How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel

by Sorgen, Monique

  ~

  “Oh no!” I wake up thinking, “I have to pee.” And not just a little bit. I have to go bad! Not enough time to do any recon, I’ll have to use the bathroom that I see. That’s what I get for holding it so long. But I only held it in hopes that it would go away, and I wouldn’t have to deal with this bathroom situation at all. I know I seemed fine with it before, but now I’m realizing that was just the passion talking. Right now, nature is calling.

  He looks like he’s sleeping pretty soundly. Maybe he won’t wake up.

  I get out of bed, keeping one eye on him in hopes of finding out how sound of a sleeper he is. He doesn’t budge. That’s a relief. I sneak around the bed to the bathroom, and for the first time I am grateful for the lack of a door, because at least I won’t wake him up with the creaking as I try to hide my animalistic needs from his perception of me, despite the lack of a door standing between us.

  I should take some precautions in case he wakes up. Think fast, Sam, you want to ensure that you make it to the toilet on time, with or without precautions. I know! I’ll grab a towel, and if he looks over my way, while I’m in the act, I’ll hold it up like a curtain between us. I grab a towel and quickly make it to the toilet, almost instantly unleashing my flow, which had been held significantly too long.

  Suddenly, he turns toward me! I can’t stop now. I hold up the towel, covering my naked body and revealing only my eyes, which pop out from above it. Without opening his eyes, he smiles as if he felt somehow comforted by the sound. He looks like a young boy whose mother has just wrapped a warm cozy blanket around him, luring his nightmare into dreams of sunshine and unicorns. Hmmm, what is it about this sound that he finds so comforting? Now I’m starting to think that this no door thing goes into some deeper part of his psychology. Then again, who am I to judge? I have such a deep compulsion for fixing problems that I planned a party to meet the love of my life and then only spoke to one person all night. I guess we all have weird quirks.

  The awkward act is finally complete. I can relax knowing that I won’t have to do that again until we’re well out of the bedroom. I made it. I also make a mental note not to drink anything until I’m about to go to my house, where there are doors on the bathrooms.

  I go back to bed, and sleep as soundly as if I were John listening to the sound of someone peeing in a nearby room.

  ~

  In the morning, I am woken by the touch of John’s hand sliding around me to pull me closer into his spoon. Not to take anything away from the sex, but this feeling of a strong, caring man wrapped lovingly around me is almost more orgasmic than anything we did last night.

  He runs his fingers down the back of my head, combing my hair gently with them, as he obviously tries to get my attention. I guess sleeping time is over. As much as I would like to stay cuddled up like this all day, I decide that it would be rude not to answer his call, so I turn over to face his still unending smile.

  When he sees me, his expression becomes slightly more examinatory. He seems to be dissecting the details of my face, in his mind, as if he doesn’t quite recognize them, or is trying to remember them for later.

  “Happy Birthday, Samantha,” he says sincerely, before kissing me softly on the mouth.

  To which I reply, “Yes… It is.” I’m not going to be subtle about my feelings now. We’re in this. He knows it. I know it. This is happening, and I want him to know that he has nothing to fear.

  “You know, something?” he continues, “That was my first time since my wife.” I’m not sure how I feel about knowing that.

  “Really?” I mean I’m glad that he feels he can be honest with me, but it also seems like the kind of thing you just don’t tell someone, or at least not this soon. “And why did I get to do the honors?”

  “I guess I hadn’t met anyone that I liked enough, until now.” Good answer.

  I’m more flattered than I’d like to admit, so rather than admitting it, for once I get myself to shut up, by occupying my mouth. I grab his face, and pull him into mine for a kiss. This is a kiss that says, “Thank you for that.” But it’s also a kiss that says, “I’m ready to go again.” I guess he didn’t get the message because when we come up for air, he asks me if I want a cup of coffee.

  “Oh, are we getting up now?” I try to sound casual about it.

  “No! If you’re tired, you should stay in bed. I can even bring you breakfast in bed if you want? After all, it is your birthday. I want it to be special for you. Unfortunately for me though, I don’t get a lot of days off, so I have a bunch of errands and other boring stuff I have to get done today.”

  I try to figure out what to do. Birthday breakfast in bed is tempting, but if he’s only got one day to take care of shit, I should probably get out of his hair.

  I decide to get up, “I’d better get going. I have a lot of sleeping to catch up on today, if I’m going to be any fun celebrating tonight.”

  “Oh, what are you doing to celebrate?”

  “No idea. Lacey is in charge of planning it. My only goal is to not have to lift a finger. Aside from that, I told her that I don’t care if we stay in, go out, or jump off a tall building.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t jump off a tall building,” he laughs, “I might miss you.” Awww.

  “Whatever we do, you’re welcome to join us. It’s not gonna be anything fancy. Just a couple of girls on the town, who may or may not be contemplating suicide.”

  “Sounds fun!” he agrees, his habitual chuckle returning.

  “Hey, at least if you’re with us, you can jump off the building too, and then you won’t have to miss me.”

  “Your offer just gets more and more appealing!” We laugh. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you if I get all my stuff done.” And that’s when I realize that I’m already in so deep with this guy, and he doesn’t even have my phone number. Things happen so fast, when they happen. Life is so unexpected. Even when you plan it to a T, like I have.

  I put my number in his phone and press “call”. Now I can prove that he called me after sex. I’m a winner. In a dorky loserish kind of way. But at least I get the joke, so that’s one of us.

  I pick up, “Hello?”

  Still me talking into other phone, “Hi Sam, it’s John. I was just calling to tell you how awesome you are.” He laughs but he’s shaking his head at the same time, implying that I may be a little strange; so I decide to wrap it up.

  Talking into my own phone, “Message received, loud and clear. I’ll see ya’ later!” I hang up my phone and then his. He’s laughing at me a bit, and despite knowing that I should feel humiliated right now, I only become moderately embarrassed, because I know he appreciates my sense of humor and he appreciates me.

  “Well, I’d better let you get to your things.” I get out of bed and put last night’s dirty party dress back on for a second time.

  “Do you want me to give you a ride home?” he asks, like a true gentleman.

  “Yes, I would like that. But I’d rather you get your stuff done, so that you can be available later on to hang out for my birthday, which is why I’m gonna take a taxi.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ve told you my preference, now get to work running your errands and just call me when you’re done, if you wanna know what we’re doing.”

  I leave without fanfare, noticing that his house is even more beautiful by day than it is romantic by night, and I look forward to the prospect of seeing him very soon.

  ~

  When I step outside, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and for San Francisco, there’s not even that much wind. It’s my birthday, I’ve got no plans except sleeping and enjoying myself, so I decide to walk. My place isn’t that close to his, but San Francisco isn’t that big. Plus I’m on top of a hill in Alamo Square, with amazing views of the city, and what better way to take it all in than to walk. Also, walking should help me stretch out my butt and hip muscles, which are sure to be sore tomorrow from using them so vigo
rously after such a long period of stagnation.

  The walk is amazing, refreshing, and meditative. The birds are chirping, the sun kisses the back of my shoulders, and everyone I pass seems to be having the best day of their life! Or maybe I’m just projecting. In any case, today is perfect!

  After about two blocks I realize that last night’s come-fuck-me pumps are not conducive to walking a mile up and down hills. Fuck it, I’ll go barefoot. I’m 30 now, it’s about time I start breaking the rules of responsible adulthood. Not that I ever started following them, but my point is, I’m not going to be a victim of my age. I don’t need to feel old, just because I’m over the hill by reality’s standards. Anyway, I met the guy. I’m right back on schedule for where I should be by now.

  ~

  When I get home, my feet are blackened and blistered, but I’m not worried about it, because all I have left to do today is shower, nap, and relax… And maybe do some of this laundry that’s covering my wood floors like a baroque wall-to-wall carpet.

  Chapter 8

  Relaxing around the house, doing nothing was going swimmingly, until I was rudely interrupted by my boss’s phone call. Do I have to take it? It’s Saturday. It’s my birthday. I mean, come on! Then again, he wouldn’t call me on a Saturday unless it was really important. I’d better pick up.

  “What’s up?” I answer, trying to imply that he’s bothering me without being overtly rude to the man who pays my bills.

  “Sorry to bother you on the weekend, Samantha, but I’m out of town, and I just found out that Darien Campbell’s book is coming in tonight, and we need someone there to sign for it.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “Darien messengered it as soon as she wrote ‘The End’. You know writers, they never know what day it is. Can you go by the office around 7:30pm?”

  “Really? Does it have to be today?”

  “I know it’s your birthday, and I’m sorry, but I’ve literally called everyone else in the office, and you’re the only one who picked up.” Damn it! Why did I pick up?

  “I wouldn’t ask, if it weren’t urgent,” he continues, “but Darien stupidly sent a copy for review to the New York Times without vetting it with us first, so I had to pull a favor at the Chronicle to get a guaranteed good review there, just in case we aren’t able to influence the critics in New York… Speaking of which, I also need for you to take the book to the Chronicle.”

  Is he serious? I’m running not one, but two errands on the first night in 13 years that my birthday has fallen on a Saturday! (The last time I was supposed to get a Saturday birthday fell on a Leap Year, so it skipped right over me!)

  “Why would Darien—?” I blurt, instantly realizing that I should probably curb my frustration, given this is my employer, and I’m expected to say yes with a smile, “—Sorry.”

  Henry pauses before giving his version of a reason, “You know writers. They’re in their heads all day, so they want to get their work out as soon as it’s done, and let everyone know what they’ve been thinking about all this time. They don’t always realize how much influence has to be exercised by people like us, to get anyone to care about their thoughts.”

  I can tell he feels bad for me, which is sweet while uncharacteristic. And I really don’t have a choice on this one, so I may as well act like I’m excited to help out.

  “Fine. Of course, I’ll take care of it. Does it have to be right at 7:30 though? I might have dinner plans.”

  “With who?”

  “Lacey. She’s planning something for us. I’m not sure what or when it is yet, but 7:30 would be right in the middle of prime reservation time.” Henry knows Lacey because she and her event-planning group organize a lot of parties for our firm.

  “Yeah, sorry. Darien made a point to give the messenger a specific time, so that no one would have to wait around the office on a Saturday night.”

  “I thought writers didn’t know what day it was,” I snark light-heartedly.

  He stutters, as he tries to figure out what I’m talking about, “What do you—Oh because I said—yeah, well, after I informed her that it was Saturday, she called them back and set the specific time.”

  “Oh, Great! So maybe we could call them again and reset it earlier?”

  “We can’t. It’s already in transit. It takes time to get here from New York.” I feel like he’s about to go from sympathetic to pissed off, so I turn my excitement about this burden up a notch.

  “Okay. 7:30 it is! I’ll just tell Lacey that I can’t meet her until 8-8:30.” I hang up the phone wondering if maybe I should’ve made a bigger deal about my age. I mean, this isn’t just a birthday, it’s my 30th! People should not be disturbing me on this momentous birthday to ask for favors. Whatever. It’s not worth getting fired over.

  I call Lacey.

  She picks up, “Hey, I was just about to call you to figure out what time I should make the reservation for. And also, I can’t decide where we should go. I wanna go somewhere with a cool crowd, good food, but not too expensive, since I’m paying for you.” Everybody’s thinking it, but at least Lacey says it out loud.

  “We should also add ‘fast’ to the list of qualities we’re looking for because we’re gonna be starving by the time I finish running this errand my boss just assigned to me.”

  “Oh no! What happened?” Lacey asks, with a lot more empathy and compassion than she usually bothers to muster.

  “There was an urgent messenger situation at the office for 7:30 tonight, and I guess Henry decided that I was the only person on the staff who was qualified to not fuck it up. Either that or he thought my birthday was a great day to test the boundaries of my loyalty to him.”

  “You know he’s right; most of the people in your office are total morons. You should be flattered that he asked you to do it.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, but this task was custom made for a moron. It requires showing up, signing a thing, and taking the book to another building, four blocks away.” I know this is an exercise in pointing out the obvious, but I’m finding Lacey’s openness to being inconvenienced by my boss’s every whim and fancy to be highly unusual, and I’m hoping that my straight-forwardness will help us get to the bottom of it. I mean, after all, he is throwing a wrench in her Saturday night plans, too. Hey, maybe she decided to turn over a new leaf for my birthday. The only other possibility is that she’s thinking if my errand goes late enough, it’ll get too late for us to eat—per her “never eat anything within three hours of going to bed” rule, and she won’t have to buy me dinner at all.

  Still trying to make the best of it, Lacey optimistically offers, “Well there are lots of good restaurants in that neighborhood. Why don’t I just pick you up at your place so we can get together at a reasonable time. I’ll run your little book errand with you, and make a reservation somewhere near the Chronicle offices?”

  That’s weird, “I never told you it was the Chronicle.”

  “You didn’t?” she seems shocked. “Then how did I know? Is it the Chronicle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must’ve told me. Why would I think it was the Chronicle if you didn’t tell me?” Lacey never seemed like the psychic type to me, she’s too out of touch with the general consensus of the populous. She continues trying to figure it out, “Anyway, you said it was a book. Where else would you have to drop a new book off on a Saturday night, four blocks away, besides the Chronicle?”

  “Yeah, that’s true.”

  “So I guess I was just assuming it would be what it is.”

  We realize there’s no point in arguing about it, and also that if we don’t get off the phone and start getting ready, I am not going to be on time for this birthday ruining opportunity, which will only cause it to ruin my birthday plans further.

  ~

  Boy is it easier to get ready for a night out when you haven’t promised everyone you’ll wear a certain dress or color. I get ready in record time. In truth, I think I was more motivated than u
sual, because I knew that if I kept Lacey waiting, it would be that much longer before I got a chance to tell her all about my amazing night, and I could not wait to tell her about my amazing night!

  Lacey shows up, and I get in her taxi, ready to unload my whole story and release all my pent up emotions from last night, when she starts in about her night.

  “I can’t believe you left me there alone with Marty, last night. I couldn’t figure out a way to blow him off, so I slept with him.” I look at the taxi driver to check for a reaction to the mention of sexual activity. No reaction. Good, this one doesn’t speak English.

  Lacey doesn’t stop to check, she’s still talking, “And worse, I gave him my real number! Now he won’t stop calling me… Maybe I’m just too nice.”

  “Nice” is not the first descriptive that comes to mind when you meet Lacey. Fun, ambitious, organized, honest, loyal, hard-working, detail-oriented, indefatigable, unintentionally funny, and her heart is in the right place, but the list of her attributes doesn’t usually lead to “nice”. She’s never mean, but she’s not really nice either. She’s more like a reality check. You want to hate her for the things she says, but when you’re done being mad and you stop to think about it, you realize that she’s usually right. Except about being nice.

  On the other hand, I am the one who left her there under Marty’s supervision, so the fact that she slept with him may in some ways be my fault, and I feel terrible about it. I trusted him. Was I wrong?

  “How did that happen?” I ask, after directing the driver to my office, downtown.

  “I mean, I guess if you think about it, I kind of had no choice but to go home with Marty. Every other guy I talked to in that bar was looking for you! They were all like, ‘I’m supposed to meet a girl here named Samantha,’ ‘I can’t talk to you right now or my friend who told me to come here will kill me. I have to at least say hi to this chick Samantha.’ I mean, it was crazy, Samantha. They actually showed up, and for some reason, they actually seemed motivated to meet you—some girl they’d never even seen before—even though they were talking to me!”