.sticky.

i opened my eyes yesterday morning at 9 am. it was a monday and i was already late for work. even though i was naked and under no covers, i was hot and sticky. my apartment is a vortex for heat, trapping sunlight on hot days and circulating dead, heavy air all night long.

standing upright brought the room into focus with the unrelenting clarity of a hangover on a hot day. i walked over to the couch, sat down between last night's underwear and an empty condom wrapper, and started to cry.

now i'm running laps around last night's events, thinking the same thoughts over and over. "i blew it," i keep thinking. "never fuck on the first date. you should never have invited him in. you should never have worn a skirt. skirt means easy access. skirt means his hand can go from your knee to your pussy without a button or zipper to intervene.'

i never meant to have sex with him. not from the first beer to the snap of latex against hard dick. i only intended to go on a date with a man i met at a bar. and at that, a seemingly nice man, twitchy and nervous and insecure. i gathered this from the static of arm hairs on end and the rhythmic rise and fall of his adam's apple as he asks me for my number. oy, i thought, here's one i'm going to have to handhold and look out for.

it wasn't just his general air of hesitance that led me to think he was a safe suitor, a shy gentleman. he talked about feelings, music, pets, and childhood. he talked about the social dynamics of his band-mates and dwelled on hurt feelings. he had pale, red hair and an accompanying fragile complexion. he's the kind of guy you want to slather with sunscreen and lead gently to a shady tree with a good book and a slice of watermelon.

so the date was good. i'm gradually starting to have a point of comparison, seeing as this is now my fourth date in a month – my fourth date ever. i scribbled a list in my head as we talked, in a cool bar on a hot day, and drank pabst that we took turns buying. he rolled his own cigarettes with drum tobacco and i pulled camel lights one by one out of the little box. it was obvious that we were lighting cigarettes at a manic pace, both of us obviously nervous and needing something to do with our hands.

i took notes on two pertinent categories: good traits and bad ones. thanks to lonely optimism and first date best behavior, i got rolling on the good list right away: nice. definitely a nice guy. soft-spoken, straight forward. attire: good. ringer t-shirt and jeans; not pretentious, highly appropriate. grooming: good. he made a lot of eye contact and i liked that. granted, eye contact makes me nervous as hell, but it is nevertheless a ballsy move and demonstrates character. it's at least cooler than staring at your beer and mumbling.

bad: he's from utah. that can't be good. parents, divorced. described his dad as "a handful." can't have been a very positive role-model. but gotta give him points for a sensitive, humorous description. one for the good list. no siblings – only children are not good at sharing or compromising, that's bad.

lives alone, that's good. in a band that is apparently real and has sold cds and plays shows, very good. cute, but in a chubby, boyish way. that's good. men who are too masculine apparently scare the shit out of me – if i'm attracted to someone with a penis attached, he's generally chubby, scrawny, or otherwise innocuous.

i didn't have my guard up. i had a three pabst's, and they were pints, not twelve ounce bottles. for me, that's like sucking down a whole keg. i finally relaxed and noticed that the cigarette had stopped shuttering between my fingers. i was laughing and breathing naturally.

we walked to another bar, and as soon as we stepped onto the hot street, his warm arm wrapped around my waist. he was my height, no taller, so this gesture lacked the easy drape of tall men, whose long hands land conveniently on a woman's hip. what his arm lacked in ease and stature, he made up for in intensity. his grip was solid and forceful, and it surprised the hell out of me. his kiss was the same. we kissed on the corner, at the stoplight, and missed the light change from red to green to red again.

he drove me home after. (owns a car, good.) he parked in the back of my apartment building and we made out in the front seat for long enough that he turned off the ignition. it was almost midnight. on a school night. i was dizzy and dry-mouthed, drunk. i invited him in.

i said, "maybe you could come in for a little bit." because, in a little bit, no damage can be done. he said, "a little bit. okay." i thought a little bit meant a little bit of making out and a little bit of talking. we'd kiss without the impediment of a stick shift and the eyes of giggling streetwalkers.

he wasn't in my apartment for more than five minutes when he took out his dick. he was seated upright on my couch, a cat behind his head on the windowsill, when i heard the zip and snap of him undoing his fly. then i think he put my hand on it. i really can't remember. i was surprised, but sloppy-surprised and slow to react. i thought: i don't think this is appropriate. i was stuck like an ant in a bowl of syrup and trying to decide what to do next when i heard him say, "do you want to sit on my cock?" his hand was in his back pocket while the words were still in his mouth, and then i heard the slap of latex on taut skin.

all i could think was that i couldn't waste a brand new condom. taking that sucker off without filling it up with cum seemed impossibly rude and bitchy. i didn't want to make him feel stupid and presumptious. pulling out your dick and slapping a condom on it certainly falls into the stupid and presumptious category, but i was terrified of making a guest in my house feel that way.

i actually thought, "well, i let him finger me. so i might as well." i thought about all the ways i'd accidentally consented: the skirt, the invitation to come inside, kissing in a bar, kissing in the street, smiling. i climbed on and felt nothing. it lasted three minutes. first i was on top, but then i felt lightheaded and i just stared at the cat in front of me on the back of the couch and felt self-conscious. so i laid down and he finished. he got up and i listened as he flushed the toilet and ran the tap water. he came back over and said, "i'll call you in a few days." i said ok and watched, still on my back on the couch, skirt still around my waist, as he let himself out.