I Kissed My Dream Girl and Ended Up With a Moisturized Face
"Monogamy is such a silly thing," she said. "It's one of the few things in life society accepts as completely rational when in reality, it's completely ludicrous."
We were outside her above-average apartment on a balcony that overlooked the city-scape, sipping bourbon she assured was at least mid-shelf. I hadn't heard of it. The moon was small but bright. It was sweater-weather, the evening temperature for early spring in Middle America. Two stories down, we spotted a guy watching porn. We laughed. And then I kissed her.
She was beautiful. Her blonde hair looked like California. Her voice was that perfect movie-star combination of sweet, soft, and sexy. Her eyes were so blue they looked photo-shopped. Her body was shaped like a guy designed it. Her lips were naturally full. And she smelled nice. But not in an overwhelming way. In a way that you'd only notice if your nostrils had the privilege of being close enough to witness it.
"I'll never know what it's like to be with a woman like that," I had speculated many times, even while making out with her.
She was a girl I had known for years. Well, known is a strong word. Watched. A girl I had watched for years. No, that sounds creepy. Noticed? I had noticed her for years. She was older. A senior when I was a freshman back in high school. But none of this is important.
A week prior to tasting her tongue, I messaged her on Facebook. Partly because, fuck it, maybe she'd say yes. Partly because I really did need a place to stay before an early flight. I'm still unclear of her intentions, but she said sure. I could use her couch as a bed for a night.
When I got to her place, the vibe was not the "nostalgic sexual tension" I had dreamt about the previous night. It was much more of a "glad ya found it okay!"
After expressing extreme gratitude for the hospitality, surface-level chitchat about life, and (fearful it was too soon) asking for her Wi-Fi password, we went to dinner. A hip sports bar in a hip neighborhood. The kind that has more TVs than there could possibly be games to watch in one night. We met up with her friends. A couple of guys and a couple of girls. I quickly noted the impressive number of empties occupying the table. Following suit, I ordered a beer. But when the waitress returned, four shots accompanied the beers. Two placed in front of me. Two placed in front of her.
"Y'all need to catch up!" cheered the small, drunken mob.
I wasn't raised to turn down a drink. But an early flight was creeping into my conscious. My hesitation must have shown.
My phone lit up with her name.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know they were drunk. You don't have to drink and we can leave early."
We took the shots. We had several more drinks. And then we left. We never ate.
When we got back to her apartment, she grabbed a bottle of bourbon and two tumblers and walked out to her balcony. Struggling to slide the door back to its closed position, I obeyed the silent command.
"Monogamy is such a silly thing," she said. "It's one of the few things in life society accepts as completely rational when in reality, it's completely ludicrous. I mean, out of all the people roaming this planet, you're supposed to find just one and never romance again?"
I loved the way she used the word "romance" as a verb.
I come from a happily-married household, but I started to see her point. Mostly, because her monologue wasn't coming from a hateful or revengeful place. She felt it deeper. Like she was looking at the society she was critiquing from a million miles away. Like she was an old, wrinkled woman looking back at her life, wondering why she wouldn't want to give love a go with everyone she met in her 20s and 30s.
Or maybe it was the mid-shelf night-cap kicking in.
She went on, "Maybe we all just take love too seriously. I get raising kids and taking care of a home is easier with the complete attention of two adults. And I get that it feels nice to always have someone have your back. But for every moment I've felt complete with another person around, I can tell you five more when it was just me."
If whether or not I should kiss her wasn't consuming my mind, I would've given this conversation the attention it deserved. I still regret not asking a follow-up question.
But we kissed. Like drunk high schoolers in mom and dad's basement, we kissed, moving back inside to her sectional couch.
"Is your roommate home?" why I even asked, threatening to end this unbelievable event, I have no idea.
"She's a nurse. Works the night shift." She took off her shirt.
We kissed more. For hours. Until she graced me with one final goodnight peck before retreating to her room. I didn't know at the time, but just like that, it was over. Half-nude, full-horny, alone, I dazed off on her couch.
Three hours later, I woke up. Still drunk, I put my clothes on and went to her bathroom. Splashing cold water on my face, snippets of last night splashed around my memory. I'm not sure why, but I decided to use her face lotion that sat in a Target-esque basket near the sink. I had never used face lotion before. But my face now smelled of a new yet familiar scent. Hers.
As I collected my scattered belongings, drunken me thought it would be proper to leave a note. A nice "Thank You" note from a writer. And maybe some cash for picking up the tab last night. I folded up her clothes, and placed the note with cash on top. Then, I headed for the airport.
"I shouldn't be driving," I whisper-sighed to myself while driving.
Sitting in the terminal, I could still smell my face. The scent was a welcomed toxin. A constant reminder of the night I just had. I was delusionally exhausted, but it didn't matter. That smell made everything worth it. I leaned back in the standard-issue pleather terminal chair, letting my eyelids collapse and my mind drift.
"I wonder when I'll see her next. She'll probably call me when I'm in the air to see if I made it okay. I'll have to tell her about the face lotion thing. She'll think that's sweet. Wait. What the hell did that note say? What did I write? Oh well, she'll let me read it later."
A few hours later, I landed at LAX with no missed notifications. I haven't heard from her since.
To this day, I buy the same face lotion.