only spend about four minutes sober in each other’s company. So five cocktails in and a couple trips to the bathroom, we were the bells of the bar. Men love Chase. They like me, but they flock to her.
Around 10pm she was turning into a pumpkin (man at home) so we said our goodbyes. I was planning on having one more. I’m notorious for my comfort in being alone. I make friends. I write. Not to mention I knew all the guys working.
Thor slides up next to me and says he’s getting off soon and would I like to hook up? I was dumbfounded. Side swiped. Oh life, you’re a funny fucker.
Um, hell yes, I’d like to! I live closer to the bar, so we decide on my place.
“I don’t have any condoms” I announced. Never one to mince words.
“I’ll pick some up on the way.”
And it was on! I was not sober. I wasn’t exactly expecting this. I would have preferred to be a little less drunk, but whatever, how often does that happen?
He arrived. I gave him the nickel tour and put on some music. This next part is a wee hazy, but since I can recall most of the actual sex, I think it’s safe to assume we just got undressed. He was a good kisser and thankfully a decent cock. Which had been up to much debate between Erin and I. We even brazenly drew a life-sized penis on two napkins once and asked him if we were close…no shame).
He opened the condom and with amazing ease and I swear slipped it on with one hand! impressive. Or perhaps I only had one eye open.
We maneuvered into and out of all the positions. It was fun, but I was too drunk. No way could I come. Also, I kept feeling like my breath was not amazing (him being dead sober and aware). Why I didn’t just go to the bathroom and use mouthwash or reach into my goodie drawer for gum is beyond me. I blame the booze.
Two condoms in and my bed moved two feet from the wall, it was over. He got dressed surprisingly quick. Don’t get me wrong, no way I wanted him staying the night, but I had waited so long for this, I sorta wanted more skin, smell and kissing. No matter. I hugged him goodbye and that was that. The next time I went into the bar, he acted a little odd, no more than usual, mind you, but I was hoping we could have crossed a comfort line. Him having been inside me and all, but apparently not. Too bad. I was also hoping to get a second chance, being a little less inebriated. No go on that one either. He text me the following day and said that fucking me (I’m sure he didn’t use that word) had brought up some old feelings and that he probably couldn’t do it again. He was only a year sober. Bummer, but ok. I told him that I understood and that I support him. I hate the idea of him thinking I have bad breath or was a mediocre lay. I guess I’ll just have to live with it. Hell, for all I know, it could have been his breath. I don’t usually have that issue.