Uh-oh… I’m feeling a little bit like a crack addict right now. The crack being sex, and my pusher is “The Painter.”
The last time I saw him, he was sent away with blue balls. (See “The Dog is a Problem.“) Honestly, the way we left it, I really didn’t know if I would see him again.
(We all know how my track-record has been.)
I do, however, have some good news: I did hear from him. A few times.
But here’s the bad news: He was hitting me up late in the night, via text, which we all know is a big red flag.
*THE CROWD BOO’S*
I know, I know.
The two times he did text me late at night, I was already fast asleep, so not only did I not answer them, but I didn’t hear them come in, which was probably a good thing.
I know what you are thinking, and so was I: Texting, late at night, only means one thing: It’s a booty call. And we all know I don’t do booty calls.
If I was to be honest with myself, then I will freely admit that I was lusting after this man, but when I read the obvious signs he was giving me, it put me in a crossroad. These tell-tale signs were putting all of my insecurities at a full tilt. The Painter’s actions were definitely leaning towards “booty call” and yet I had a hard time talking myself into the idea that I needed to remain on course with my own theory about staying away from men who only wanted one thing. BUT! I also reminded myself that it had been a long-ass eight months since the last time I had sex. And the fact of the matter is, I knew I would have great sex with him.
Or, maybe it was just
wishful lustful thinking.
Or! Maybe he could be a perfect candidate to work out some of my sexual frustrations, so that I could relax a little bit and be a little more discerning instead of feeling like I’m about to climb the walls all the time.
Do you realize how hard it is to abstain from sex as a mature adult? I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. It’s even harder to hold out when I know I could easily go after a young and unassuming twenty-something-year old and just have a one night’er. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. But, again, that’s not me. Been there, done that. It was fun, but I would much rather have sex with someone my own age. The only problem with that is, everyone my age is already married.
It seems like all the good men are already married or taken. Certainly, there have been a few men who piqued my interest over the last few months, but not one of them qualified as a suitor. By “qualified,” I mean they needed to be single.
One of those men is a FBI agent. (Hot, I know.) My brother laughed at me when I told him who it was and then he added that I must be attracted to men with power. (Which, by the way, is innate trait for women, so there’s nothing wrong with that even if I am, which is definitely true.) I actually denied it at first, citing this man’s over-the-top intelligence and charm, but then I realized that it was a combination of two things: His height and his confidence. Two things in my book, as we all know, that makes a very lethal combination for Carrie.
I met the FBI agent at The Shaskeen on evening and within minutes of being introduced by his friends who I casually knew, I was completely intrigued. Not only did he have a magnetic presence, but I felt like his smooth, hypnotic voice was slowly seducing me.
I don’t know if it was his energy, confidence, or his gentlemanly ways that sucked me in so fast and so hard but, suddenly, it felt like he had cast some sort of spell on me. I tried to shake it off and, certainly, not to be out-done, I channeled my inner 1940’s movie star coy charm and asked him some challenging questions.
He replied to my questions in Russian.
Do you realize what that does to an intelligent woman like myself? To hear a man switch gears from English to Russian without a blink of an eye? I seriously almost lost my composure right then and there and, believe me, there’s not too many men that have that effect on me. He had me right where he wanted me…
…and just when I thought the night was going my way, his friends yelled over to him and announced they were leaving, which meant he was leaving, too. Disappointed, I looked down, only to catch a glance at his left hand resting on the bar, which had a nice gold band on his finger.
The other person who showed up on my radar was The Painter. He’s another one whose confidence and presence make my brain tingle. He’s not extremely tall, but he seems to be just the right height for me – oh, and where did he get the nickname? I found out that he’s a closeted artist, which I think is so damn sexy… Meow.
And to clarify on my nicknaming, he is not the guy who runs College Pro Painting. Jesus. I’m a little more creative than that in my nicknaming skills. There’s a reason for the nicknaming…and it’s not to make it obvious as to who I’m talking about. I needed to make that clear as there were some local people who though Hot Dog Guy was the guy who had the hot dog stand down on Elm Street.
I don’t discriminate, but c’mon, give me a little credit….
When I met The Painter last year, I was instantly attracted, but within minutes of talking to him, he told me he had been married for six years and had a 5-year old son. The moment he said he was married, it took the wind out of my sails. I was disappointed, but I figured I could include him in my ongoing discussion and ask him what he thought about relationships and dating. Much to my surprise he had a lot to say and I was all ears, which left us sitting at The Shaskeen for a few hours that night. He talked about his marriage and it came to no surprise to me that it was a very sad and unhappy marriage. I felt bad for him and gave him a new perspective to think about.
I was proud of myself that night. I didn’t flirt with him and I kept it very platonic. I was in full therapist mode, which kept me thinking about giving advice and not ripping off his clothes. He clearly wanted me to keep talking with him, because every time I was about finished with my beer, he was quick to ask me if I wanted another one, but he never waited for my answer. He just ordered it.
I love a man who takes control. Meow.
He was buying and I was drinking.
Why not? I was intrigued that someone, who seemed so tough on the outside, could easily open up about his marriage in full detail.
“You’re so easy to talk to. I never tell anyone any of this.”
“I’m a good listener. It’s what I do. People tell me I give good advice.”
“They’re right. You do. So far what you told me is true and you have a good way of looking at things differently than I do.”
We all need someone to talk to. Who was I to not accept another pint of beer and deny my inner therapist an opportunity to possibly help this man…who was easy on the eyes?
So, how did I end up having a hot and heavy make-out session on my couch the other night with a married man? Well, it wouldn’t have happened had he not told me that he was separated from his wife and was now living on his own.
After that, two hours later we were on my couch.
But that night, he left me craving for more. Much, much more. Did he even realize the large order he was signing up for? Would I hear from him again even though I ended up sending him home with blue balls…
I knew I didn’t want to sleep with him too soon. We connected on a sexual level, but could we still connect without the sex?
I was left wondering about it – assuming the worst. Assuming I wouldn’t hear from him again – and then the late-night texts started to come in.
What. The. Hell.
Things like that don’t fly with me so, in my usual Carrie style, I called him out on it.
CARRIE: What is with the late-night texting routine?
PAINTER: Ha. Seems that way. I’ll make it up to you Wednesday morning.
CARRIE: Are you being serious or facetious?
*WEDNESDAY MORNING ROLLS AROUND*
PAINTER: Are you up?
CARRIE: I’ve been up since 7AM, but I have a doctor appointment at 10:30AM. Joy. Come over for coffee if you want.
I really didn’t think that he would show up, but 20 minutes later he was sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee with me. As you can imagine, I was a little beside myself, because, it had been three weeks since the night of the heavy make-out session on my couch.
Sitting there and talking over coffee, we really only had 45 minutes together before I had to dash off to my doctor’s appointment. But, it was enough time that I felt I could bring up a very awkward subject.
“This is very difficult for me to bring up, because I do not want to put any pressure on you and me…”
“Whoa, wait, Carrie. I just got out of a marriage, I’m not looking for another serious relationship right off the bat, you know?”
“No, I get that and that’s not really what I’m trying to say here. My concern is – yes, you just got out of a long-term relationship and so I am assuming that you probably want to make up for lost time, you know, sexually. And, if you do, that’s okay with me. It’s just that I don’t want to be number three on your roster of women.”
“No, no. I’m not like that – it’s not like that.”
“Okay, what I’m saying is that if you do want to see other people and we are having sex, then just please tell me. Please be brutally honesty with me, which I know you can be. You’ve never sugar-coated anything and you’ve always been very honest and upfront. I just want to keep it that way. I know you are fresh out of a relationship – you have a lot on your plate and so do I – I just want to see where this goes without having any expectations. I have no expectations. We obviously have sexual tension between us, so I just needed to mention the fact that if we have sex…”
“I get it. You don’t have to worry.”
The conversation didn’t go as smooth as I wanted, but at least I got it out. At least he knew that I didn’t want to be one of many, which is so common. I have standards and if I was going to give up my penis-free status for him, then the least he could do for me was to not put me on a roster.
The minutes flew by and it was getting close to the time I had to leave for my appointment. We both stood up and as I went to kiss him he said, “Cancel your appointment,” and then pulled me closer as we continued to kiss.
“I really can’t. If I don’t go now, I have to wait weeks for another appointment.”
And that’s when it happened. He pinned me up against the wall and kissed me hard and deep, causing me to question everything I ever said about holding out. I mean, look, since the day I met him seven months ago, he had been in the back of my mind. And, now, here he was standing in my kitchen, pinning me up against the wall with his big man hands and, for a minute, I didn’t have a damn care in the world. All I was thinking about was taking him upstairs to my bedroom and having my way with him; over and over.
But, alas, I went to my doctor’s appointment instead.
Some days I really wish I didn’t have so much self-control.