Just Friends With Benefits

by Schorr, Meredith

  The margaritas went down very well and with each glass, the conversation got sillier.

  Ryan swallowed a chip, put down his glass and gave me a serious look. “So, Zach or Slater?”

  Of course, I knew exactly who he was referring to and was psyched that Ryan and I clearly had one thing in common—television trivia. “What about them?” I asked.

  “Who would you rather have sex with?”

  Without hesitation, I said, “Zach.” I thought about it for another second, nodded and repeated, “Definitely Zach, which is odd since I don’t usually go for blondes. What about you? Kelly or Jessie?” I guessed he would say Kelly.

  “Neither. Turtle was my favorite. She was a cutie.” Ryan popped another chip in his mouth, swallowed and turned serious again. “Okay, Potsie or Ralph the Mouth?”

  Laughing, I said, “I had a secret crush on Potsie when I was younger but now I think I’d like Mouth—he was funny.” I lightly tapped my hand over Ryan’s across the table and said, “By the way, I’d actually prefer neither.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “Not an option in this game. You have to choose. Your turn to ask me.”

  I figured it would be my turn at some point and so I had already given it some thought while we were discussing “Happy Days.” I quickly asked, “Laverne or Shirley?”

  Even quicker, Ryan responded, “Laverne. Shirley is prettier but doesn’t strike me as much fun. Okay, which staff member on the “Love Boat”?”

  “That’s a tough one. Dr. Bricker was a ladies’ man but only because he was a doctor. Isaac was gross, but he had access to all of the booze on the ship which could help. I used to dig Gopher but not so much anymore.” Grimacing, I said, “This sucks. Please don’t make me choose!”

  Ryan was unrelenting and didn’t even crack a smile when he insisted I choose.

  “Fine!” I pictured each of my choices leaning in to kiss me and shivered inwardly until I remembered something. “I got it! Ace the photographer! He was actually handsome, although I think he might be gay. Anyway, I’ve got one for you.” I paused dramatically as Ryan waited. “Mrs. Garrett or Cloris Leachman from “The Facts of Life”?”

  “I think I need a shot of tequila before I even consider that one.”

  “You have to choose!” I mocked.

  “I choose tequila. Let’s do a shot.”

  Extending my arm across the table, I said, “Twist my arm.”

  By the time the food came, I was more interested in whether Ryan was going to order another pitcher of margaritas than I was in eating my crabmeat enchiladas. I was also finding it very difficult not to “accidentally” brush my legs against his under the table. Each time I smiled at something Ryan said, I worried I had salsa in my teeth. And I really had to pee but was reluctant to interrupt the flow of the conversation. I put it off as long as possible but eventually excused myself to go to the bathroom. I got up from my seat and, when attempting to squeeze past the table next to us, knocked over the basket of chips.

  I said, “Oh shit” and bent down to pick the basket off of the floor. When I looked up, the two girls at the next table smiled at me sympathetically. I turned to Ryan, mortified, but he just laughed and said, “You warned me that you were clumsy. At least the basket was almost empty.”

  I was definitely buzzed and, as I walked to the bathroom, I concentrated on not tripping or banging into any waiters. As always, there was a line for the bathroom and when it was finally my turn, I let out a sigh of relief while I peed for longer than the squatting position was comfortable. Before returning to the table, I ran a brush through my hair and, although I considered reapplying my lip gloss, I decided against it. It would just end up on my glass anyway.

  I must have made a wrong turn after leaving the bathroom because I couldn’t find Ryan. After I circled the restaurant in a panic, I finally spotted him. As I sat down, I said, “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

  “Actually, yeah,” he said. “The entire restaurant did the Macarena. It was awesome.”

  I placed my hands on my hips and pouted. “Damn. Why do these things always happen when I’m not around?”

  Ryan winked. “It’s a conspiracy.”

  When the check came, Ryan immediately picked it up. Being cheap was a deal breaker for me and so I really hoped he would pay but didn’t want to make assumptions. Hoping I didn’t sound as awkward as I felt, I asked, “Do you need any money?”

  Ryan looked up at me from the bill and said, “No way.”

  Happy that I didn’t have to stop liking him, I smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Ready to go?”

  As we left the restaurant, I wondered what would happen next. I didn’t want the night to end, but I was already experiencing mild stomach spasms from the two pitchers of margaritas we shared and figured they wouldn’t be so mild if I continued to drink. So much for drinking one glass for his every two.

  When we got outside, Ryan walked to the edge of the sidewalk and I followed him. As we stood face to face, he smiled and said, “I’m impressed.”

  Surprised, I said, “With what?” Recalling that confidence was supposedly a turn-on, I quickly added, “I mean thanks, but why are you impressed?”

  “You can handle your tequila.”

  “Not really. I’m kind of buzzed,” I admitted.

  His eyes sparkling, Ryan repeated, “Kind of buzzed, huh?”

  I laughed and said, “Drunk girls never admit to being drunk. Just buzzed or maybe ‘feeling it.’ I’m feeling it.”

  “And I’m still impressed. And it only took you two laps around the restaurant to find me after your bathroom break. You’ve got a stellar sense of direction.”

  I blushed at the realization nothing got past this guy and he seemed to like me anyway. My lips tingling to feel his, I said, “I’m glad you’re impressed. I am too.”

  Moving closer to me, Ryan asked, “With what?”

  I took a small step closer to him and replied, “With you.”

  “What about me?”

  Not removing my eyes from his, I took his hand in mine and said, “Just you. Period.”

  It felt like minutes that we stood there looking at each other but I think it was only a few seconds before Ryan sealed the remaining space between us and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Wanting more, I released his hand from mine, wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, this time more passionate. The beginnings of stubble on his chin felt rough against my face, but I didn’t care. He smelled like spiced vanilla and his hands in my hair felt sexy. I wanted to swallow him whole.

  When we finally separated, I squeezed him fiercely and said, “I’ve wanted to hug you since the moment we met!”

  Ryan smiled and softly caressed my earlobe with his thumb and index finger before leaning down and planting a kiss on top of my diamond stud earring. “I think I’ll refrain from confessing what I’ve wanted to do since we met, at least for now,” he said. “I’d suggest another drink but since you’re already ‘feeling it,’ it might get you drunk. Wouldn’t want that.”

  I was ready to go home and sleep off the tequila but I hoped he’d mention going out again first. “I had fun, Ryan. Thanks again,” I said.

  “Me too. Do it again? We never did discuss “Three’s Company”.”

  “It’ll just have to wait until next time then,” I said, happily.

  After one more kiss, Ryan hailed me a cab. I smiled all the way home and even with the room slightly spinning, fell asleep thinking I just had one of the best first dates ever.

  Thirty-four

  On our second date, a few days later, we went to an Orioles/Rays game. Ryan was an Orioles fan and, since they weren’t playing the Yankees, I rooted for them too. Ryan barely reacted when I accidentally spilled some of my beer on the head of the guy sitting in front of us. The guy was really pissed off, though. I apologized profusely and even offered to buy him a drink, but ten minutes later, he was still running his han
ds through his hair as if it was soaked with beer.

  “It’s just a little beer,” Ryan whispered to me. “The guy’s a pussy. Don’t sweat it.”

  Nothing seemed to bother him. Not my endless stories about my college glory days. Not my insistence that Eric knew more about music than anyone. He didn’t even flinch when I referred to the Philadelphia Flyers as a basketball team. It was only after the date that Sam informed me the Flyers were a hockey team. On our third date, I told him my mom wished I’d fall for a Jewish guy just to see how he would react.

  “That’s okay,” he said with a laugh. “My sister converted to Judaism two years ago. That makes me sort of Jewish by association.”

  But he wasn’t a kiss ass. He made fun of me plenty. Especially the collection of sappy music on my Ipod like Five For Fighting’s “100 Years” and Bonnie Rait’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” And when I enthusiastically sang along with the jukebox to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” he hid one arm behind his back while pretending to play the drums to mimic Rick Allen. He was plenty obnoxious, but on our fourth date, when we befriended tourists from Scotland who wrapped their arms around his shoulders while singing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” at the top of their lungs, I felt his charm deep in my loins and I had to have him.

  Our beers were empty and when he asked if I wanted another one, I shifted my bar stool so I was leaning into him, put my hand on his thigh and said, “No. I don’t want another beer. I just want you.”

  Ryan’s lips curled up slightly but did not quite make it to a smile. He nodded, turned to the bartender and said, “We’re gonna close out our bill now.”

  We didn’t say a word during the few blocks walk from The Dubliner to my apartment. We just held hands and walked as briskly as possible. We hurried into the elevator and just as the door was about to shut, a hairy arm shoved its way inside and the door opened again to allow entrance to a man and his dog, two young girls and a older woman. Ryan and I stood on opposite sides from each other and as the elevator stopped on every floor before mine, we’d sneak glances at each other trying not to laugh. When at last we made it to my floor, I grabbed Ryan’s hand and pulled him towards my apartment at the end of the hall. I started to unlock my door but when he began kissing my neck from behind, I dropped my pocketbook, turned around, put my arms around his neck and kissed him. We sucked face like horny teenagers for awhile until Ryan moved aside some hair near my right ear and whispered, “Think we should go inside?”

  I held his face in my hands, kissed the top of his nose and then his chin before saying, “If that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “My wish is your command.”

  With a devilish grin, he said, “You mean ‘your wish is my command’?”

  “Whatever. Get your ass inside,” I said.

  We didn’t bother turning on any of the lights in my apartment, but I insisted on background music. “I don’t like fooling around in silence,” I said. “Is that weird?”

  “Not really. But I don’t think I can perform to Barry Manilow or Babs.” Ryan sat on my couch and straightened the pile of direct mail catalogs I kept on my coffee table. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out on the off chance I might decide to order the stainless steel bakeware set from Crate & Barrel or the new bra from Victoria’s Secret.

  As I walked towards my CD player and pondered our choices, I said, “Really? I thought we’d dance to the Copacabana first to get in the mood. Not for you?”

  My back was still toward Ryan but, when I felt him tap me in the back with his finger, I spun around to face him.

  “Stephanie,” he said. “I’d listen to a CD of you singing at your Bat Mitzvah if it meant I could see you naked.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Seriously. You’ve never heard me sing.”

  “Uh, yes I have.” Assuming a high pitched, completely off-key tone, Ryan began to sing “Take the bottle. Shake it up. Break the bubble. Break it u-up!” until I pushed him and said, “Do you want to see me naked or what?”

  His fingers already working the buttons on my blouse, he said, “Hells yeah.”

  And with that, Ryan and I had sex for the first time, but not before I put on the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. We simultaneously made out and undressed to “Staying Alive” and I nearly lost it when Ryan started dancing in his boxers. During “How Deep is Your Love,” Ryan admired my nipples for an extended period of time. We kissed some more during “Night Fever” and I started cracking up.

  He was leaning over me, one hand on the bed and the other softly caressing the side of my face. “You know I’m not laughing at you, right?” I asked. “It’s just I’ve never hooked up to the Bee Gees before. Kind of amusing.”

  “You can laugh at me all you want. So long as it’s not right after I take off my boxers. That would be bad, Steph.”

  I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t really concerned. “Moment of truth time?” I asked.

  “I’m ready when you are,” he said.

  “Flip over so I can do my thorough examination.”

  “My wish is your command.”

  He was now on his back and I placed my thumbs on the elastic of his boxers and very slowly pulled them down. With each gentle tug, I looked up at him and smiled wickedly. Finally, I planted a kiss on his belly where there was a trail of dark hair leading downward. I ripped the boxers the rest of the way, exposing a perfectly acceptable sized package. “Whew,” I said as I wiped my brow in jest. “You had me worried there for a moment, but this will do just fine.”

  Since I was down there already and his penis was staring right at me, practically saying “please,” I decided not to limit my kisses to just his belly. I always wondered if I was very good at it but I had read enough articles on the art of the blow job to be fairly confident. And no one had ever complained. Ryan certainly seemed pleased.

  His face flush, he said, “Your turn” and started to inch down the length of the bed. Suddenly, I felt nervous. I tapped him on the head and when he looked up at me said, “Can I take a rain check?”

  Looking slightly offended, he sat up and said, “Uh, sure. You okay?”

  I sat up too and pushed the blankets off of the floor so there was nothing between our naked bodies. Pushing him on his back, I said, “I’m more than okay. I just want to be with you. I mean, really be with you. But I’ll definitely turn in that rain check another time.” And I meant it. I just found oral sex more intimate than intercourse and wasn’t ready.

  The smile back on his face, Ryan said, “works for me!” flipped me over so I was on my back and kissed me. I kissed him back until kissing turned into kissing and groping, and we kissed and groped until kissing and groping turned into kissing, groping and fucking. And when the fucking came to an end, we both lay on our backs, spent and looking up at the ceiling. But then Ryan poked me in the belly.

  I turned my head to the side to face him. He was propped on his side smiling at me. I poked him back. Knowing full well why he was so giddy, I asked, “What are you smiling about?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Orioles won tonight.”

  I glared at him. He glared back and we attempted a staring contest. Within seconds, I started laughing. Ryan had more practice keeping a straight face, thanks to his weekly poker night with the guys but moments later, started laughing too.

  Afterwards, we stayed up for hours watching infommercials. I was this close to buying a fruit dehydrator but Ryan had one and wasn’t impressed.

  I sat up and looked at Ryan who was lying on his back propped up against both of my pillows. “So, who did you sleep with before buying your fruit dehydrator?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I thought about it for a second before responding. “Actually not. So long as she’s no competition for me now.”

  “No worries, Steph,” he said.

  “Good. Now I can sleep peacefully. ‘Night, Ryan.�
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  Ryan inched closer and curled his body around mine. “Good night, Stephanie.”

  I closed my eyes but knew I wouldn’t fall asleep right away. I was totally fine staying up, playing the night back in my head over and over again. I was at the point in my flashback where Ryan and I left the bar when he whispered from behind, “Steph?”

  Without moving, I said, “Yeah?”

  “I heard somebody say.”

  I wiggled out of his embrace and turned around to see Ryan lying perfectly still with his eyes closed. “You heard somebody say what?” I asked.