by Tami Anthony
“I know where,” I reply smiling. “I have the perfect place in mind.”
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It is known that whether you’re a tourist or a resident of Philadelphia, you haven’t truly experienced Philly until you’ve experienced the cuisine. Well, one cuisine in particular.
“Philly cheesesteak! Where have you been for all these years?” I moan as I bite into the juiciest, yummiest, probably most fattening cheesesteak of all time. Believe me when I say that it’s worth the extra calories and then some. “God, how I’ve missed Philly! How come they don’t have Geno’s Steaks in New York?”
“If Geno’s Steaks was in New York, then Philly wouldn’t be as popular as it is now,” Eric answers then takes a bite of his steak, cheese oozing at the top. “I can’t believe you’ve been back for five months and haven’t had a cheesesteak up until now.”
“It was definitely worth waiting for,” I say through a mouthful of food. “Mmmm, it’s good. Almost orgasmic. You know what, Eric?”
“What?”
“I’ve decided to have a love affair with food,” I say. “Forget men. They’re too difficult to deal with.”
“Men aren’t perfect,” Eric says. He’s only stating the obvious; then again, no human is perfect. “We always want something more. We could have Halle Berry knocking at our door wanting to marry us, and somehow we will find a way to fuck it up. We’re a complicated creature, us men.”
“So, what is wrong with me then?” I ask. “How come it’s so difficult for me to find a boyfriend that is normal?”
“Because you look desperate,” he tells me and I pout. Me? Desperate? I know myself. I know what I want in life … right? “We’ve been friends for years so I can tell you this without you going all psycho on me. Men don’t like desperate women. You gotta give us a reason to want to go after you, and you to not go after us.”
“I don’t feel like I do that,” I defend. “It’s normal to date different guys in different ways, isn’t it?”
“Has it worked for you?”
“No, but it may very soon,” I answer then take a sip of my soda. “Fine, it’s not working,” I admit. “What is it then? What do men want?”
“That’s easy,” he says. “There are only four things that men really want in the world and that’s sex, food, video games, and sports.”
“That’s the exact same thing that Karen said and I refuse to believe it’s that simple.”
“And beer,” Eric says. “But we can put that in the food category.”
“Naturally.”
“If I had a woman who can cook me a nice, warm, edible meal, play Madden with me on the Xbox, watch the Eagles game on Sunday afternoon, and give me a blowjob afterward without any complaining or drama, then it would be safe to say that I’ve officially found the one.”
“Spoken like a true gentleman,” I respond sarcastically. “So, it’s really that simple, huh?”
“Yup,” he says then takes another bite of his steak. “And if we’re on the subject of you, I think that any guy that’s not like the guys you dated in college is acceptable.”
“Wait a second. I dated some nice guys in college.”
“Douchebags, Leslee. They were douchebags.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now,” I say, laughing. “Name an example.”
“That one guy Jeff was a douchebag. And he treated you like shit.”
“That’s not true. He was a nice guy.”
“He was a nice guy to other girls,” he says. “That kid got more ass than a toilet seat when he was with you.” OK. So, he cheated on me. Yes, I was young and stupid, but I’m older now … and probably still stupid. Eric is right and I hate myself for it. How can he just bring up my past mistakes like this?
“Then there was that kid with the big ears,” Eric says as he sits and thinks for a second. “What was his name?” he asks and I know exactly who he’s referring to.
“Jordon,” I answer sullenly.
“Jordon! That’s it!” Eric says, laughing. “He was such a tool! And then there was another one—”
“OK, I get your point,” I snap. “I get it. I dated douchebags, but it’s not like you were any better than I was when it came to dating in college.”
“I didn’t date anyone.”
“Oh, that’s right. You just slept with poor innocent college girls and kept it moving,” I say, smiling. “You were the campus womanizer.”
“Leslee, it was college. Sex was the norm, and if you weren’t having sex, you were drinking.”
“And if you weren’t doing either?”
“Then you were Karen and Russ,” he answers. Yeah, they were kind of boring in college, well junior and senior year anyway. They were always studying, doing fundraiser work, and working internships to put on their resumes. It’s like they forgot what having an irresponsible college life was all about (irresponsible meaning fun … most of the time).
“I guess I’d rather be a Karen or a Russ than to sleep with every easy girl on campus,” I respond.
“If they were willing, then I was the man to deliver the goods.”
“Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “That was a very nice trait that you had: sleeping with women then ignoring them for the rest of the semester like you were doing them some sort of godly favor.”
“Hey, if I’d have found the right girl to settle down with, then I would have,” he tells me. “But the only girl I encountered in college that was worth dating was you … and you shot me down.”
“I shot you down because we were friends, and you had sex with everything that walked.”
“OK, OK. I’ll admit it,” he says. “I was a manwhore in college, but it doesn’t mean that I’m like that now.”
“I don’t know if I can believe that.”
“I told you on the phone last night how I haven’t had sex in six months. Do you know what six months feels like to a guy?”
“No,” I answer.
“No sex for six months is like an eternity without pleasure.”
“Is it true that if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it?” I ask, laughing. I stick my tongue out at Eric. He laughs at me and grabs my hand. He pulls me toward his car. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“To South Street,” he tells me. “A night like this in Philly shouldn’t be wasted.”
I nod my head. “You’re right,” I tell him. “A walk on South Street is perfect right now.” As I climb into Eric’s car, I realize that this is the best non-date I’ve ever been on. No pressure, no drama. Just me, Eric, and Philadelphia’s moonlit sky.
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After a night of cheesesteaks and a walk on South Street (including the pit stop to Copacabana’s for my strawberry martinis and Eric’s beer), we pull up in front of Eric’s place. Considering how drunk I’m feeling at this point, I’m happy that I finally had a normal evening with a normal friend who isn’t badgering me about wedding stuff. I can feel my head slightly moving from side to side. I smile.
“Are you okay?” Eric asks, laughing.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I slur. “I think I had one too many martinis.” I begin to giggle as I open the car door. Amazingly enough, it’s like I forgot how to climb out of a car. I wouldn’t say that my legs feel heavy, but they definitely feel different. Revelation of the night: I am drunk!
I try to stand myself up but I end up falling back into the car. I laugh. “You need help?” Eric asks as he stands in front of the car door.
“Nope,” I say struggling to get out. “Can’t I just stay in the car?” I ask. Eric shakes his head and lifts me out of the car. Instead of standing up on my own, I lean on Eric almost throwing him back to the ground. He picks me up and carries me to the front door. “Are you mad at me?” I ask.
Eric laughs. “No,” he says as he struggles to open the door. He hoists me on his back as if I’m some sort of extra luggage. He walks into the living room and puts me on the couch. I begin to giggle again.
<
br /> “See!” I say to him. “This is just like college, isn’t it?”
“You want some wine?” he asks me.
“Sure,” I slur. “Red wine … in a glass,” I say as he walks towards the kitchen. I pick up the remote from the coffee table and begin the change the channels on the television.
“Find anything good?” Eric asks as he walks out the kitchen with a bottle of beer and a glass of wine. He hands me my drink as he sits next to me. I begin to stare at him, from the hair on his head to the contour of his nose to the Adam’s apple on his neck. He doesn’t notice I’m staring because he’s too busy watching Sportscenter on the TV. “You okay?” he asks.
I look away from him quickly. “Yes, I’m fine,” I say as I take a big gulp of my wine. I begin to think of what he said earlier, the whole me turning him in down in college thing. I don’t think I was wrong. I wasn’t interested in him in that way. We were friends, just really good friends. Nothing could’ve happened between us then because we were so young. You can’t figure out who are at that age, can you? Besides, I was right. He was the campus womanizer at the time. I would’ve looked like a complete fool dating him. I would’ve gotten played and I would’ve lost my friend. I sigh. “Eric?”
“Yeah, Les?”
“Do you ever think about if I had said yes to you in college?” I ask. “When you asked me out?”
“Sometimes,” he answers. “We ended up being friends so I don’t regret it.”
“But if I had said yes,” I start, “do you think we’d still be dating now?”
“I don’t know, Les. Maybe. We were in college then. It’s hard to tell.”
“So you were attracted to me?” I ask.
Eric laughs. “Yes, Leslee. I was attracted to you. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I wasn’t.”
I move myself closer to Eric and begin to touch his thigh. “Are you attracted to me now?” I ask.
“No,” he says moving my hand away. He rises from the couch and walks into the kitchen.
Rejection. So this is what it feels like. I’m not saying that I’ve never been rejected before or anything, but I’ve never felt this crappy about it … and who is Eric to reject me?! He asked me out in college! OK, I know that college was ten years ago and all, but I pretty much look the same (except for the freshman fifteen that I gained that has yet to melt off my body), and I act the same. I’m the same person, so why would he reject me?
I pull myself off the couch and walk/stumble into the kitchen. I look Eric up and down as he stands in front of the refrigerator, then I plop into one of the kitchen chairs next to the table. He looks at me with a bowl of popcorn in his hand. “What?” he asks.
I sigh. “Why am I not attractive anymore?!” I whine. “Did I turn ugly in the past ten years?”
“No,” Eric says.
“Then what is it?!” Have I gone crazy? Have the strawberry martinis gotten to my head so much that I’m practically begging for a compliment? What is wrong with me? And on top of that, I’m incredibly horny! I don’t think I’ve wanted sex so badly in my entire life as I do in this very moment.
“Leslee,” Eric starts, “you are attractive. I didn’t want to say anything because we’re friends. We’ve been friends for ten years. There’s no drama between us.”
I want to rip off his pants—badly. Why does alcohol make you think bad girl things? I shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like this with Eric. When did I become a perv? And why do I want to kiss him and do the dirty with him right now? Calm down, I think to myself. It’s only Eric. If he didn’t have a penis, you would not want to do the dirty with him. That’s true. That’s very true. I need to just calm my hormones and pass out on his couch without even touching him if that’s possible.
“You want to watch a movie?” he asks me and I nod my head. “Which one?”
“I don’t care which one,” I say as I try to stand up from the chair and I fail miserably. Eric laughs and walks over to me. He tries to help me up with his one free hand and I almost fall back. “I can’t stand up on my own,” I tell him. I begin to flap my arms around in the air, knocking the popcorn bowl out of his hand. It scatters on the floor, and we both begin to laugh. “I’m really, really drunk, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you are,” he says as he holds me up so I don’t fall.
“Did I ruin your night?” I ask him.
Eric laughs. “No,” he answers. “If anything, my night is more entertaining because of you.” I never realized how incredibly white Eric’s teeth are until this moment. He has the perfect smile, the perfect lips, the perfect eyes that are looking into mine. My heart begins to beat a little faster as my lips move closer and closer to his. Before I know it, I’m planting the most sensual, sexual kiss on Eric that a drunken fashionista can, that is, until he pulls away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We can’t do this,” he tells me shaking his head. “I mean, I want to do this, but we can’t do this. We’re friends. Besides, you’re too good for me and you’re drunk.” I laugh. All I can do is laugh. “What’s so funny?”
"Nothing," I say and continue to laugh. "Very smooth, Eric. Very smooth. I like the whole ‘you're out of my league’ approach. Very classy touch."
"It wasn't an approach. It's true," Eric says. "If I ever ended up with you, it would be an accident because I know how I am and right now I'm too focused on my career to be with anyone.”
“Oh, I forgot Mr. Internet Guru,” I say sarcastically. “You’re so busy following the path of Mark Zuckerberg and that’s why you went on a date tonight.”
“Leslee, it wasn’t a date,” he says. “It was more of a business meeting, and yes, Leslee, believe it or not, you are too good for me." He begins to jiggle his keys in his pocket. "I'm sorry, Leslee. I'll just take you home and tomorrow you can—“
I silence his talking by kissing him, and with not just any kiss. One of those long, passionate kisses that you’d probably see in a movie. You know, the ones where you grab the guy’s head and run your fingers through his hair to the point where he can’t let you go and doesn’t want you to stop. Yeah, just like that.
We continue to kiss as he runs his hands up and down my back. Our kiss gets deeper and more passionate as I begin to pull on his shirt. I end up pushing everything off of the kitchen table behind us and sit on top of it still kissing him. I move my lips down to kiss his neck. I begin to unbutton his shirt and feel on his rock-hard stomach. I’m a sexual animal right now. Take me, future Internet guru! Take me! TAKE ME!
“You sure you wanna do this?" he says breathlessly and my mind is already made up.
“Yes!” I moan loudly as I lay myself onto the table, his body on top of mine. He begins to kiss my neck and slowly moves his hands underneath my shirt. I pull him closer to me, moaning my life away. He feels so incredibly good on top of me and I haven’t even checked out the goods yet! I begin to unbuckle his belt and I unzip his pants feeling every single inch of his erection. There is a God, there is a God, THERE IS A GOD! “Oh!” I moan loudly as he moves one of his hands further down my body and unzips my jeans. Eric pulls off my shirt and starts to kiss between my breasts. He moves his lips to my stomach and works his way down, pulling off my jeans and underwear. I feel a tingle below my waist. I want him so badly! As I slowly open my legs, his kisses work their way down until his lips reach my below my waist. I can feel his tongue making me wetter then I was before and my body just wants to explode. I want to have sex with you! I think to myself. I want to have sex with you now! As I run my fingers through his hair, his tongue is moving deeper and deeper inside me. I begin to moan. “Oh! OH! HOLY GOD, OOOOOH!”
Chapter Twenty
On the outskirts of Philadelphia in the Villanova area, the sun is brightly shining outside, and the birds sing in harmony for Mother Nature wasn't being a bitch today. The weather, for once, was fantastic, yet in my own little mind, there is a horrible thunderstorm ... with heavy rain and extreme winds. In other words, I wake up this m
orning feeling and more than likely looking like complete and utter shit with a terribly drastic hangover, an overcast of deadly morning breath, and naked—very, very naked. To top it off, I'm not in my bed. I'm somewhere else lying next to the last person I'd ever thought I'd sleep with: Eric. Oh God, I think to myself. I KNOW I'm not in South Philly anymore. Maybe if I click my gold-jeweled Steve Madden heels together, some magical spirit can send me home or at least wake me up from this horrific nightmare. Toto, where the hell are you?!
As I squirm in the comfortable bed that's obviously not mine, under a cozy blanket that's not mine, in the room that once again is not mine, I begin to think happy thoughts. Did I actually have fun last night? Did I have so much fun that I'm waking up like a college kid again? A wicked smile rises upon my face.
Still a bit confused (and secretly happy that I actually got laid last night or at least I think I did because my memory is cloudy from the booze), I'm really in desperate need of some semi-friendly advice, some honest girly advice, some Annie advice. I look on the bed for my clothes and they're not there. I check the floor … no clothes, but somehow my Louis Fuitton purse (yes, Louis Fuitton, the knock off brand of you-know-who) is there with my trusty cell phone. Fantastic! I quietly move myself to the very edge of the bed, blanket still on top of me. As I try to put my feet on the floor, I realize that I can't move. Eric is not only covered by the same blanket as me, but the blanket is tucked under his body, too. Shit. Hoping to heavenly God that he's a heavy sleeper (you know, the type who can sleep through thunderstorms and earthquakes), I give a hefty tug and attempt to take the blanket from Eric. Doesn't work. I take a deep breath, count to three, and give another hefty tug, this time successfully taking the blanket from him and ungracefully falling on the cold hardwood floor. I take a peek on the bed to see if I woke him up. He’s still asleep thank God! I quietly grab my cell phone and purse, wrap the blanket around my birthday suit like a college drunk's toga, exit Eric's room, and shut the door.
Tiptoeing through the house, I make my way to the kitchen. I sit down at the table and vigorously dial Annie's cell number. On the second ring I think to myself, if there's a God, this untrustworthy whore, um, friend will answer her phone. On the third ring, I hear a click in the phone, then, thank God, Annie's horse-like voice.
