My bags circled the carousel three times before I grabbed them. My trip was planned a month in advance, so I’d had plenty of time to prepare, but my arrival was surreal. One thing was certain: my sinus passages didn’t care about my plans. I was still miserable and the pressure from the flight hadn’t helped. I found a comfortable spot to sit. To blow the time between arriving and being picked up by James, I needed a good spot to people watch.
Megan sent me a text asking me to call her once the plane touched down, so she received my first call. The girl is a cheerleader at heart. She sent good vibes my way and I was, for the second time that day, soothed by her friendship and kind words. After getting off the phone, I took some more sinus medicine. Hopefully it would begin working before James arrived.
I walked around the airport for a while and found myself reapplying eyeliner in the bathroom. I hadn’t retouched my makeup since I went to work that morning, so I was in need of a trace of powder and a light layer of blush to bring out my cheekbones. When I’m nervous, I tend to put too much crap on my face, so the eyeliner was really unnecessary (but nervous habits are hard to break). This time, however, I knew that James’ motto on makeup was ‘the less you have on, the better you look’…I tried to keep it down to a small dose.
When I was dating Ike, he always wanted me to put on more makeup. The man always told me that I needed to try to look like the ‘first lady type’, so I was always properly dressed and my face was painted to perfection. James’ idea of beauty was the complete opposite of Ike’s. It was refreshing.
My shoulder length blond hair was still lying quite well, so I opted to leave it down. My red fitted t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a gray jacket were casual, but again, James liked girls that don’t try to impress. Even though I would’ve felt more comfortable with a better outfit, some hairspray, and one more application of lip balm, I knew my resistance to these things would be beneficial.
I was staring at myself in the mirror for the fiftieth time when my phone began ringing. It was James. Fifteen minutes later, he was there…at the terminal…picking me up for our weekend together.
I threw my luggage in the back of the car and jumped in the passenger seat. We gave each other a look of understanding and wonder. Was this really happening? Before any words could be exchanged, my phone began ringing.
It was my sister (who was dog-sitting my animal) so I knew I needed to answer. I was nervous, so her call made it easy to dodge the initial awkwardness that I was feeling. Luckily, the call was long enough to give James some time to decide how to approach our impending conversation.
For the rest of the trip to his place, he played my personal tour guide, explaining, at every street we passed, what movies were filmed in those locations or his memory of a night of debauchery with his roommate. The mood was lightened. We were acting like we always had before our first bedroom session. I love when boys let down their guard enough to show you their quirkiness. It was completely adorable that he could tell me these facts, even if they meant nothing to me.
Once we found a place to park, he grabbed my suitcase from the trunk. We met at the backside of his car. For the first time since I’d arrived, we were standing face to face. He complimented my outfit and told me I looked great.
James: “I thought you had to work today.”
Me: “I did. Not all of us can roll out of bed and go to work. I have to put in some effort.”
James: “Well, you look really nice.”
Me: “Thank you, sir.”
My strategy was a success.
The tour of his apartment was short. His place was small: a living/dining room combination, the kitchen, the bathroom, his roommates’ bedroom and, finally, his bedroom. His tiny, cramped room barely had room for his bed, so I left my luggage in the kitchen to prevent later accidents from tripping over it.
Once I was settled we discussed the possibility of going to a bar, but it was late and we were both tired from work (and I felt like shit). We agreed on drinking beer at his place and watching any movie that was on tv. “Ace Ventura” was starting as we flipped through the channels…perfect.
The beer was going down quite nicely. James was sitting across from me on another couch and I was perfectly comfortable with the space between us. I was scared. I knew there was a lot of pressure to rock his world this weekend and I didn’t want to ruin it by being too needy or too girlfriend-like. Sensing my anxiety, James helped ease it without saying anything.
He came over and closed the gap between us by pulling my legs over his and putting his arm around me. Now cuddling, we kept laughing (and drinking) as Jim Carrey did his thang on-screen.
He started playing with my hair, so I laid my head on his shoulder. From there I could hear his breathing and, without doing it purposely, our breath became syncopated.
James made his move after the movie ended. We had two hours of time to get comfortable with each other in a new environment. And comfortable we were. As the movie credits rolled across the television screen, our cuddling became a make out session. My sinuses were, miraculously, not bothering me. From there, he grabbed my hand and we stumbled to his room. Our bodies were intermingled, my luggage was safely out-of-the-way , and my inhibitions had vanished.
Once we made it safely to his tiny room, and our bodies gracefully skimmed the surface of his bed, it became another kind of session.