Though, of course, I couldn’t explore that emotion at that exact moment while watching the first man I’d had sex with in five years tell me he didn’t want to be with me.
We said our final goodbyes and I got up, waiting to cry until I was out of sight.
I thought about going to the bar, even though it was only 1:00 p.m. I headed toward the bar but couldn’t hold it together long enough to get there, so I sat down on a stranger’s front stoop and cried until my well was empty.
I cried for our first date, the only date that had made me excited in years. I cried for our fourth date when we spent twelve hours together and our ninth date when I stopped counting how many dates we had gone on. I cried because there were things I was never going to learn about Simon, like how he got the scar on his face or what kind of gloves he wore in the winter. And, truthfully, I cried because I wanted to have more sex. I was just beginning to figure things out.
Strangers walked by and averted their gaze while I sobbed unapologetically in public.
When I was done crying, I got up and did the only think I could think of.
I went home.
A few weeks passed, and I kept hoping that he’d show up with flowers and a card that said, “I messed up.” But I knew, deep down, that was never going to happen. He wasn’t going to reach out because he meant what he said, he didn’t want to be in a relationship with me.
I went on a few dates to occupy my mind, but I kept comparing them to Simon, and when they all fell short, I stopped dating all together.
I needed time to grieve.
Just like that, I had found coitus.
And just like that, my love life stalled again.
* The jury is still out on if my Brazilian first love counts as a relationship since 97 percent of it was done long distance.
THE STUPID THINGS YOU DO AFTER A BREAKUP
I spent the next few weeks going out A LOT.
I had plans from the moment I woke up until I collapsed into bed. If I was busy, then I was distracted. If I was distracted, then I wasn’t thinking about Simon. I slept in late, cried in bathrooms at bars, and drank too much. I ate cold fries and ice cream for breakfast, not once but twice. The guy at my local Taco Bell knew my name, and I didn’t even like Taco Bell. I had become a living, breathing twenty-two-year-old break up cliché. Except I was thirty and I probably should have been managing this better.
Given how things were going, it wasn’t a surprise that I wound up at the Private Detective Gentleman’s Club on a Monday night.
Actually, it was a surprise. I hated strip clubs. The first and only time I had been to one was eight years prior in Ohio. A stripper named Destiny clapped her ass in my face while I anxiously put a dollar bill in her G-string. I found a pubic hair in my salad, though in all fairness, it was my fault for ordering a salad at a strip club.
I wasn’t a fan.
Unfortunately, that’s where I was at in life. Needless to say, I wasn’t handling my new singleness with grace and ease.
For the record, going to the strip club wasn’t my idea.
I was out for a friend’s birthday, which started innocently enough with dinner and drinks. Around 10:00 p.m. the couples headed home to have sex and be happy. At least that’s what I imagined. Around 11:30 the responsible employed people headed home so they weren’t tired for work. I should have been in this category but as a recent dumpee, I was feeling self-destructive and didn’t care if I was tired for work. That’s what coffee was for.
Even the birthday boy left eventually, leaving four of us behind: Me; Katie, an acquaintance I only saw at events hosted by our mutual friend; and two single men, Kyle and Brendan.
The Single Suckers.
Actually, Katie wasn’t single; she was in a long-distance relationship. That left me as the only single female.
I had my eye on Kyle even though he wasn’t my normal type. He looked a little too perfect. He had nicer brows than I did and the kind of square jawline that I thought only existed in old-school Disney movies. His skin, body, and outfit were all flawless. We had nothing in common, but I still wanted to make out with him, just to prove to myself that men still wanted me. A make out session with a hottie like Kyle would have been a major ego boost.
We drank at the bar until Katie suggested we go to the gentleman’s club.
Apparently, they had a “wing special” that started at 2 a.m.
If Katie hadn’t been in a relationship I probably would have called her bluff, but instead I agreed that cheap wings did sound like the practical next step.
With twenty-five-cent teriyaki on our minds, or my mind at least, we loaded into a cab and headed uptown to meet our fate.
The gentleman’s club was located unapologetically in the middle of a busy street by Times Square. The outside was discreet enough but still boasted posters of scantily clad, beautiful women.
A large, brooding man with a ponytail stood at the front doors, checking IDs.
The entrance was dark with a string of white Christmas lights running around the hostess stand. A young woman in her mid-twenties with impeccably straight hair and leather booty shorts greeted us as we entered.
Or greeted Kyle, I should say.
She immediately zoned in on him, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was handsome or because he looked like he had money.
“Are you looking for a table, sweetheart?” she said, batting her eyelashes at him and touching his shoulder.
“Four, please,” he said, flashing her an expensive Disney smile with the type of perfectly straight, white teeth that didn’t happen naturally. The hostess grabbed his hand and led him to a table in the middle of a large room. There was a stage in the center with a woman dancing in a neon green, sequin-covered costume and five-inch heels. The perimeter was lined with benches where two men were receiving lap dances.
“Um, can we get the wing menu too, please?” I asked the hostess as she walked away, ignoring me.
Our server came over and flirted with Kyle and Brendan the entire time she was taking their order.
They both ordered vodka. I ordered a diet Coke.
Even though I had been drinking a lot post-breakup, I didn’t know these people that well and didn’t want to get drunk at a seedy strip club with a bunch of strangers.
Kyle’s drink came out immediately while the rest of us waited fifteen minutes. I rolled my eyes. “Jeez, we get it, he’s a good-looking dude. What are we, chopped liver?” I whispered to Katie.
I flagged down our waitress again, “Excuse me, I’m waiting on a Diet Coke. And can we get the wing menu too, please?”
“We don’t do wings here anymore. I’ll be back with your drink,” she said flatly.
Damnit Mother Mary, I had been craving teriyaki for over an hour. My mouth had been salivating at the idea since we left the bar.
This night’s a bust, might as well go home and cry myself to sleep, I thought.
The only thing that could redeem the winglessness of this night would be a solid make out session with Kyle.
“So, what are you doing this weekend?” I asked, trying to start a conversation with him.
“You know, playing basketball with some buds. Hitting the gym. Got some Tinder dates,” he said.
He wasn’t a great conversationalist, but kissing didn’t need to involve talking.
“Cool, cool. Where are you going for your dates?”
“Don’t know. I’ll figure it out later.”
I was about to abandon the mission because I obviously wasn’t getting anywhere when he casually leaned over, looked at my wrist, and asked, “Is that a watch? It’s cool.”
It wasn’t a watch. It was a Pavlok, a wristband that administers a small electrical shock when touched. It was designed to break bad habits like smoking and nail-biting. I bought it to help me stop touching my hair, a nervous habit that I was trying to break.
Kyle was intrigued by the premise of it.
“What do you mean, it shocks you?” he a
sked, truly looking at me for the first time all night.
“Well the point is to associate your bad habit with slight pain. It’s a way to train yourself to stop associating the habit with pleasure or comfort.”
“You shock yourself? Does it hurt?” he asked.
“I mean, it sounds extreme, but it’s such a small electrical current. It hurts just enough to make you not want to do the bad habit,” I said.
“Can I try it?” His eyes lit up with curiosity and something else I couldn’t identify.
“Sure.”
I took off the Pavlok and held it against his arm above his wrist. I pressed the button to release the shock. His fist clenched, and his eyes shut in pain.
“Sorry! It can be a lot the first time,” I said.
He opened his eyes slowly and, to my surprise, said, “Holy shit. That felt amazing. Do it again, please,” closing his eyes in anticipation.
I had let other friends test my Pavlok, but it was the first time anyone had asked for a second go-around. No one had ever claimed it felt good.
I pressed the wristband to his skin and hit the button again. His body shivered in pleasure.
He looked at me with his perfect jaw and his perfect smile and said, “I love it.”
A few months earlier I had attended a lecture on fetishes and one of the topics was electroplay, a fetish that involved people receiving a small electric shock during foreplay. I had never heard of it or anything else that involved the word “play” in such a confusing sexual context. It was a little too deep in the kink world for me, but I mentioned it to Kyle.
“Have you ever heard of electroplay? It’s a kink. There are safe toys and stuff.”
He turned his body to face me and despite being surrounded by half-naked women, I had his undivided attention for a few seconds.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up some forums with toys and explanations of how it worked when Katie stumbled back to our table. She had disappeared for a few minutes and I’d assumed she went to the bathroom.
“C’mon, I bought us both lap dances!” she said, laughing as she approached me, extending her hand to lead me to my dancer.
“What? Why?” I said. I didn’t want a lap dance, not to mention, I had just managed to captivate Kyle’s attention, I couldn’t leave now.
“If we can’t have wings, at least we can have lap dances!” she said, grabbing my chair and tilting it to try to make me move.
“No thanks,” I said, holding my ground.
“No refunds. C’mon, it will be fun.”
“I . . . don’t want to do that. . . .” I said as one of the dancers walked over and grabbed my hand. She kissed my cheek and said, “C’mon, baby!” She didn’t speak English very well so despite my protests I found myself sitting on one of the leather benches around the perimeter of the club.
There was a tear in the leather next to where I was sitting and I ran my finger across it, trying to figure out what to do.
The dancer straddled me, waving her long, blond hair in my face.
“Hi Sexy, I’m Lexy,” she said with a heavy accent, kissing my check, swinging her hair from side to side.
I wasn’t drunk enough for this.
“Uh, Olive. Nice to meet you,” I stuck out my hand to give her a handshake. I knew it wasn’t the right move, but I was unfamiliar with lap dance etiquette.
I turned my head to see what Katie was doing. She was stroking her dancer’s back, looking aroused by all of it. It seemed a little too comfortable for her.
Lexy started grinding against my leg and I seriously couldn’t figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do with my hands. I clasped them awkwardly behind my head like a total bro and didn’t touch her at all.
My body was stiff and rigid. I snuck a glance at Kyle who was watching me with bemusement.
I did not sign up for this. All I had wanted was some goddamn wings and to harmlessly flirt with Kyle while I was rebounding.
Lexy unclasped the hook on her purple bikini and pulled it off, waving it in the air. She dragged the fabric across my face and leaned forward.
“You like grills? OPA!” she cried, gyrating against my lap.
I stared at her blankly.
“Grills. Grills? Opa! You like grills?” she said, smiling seductively.
I stared at her for a minute trying to figure out what grilling had to do with any of this when it finally clicked that she meant girls.
I thought about it for a second and wanted to launch into a monologue about the Kinsey scale and how there were some girls I was attracted to and how my sexuality was a little more fluid than most people’s, but I recognized that this wasn’t the time or the place, so I just said, “Not really.”
She gyrated against my leg while I hardly moved. I couldn’t stop giggling, mostly out of nerves but also the ridiculousness of this entire night. I was at a strip club with a bunch of people I barely knew, getting a lap dance and trying to impress a man I didn’t want to date with my shock watch.
“So, do you like it here?” I asked, trying to make small talk.
“I’m from the islands!” she replied, smothering my face between her breasts.
The language barrier was obviously not conducive for chatting.
Another giggle escaped my lips as Lexy turned around and rubbed her butt against my stomach, probably so she didn’t have to look at me while I was being an uncomfortable weirdo.
“Yeah, baby. Yeah! Opa!” she yelled enthusiastically, swinging her head around so her hair was flying in a circle.
She continued to yell “Opa” and rubbed various parts of her body against mine before releasing me to head back to our table. I didn’t know if I was supposed to tip her or not, but I didn’t have any cash on me so I just said, “Thank you very much” and walked away.
I saw Katie hand her a ten on my behalf. I’d have to pay her back later.
“You looked so awkward,” Kyle said.
“Thanks for pointing it out,” I said, taking my seat and grabbing my cola.
The minute I sat down he turned all of his attention back to me and said, “Shock me again. Please. I’ve never felt anything like that.” He held out his wrist.
Happy that this train hadn’t been derailed by my abrupt exit, I placed the watch against his skin and watched his face contort with pleasure.
“What does it feel like for you?” I asked, letting my hand linger by his wrist, capitalizing on the fact that I had accidentally discovered a secret toy that aroused the hottest man at the strip club.
“So good,” he said.
“Let’s try adding something?” I said, reaching up to massage his head with my fingers, stroking gently. “I’m gonna shock you while I rub your head, for different sensations.”
“Ready?” I asked.
“Mhhhmm,” he said.
He loved it so much that when my island dancer approached him, he declined a lap dance and asked for more shocks instead.
I wanted to believe it was me, but it was definitely the watch. I was making some headway, though.
“I’ll be right back. Feel free to use it while I’m gone,” I said, getting up to go to the bathroom.
“It’s not the same. It’s better when you do it to me,” he said, flashing his pearly whites. The guy was attractive and he knew it.
I smirked while walking away: my weird sexual knowledge might impress Kyle enough to warrant a kiss at the end of the night.
I walked into a clean one-stall bathroom, thinking about how fascinating it was that Kyle liked being shocked.
I entered the stall, pulled down my pants and found a pool of dark, red blood in the bottom of my underwear.
My period had come.
It hadn’t just come, it had come Vin Diesel style, without knocking, busting down the door, and announcing its presence in the most inconvenient way.
I had bled through my underwear and my pants.
I yanked my pants off to see the damage that had been done and saw a grapefruit-si
zed stain on the back, obvious and dark.
Fuck.
I took off my jacket, tied it around my waist, and hoped it was long enough to cover the stain.
I ran back to my seat, keeping my back to the wall so no one could see my pants. I found an empty table and looked up to see all three members of my party getting lap dances.
I checked my chair for blood and when I didn’t see any, I knew that meant one thing.
I had bled all over the lap dance bench.
I thought about pretending that it didn’t happen, but it felt unfair to make someone else clean up my blood. Even though periods were totally natural, blood needed to be handled with care.
The lap dance bench was full of gyrating women and hungry clients, but the spot where I had gotten mine was thankfully vacant.
I inched my way closer, trying to examine the bench, hunched over pretending like I had dropped a piece of jewelry. Even though no one was close enough to hear it, I kept saying things like, “oh man, where’s my earring?” Finally, when I was about a foot away, I discreetly checked for blood, but I couldn’t see any.
A dancer walked by me and when she made eye contact, I said, “Whoops, dropped my earring,” and pointed at the floor.
She helped me look and when we couldn’t find my non-existent jewelry, I checked the bench again, as best as I could, for blood. It appeared to be blood-free so there was nothing for me to do but hightail it out of there.
Kyle came back to the table, looking cocky and aroused after his lap dance.
“Hey you, shock me?” he requested.
I was bleeding heavily and in too much of a tizzy to be flirtatious with a boy I had only wanted to make out with.
“I’m so tired,” I said, feigning a yawn. “I gotta go.” I said. It seemed abrupt because it was abrupt. I couldn’t sit back in down in my chair because I was afraid of bleeding on it. My only option was to leave as quickly as I could.
“No, don’t leave yet,” Kyle argued. He wasn’t used to women walking away from him. If the circumstances had been different, I might have reveled in that moment of power.
The Coitus Chronicles Page 12