Dating Can Be Fun

By the title, I mean that it can be, if you don't stress out about it. If you really care, if you're looking for lasting love, if your biological clock is ticking away madly, then it tends to be less fun. Of course, it can also be really great, but not necessarily in the meaningless, fun kind of way.

I've got to give my date a name, so I'm going to call him Simon. That is decidedly not his real name, but it'll do. And as I was looking for a fun time, not really even any expectations of anything more than a social evening, maybe a few drinks I wouldn't have to pay for, some nice conversation, I was definitely prepared to have a fun time on my date, rather than obsessing over it. He's seen me in my work clothes, with my hair a mess, all dirty and busy. If he still wanted to go out, hey, I wasn't going to sweat the small stuff.

He's quite the looker: tall, dark, and handsome. Definitely some non-WASP blood there, some exotic genes floating around, although I couldn't say exactly what. It was alluring. He's got longer hair than a lot of guys you see nowadays, although he's playing a part which requires it, so maybe that's not his normal look. It would be too bad if it weren't, because those long, dark locks definitely frame his face, draw attention to the eyes. Dreamy. But then, I guess actors are supposed to be interesting-looking.

He's done some modeling and acting in the past, so he's buff too. Yeah, I was drooling a little, inwardly. Can I help it? How often do I get to go out with a hunk? Not that Mike and Dad aren't hunky, but I mean besides them. Most of my other guys aren't exactly Playgirl material.

I met him at the theater after rehearsal; I didn't have to be there but he did, so I just dropped by, caught the end (with him taking off his shirt, yummy) and then waited through notes and then we headed out. The nightclub scene in my area is quite limited, so we wound up at a bar, which wasn't exactly what either of us were hoping for, but it had to do. And I did get a drink or two for free, courtesy of my date, but I didn't want to impose because I know he's a poor actor, and I also didn't want to get stupid, so we nursed our drinks.

Turns out, he's a nice enough guy, but kind of a bimbo. Whatever. Actors. So I didn't have quite the intellectually-stimulating conversation I guess I would hope for, but we do share some interests, got to tell amusing theatre stories and talk. After an hour, we both decided that we didn't dig this bar at all, so we went to the diner for pie. A guy after my own heart, really, in that regard.

Then we sat in the diner and drank endless free refills and talked. Thank God it's open 24 hours a day. Simon's a night owl too (a lot of theatre people are, understandably) so we were in no hurry to go anywhere.

The conversation turned, as conversations sometimes do when you're around me, a little raunchy, in a humorous sort of way. We were getting along, not drunk but not quite sober, happy with pie, and started telling jokes of the decidedly not-family-friendly nature. Then I told him this long story about an ex of mine, and he said, "Oh, hey, listen, I hope you didn't get the wrong idea from anyone at the theater."

"Huh? What wrong idea?"

"That I was gay. I'm not. I'm bi."

Okay, out of the blue. We were getting along well enough that non-sequitors were starting to seem perfectly reasonable, so I guess he thought I should know. "Bi, huh? Nobody told me anything."

"It's just that you seemed like maybe you didn't think I was interested. I didn't want you to be disappointed."

"Interested?" Crafty, that's my middle name. Lexi Crafty Guiterrez III. No it's not.

"You know, interested in anything more than hanging out." I'll give him full credit for being totally up-front with things. Sometimes actors are wonderfully refreshing that way; they don't mind being an open book about things which some people would hem and haw about for hours. "I mean, I asked you out, and I thought that maybe you heard from someone I was gay because they saw me kissing Pete." Not his real name either. Actually, I don't know who "Pete" is at all. I didn't do a thorough background check on Simon or anything like that.

"To be honest, I figured you were just a gentleman," I said, because it's essentially true. "You might have heard things about me too. They're probably all true."

He laughed at that. "I guess I figure most women think I'm gay because I'm an attractive single guy in the theatre," he said, which is fair. I must confess, I had a certain nagging feeling in the back of my mind that he must be gay, simply because sometimes it seems like every guy who might be a possibility is. That's just my cynic talking though. "I'm not ashamed of it, but I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."

"Because I was talking about my ex? Come on, that was just a funny story." I stopped before I said anything which would make me look worse. "Listen, Simon, I'm out on a date with you, having a good time, and if you were gay, I guess I'd be a little disappointed because you're hot, but hey, I don't expect anything." I might have been a little less coherent than that, but I didn't have a court reporter taking it all down so I have the biographer's liberty of cleaning myself up a little post-facto.

"Oh." He grinned. "Okay, well, you want another piece of pie?"

"I'm bi too, okay. No problem. Maybe you heard rumors."

"Nope." He grinned again. Damn, it was really refreshing that he wasn't particularly nonplussed by the whole thing. "I guess neither of us is as talked about as we think, huh?"

We laughed at that. Then we talked for a little bit about being bi. The waitress overheard most of it because we weren't exactly keeping quiet and were one of the few people there. Whatever. I don't give a shit, and I don't think Simon did either. But we both realized that maybe the middle of a diner wasn't the best place to be able to tell some of the stories we were getting into. He, with no real agenda at all, said, "Your place or mine?" It didn't even seem sexual. It was like two people who just need another place to talk business.

But I think I came across as thinking something I didn't, because while I'm not at all ashamed of sex, I am a bit ashamed of admitting I still live with my parents. I mean, if you know everything about me, it seems much more reasonable, but as old as I am, living with my parents is profoundly uncool. So I'm afraid I may have blushed or stammered, because he backed off like he was afraid I wasn't interested at all, until I said, "Your place; I don't really have a good place to go." Which is a bald-faced lie, and I don't enjoy telling them, but I do in the service of protecting my family, so I can rationalize what was actually in the service of protecting my ego.

We took two cars because I wasn't about to leave mine in the diner parking lot. Maybe that made it seem like I was only going because I couldn't get out of it. Now I'm probably over-analyzing. Whatever. He has an apartment on the outskirts of town, not a very nice place but possibly all he can afford. It was a typical single guy pad, a little messy, but I'm not Sally Homemaker so I could give a shit. We sat on his couch and felt a bit awkward for a few minutes, then he got drinks, which broke the ice a little. Then we started talking more explicitly.

I don't remember what led to it, but at a certain point in the conversation, he asked, "So, are you still interested, or should we drop it?" The reason I don't quite remember is that it was another non-sequitor. It made me stop and think for a moment, then I said, "Interested in what?"

"You came back to my place. You haven't slapped me, but you haven't exactly ripped your clothes off either. I just want to make sure I know where I stand."

Again, sometimes direct works on me. He didn't seem macho about it; he was just asking nicely. I wonder if I'd said no, if he would have tuned out or kept on talking until I was ready to leave. But come on, you know I wasn't going to say no.

"I'm really not looking for anything serious," I said. "But all this talk is turning me on, and I could care less if you're bi."

"That's fine with me," he said. "You want another drink?"

And then we were slobbering all over each other. It wasn't like one or the other of us started it, it was just like we both decided that no, we didn't want another drink, we wanted to fuck. It wasn't particularly passionate, just kind of pent up. I'll take it anyway.

Things proceeded quite quickly after that. We didn't spend much time kissing; he started wriggling out of his pants, and I looked down and saw a nice cock to match the buff body. I had to suck it. It seemed like the thing to do. He leaned back on the couch while I worked my mouth-magic on his member, already quite hard, then he said, "Want to get more comfortable?" I did. My knees were hurting a little, I don't mind admitting. Plus, I wanted something more than cream in my mouth.

His bedroom was spartan, but there was a big box of condoms in the drawer of his dresser, as I discovered when he pulled them out while I was pulling off my blouse. We basically got naked in a hurry individually, he rolled his own condom, then suggested I get on all fours. I admit, I had been hoping for some missionary, at least to start, but whatever, I wanted it in me so bad I could scream. He got behind me, and I felt that exquisite moment when my innards are spread as the shaft slides up into me, like it was meant to be there. He was not shabby in the size department either.

It was rough, rougher than I was expecting from his persona, but I came anyway, a staggering orgasm that made my belly tighten and I'm afraid the neighbors might have heard me moan. I hope they enjoyed it. Then he slid a pillow under my tummy when I collapsed on the bed and just kept bearing down on me, thrust after thrust, until I came again, more softly this time, my face buried in the mattress. He pulled back and I felt empty, then moved to the head of the bed and stripped off his condom, and didn't even have to ask before I had his cock in my mouth, drinking the strong, sweet spurts of cum as they shot from it.

"No wonder Janos told me you were good," Simon said with a sigh, sitting back.

Cue dramatic music. Cue Lexi smacking herself internally. In case you don't remember, Janos was a coworker with whom I had a one-night stand. You can read about the sheer idiocy of it here.

See, this is why I try to keep work and pleasure separate. Because now, apparently, Janos is telling people about me. But that wasn't my immediate reaction. My immediate reaction was, "What? You lying shitheel. You were just pretending to be nice to get me in bed. You know all about me, know I'm some kind of office slut, and damn it, I didn't see it coming." I didn't say any of that, of course. What I said was, "How do you know Janos?"

My initial reaction turns out to be mostly incorrect. Simon met Janos doing another gig at another theater a while ago, and they've been friends ever since, through Facebook or some such. Simon knew that Janos had worked here, and my name came up after Simon had already met me and was planning on going out with me, and Janos apparently bragged about his conquest.

Simon could see that he'd been less that forthright about it, and he apologized, and while I felt a bit violated, it wasn't sexual, it was just my general annoyance with Janos bragging about fucking me, and the worry that it would get around to other people. Simon said he completely understood. So I guess he's not a bad guy after all. Not, perhaps, as good as I thought to begin with, but he never claimed not to have heard any rumors about me, just no rumors that I was a lesbian.

Maybe he's just a player, and it was all a ruse. I feel very stupid for having fucked Janos, and a bit stupid for fucking Simon, since it'll just be more fuel for the unprofessional fire. But he's an actor, and I've had flings with actors before. Lots of tech people have. It's sort of a fringe benefit of working in the theater sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. It's not professional, but these things happen.

I'm somewhat ashamed to say that, even knowing what I knew, I let Simon fuck me again. Well, more than let. Maybe it was rage-fucking, maybe it was trying to pretend nothing had happened, maybe the whole thing made me horny, or maybe it was just that I had already done it, what harm was doing it again going to do. The level of intimacy wasn't there, and it was a lot less friendly, but it got the job done.

Now, of course, I feel kind of sickened by having fucked him again. Actually, for the record, "again" implies multiple agains. We fucked again, then I sat there a minute until he started fingering me, which led to number three, then we fell asleep side by side with the cummy condom still on his cock, then woke up later and went for number four. I really don't know what I was thinking. I was horny as hell, that's part of it. And angry. Kids, anger is not a good reason for sex. At least I was safe about it.

Then I went home and felt sick, couldn't really bring myself to be intimate with anyone, called Sveta on the phone and cried, which is somewhat uncharacteristic of me, and curled up and wanted to die. It was not a good time.

I woke up this afternoon feeling better. I still feel stupid, but I don't really feel like being pissy about it any more. I got my jollies from him, and if he's a player, well, I refuse to let him make me feel miserable. I don't feel raped or anything like that, and I was definitely a fully-consenting adult at the time. I just wish I had slightly better impulse control.

I'm sort of dreading running into him again, but on the other hand, maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't know. I also don't know just how much damage any of this will do to my rep, professionally. I've never had an affair with a coworker. I've just done single-instance stupid things with one, and I've gone out with a few actors. My work hasn't suffered. Basically, the only worry I have is that people will take me less seriously as "one of the guys" who can kick your ass if you're not careful.

The worst part is, he was good in bed, and if it hadn't come up, I would have been happy to fuck him 17 ways to Sunday, and part of the reason I'm dreading seeing him again is that I think I might be extremely tempted to fuck him again, because as I said, what's done is done and I didn't love him in any case. Sometimes my cooch thinks for herself.

Anyway, dating can be fun, as I said a long time ago at the top of this post. In this case, I had fun, but not without consequences. I guess there's a lesson there too.