Okay, more than just interesting.
It was exciting, fun, surreal and ultimately the most satisfying vacation I have taken in a long while.
I never thought I’d make those comments about traveling to Milwaukee, Wisconsin: the heartland of the U.S., the Midwest, and America’s dairy land. This city has made me open my eyes and realize that my life is not over. At least my love life isn’t.
I landed in Milwaukee on sunny, humid Friday afternoon. It was nearly a 4 hour flight across the country and I won’t lie, I spent a lot of that time just reflecting and thinking about my life. I stared out the window of the plane and watched as desert turned into mountains into green pastures and then finally to the lake-filled country of the Midwest. What happened to me? I used to be such a fun girl. I used to not die over every matter of the heart. I used to take things in stride. I didn’t feel like everything had to be an ordeal or struggle. I made a decision then and there as my plane touched down at the Milwaukee airport: I would start living for me. I would stop living for someone else. If I truly wanted to be happy, I would have to be the one making that happen; not just waiting for some magical boy to show up and make all my dreams come true. And the first step towards reaching that goal, that awesome state of mind, would be to have a fun weekend with my old college roommate/ best friend Caroline. Unlike in Vegas, there would be no promise of boys or plans depending on what boys I’d be scoring on. NOPE! As I had said previously, fuck boys and their shit. I was going to have fun in a boy-free zone where nobody knows my name.
And then fucking Jonathan Baas shows up.
He doesn’t just show up….he breezes in. He sneaks in. My guard is down, I wasn’t even looking. I was totally oblivious. He blind-sided me. Like a 6 foot 2 inch tall Mack truck.
So to take a few steps back: I’m at this bar with Caroline and all her friends. I am, for the sake of this trip, a single girl. We had spent the better half of that morning running/walking in a 5K race. We ran out of time (and motivation) to shower, so we just walked directly to the Nomad Bar to watch the third place World Cup game between Uruguay and Germany. Nobody cared and we thought it was funny that a whole group of us where there in T-shirts, gym shorts and running shoes. Caroline’s friends are awesome and were buying me drinks left and right. I was having a good time (despite Uruguay losing!) and got drunk very quickly. The game finished and the bar got empty pretty fast. There I was enjoying the remains of my Cuba Libre as everyone was standing around, chatting, when this tall boy just sidles up next to our group and starts talking to us. Apparently, he’s a friend of Caroline and another part of her fellowship group. I was standing behind him and was immediately fascinated (in my drunken stupor) by his black shirt with white Cyrillic letters on it. I assumed it was Russian. I think he felt my eyes blazing a hole in his back because he turns around and introduces himself to me.
Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan. Wow….just a great kilowatt smile with these big, bright brown eyes. Not like the brown I’m used to. Mexican boys have these rich, coffee ground chocolate eyes. Jon’s are light, like honey, like caramel, like I want to live in them forever. He catches me off-guard. I was not ready for this. I am certainly not ready to pick up in my sweaty gym clothes. So I surrender myself to “whatever happens, happens” and chat him up like I don’t give a fuck BECAUSE I REALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK. I let the old me kick in, the college me who was stalwart and fearless. All pretenses are out the door. All hang ups are out the window. I am confidant. I am smart. I am in control. I am myself and I let it all just flow out as we talk about school, friends, work and our home life. I find out he’s originally from Yuma, Arizona and he studied at Creighton University, a small Catholic college in Omaha, Nebraska. I tell him I’m from Los Angeles, California and that I studied Film at uber-liberal UC Berkeley in Northern California. His eyes light up and then the conversation really starts rolling. We’ve done the usual sizing up. And now it’s really effortless. I’m not holding back like I do with other guys. I am not completely hypnotized by his charm and his intellect. I am aware of it but I don’t let him lead. We talk like two friendly rivals, teasing each other, flirting more and more as the alcohol starts to rise in our bloodstreams. I want to kiss him, except I don’t know that yet. Because I’m the old me and the old me wants to strip him down and learn every single detail before I make a move. The old me is slightly competitive. The old me wants Jonathan to fall into my trap. But I think that shot of Jameson whiskey Caroline’s boyfriend gives me is a bad move. I drink it like its water. I feel dizzy. Jonathan asks if I want to go to Club Brady across the street. I follow him like I don’t have another choice.
Club Brady, I learn, is a tongue-in-cheek name for a bar on Brady Street with pool tables, cheap drinks and a bean bag toss game. Jonathan has a beer and announces he will be at the arcade, killing aliens on some video game I’ve never heard of. I shrug and continue NOT GIVING A FUCK and chat with the rest of the group. By now everyone else knows something’s going on. Everyone’s raising their eyebrows and giving me a little smile, “So what’s going on with you and Baas?” they ask. I like that they refer to him by his last name. Dave, Caroline’s very drunk friend, proclaims that I have amazing breasts and that he wants to wake up in them tomorrow morning. I laugh and say I’d rather have Jonathan wake up in them. Dave smiles and says he can make that happen but it’s in his best interest to have Jonathan fail. He walks over to the arcade booth and I worry that he’ll fuck up shit for me. Oh well. I shrug. Feeling this free, this non-chalant is so liberating. Caroline’s boyfriend slurs that he’ll help me out, too. All I can do is laugh carelessly. Not giving a fuck should be my new motto. I feel like anything can happen. Jonathan walks back over to my table. “How did the alien killing go?” I ask casually as I drink my beer. He grins and says it’s awesome. He sits across from me and we go for another round of conversation and sizing up. Everything we’re saying is making me feel like we should never stop talking. I hear a ding, a bell, an alarm in my head screaming: “Holy shit, this guy is my soul mate.” But instead I giggle, like a girl who knows too much. I apologize for my work-out clothes and messy ponytail even though I secretly stopped caring about my appearance. He shrugs and smiles: “Showers are over-rated.” It’s like I’m in a romantic comedy, an Imogen Heap love song or something….”Why'd you have to be so cute?” thunders in my head. I find myself playfully pushing him when he says something mean to me, when I know he’s just teasing and trying to get a reaction out of me. The old flirtation technique, I know it so well. So then things get even more intimate and we start talking about music, one of my favorite subjects. He mentions he likes the Beatles, Bob Dylan and various other bands I like, too. I go for the kill and decide to put it all out there, to expose myself and see if he likes it. I go for broke. I go for all the chips on the table and in true NOT GIVING A FUCK attitude, I confess my secret obsession: “Yeah, you know I’m really into that sullen 80’s British pop. I love the Smiths and Morrissey.” His eyes flash and he stands up straight, “No fucking way. I love the Smiths, too! I saw Morrissey in Omaha a few years ago!” I nearly hit the roof and squeal that I saw Morrissey on that same tour but in L.A. at the Palladium. And the race is on. Suddenly the air feels even lighter. Things feel brighter and shinier. I feel like I want to marry this guy. Like I want to always talk to him, like we would never run out of things to say. He grabs us a couple of shots from the bar: tequila, my absolute favorite. “What should we toast to?” I ask coquettishly. He pauses and slowly a smile spreads across his face: “William, it was really nothing.” We clink our little shot glasses and down it goes. He just straight out quoted one of my favorite Smiths song, my panties about hit the floor.
So we talk about his Peace Corp service in Kyrgyzstan and how he got so drunk at his host brother’s wedding that he missed the entire service. I see he has a penchant for vodka. He said he told his host father that he threw up so much; he had “nothing else inside of him.” His short little host brothers had to carry him home and he said they were all about as tall as I am, so around 5 foot 2 inches. He claims he’s about a whole foot taller than them, so it looks pretty funny. I bullshit him a little and tell him he’s nowhere near that tall. So I make him stand up and face me. We’re so close….I look right up into his face and don’t balk, I don’t look away, and I am not shy. I will NOT be that clumsy girl, afraid of going further like I was in that hotel room in Vegas. I hold my ground and flash him a smirk: “Well, okay maybe you are that tall.” He towers over me and I like it. He takes this chance to show me how his host brothers carried him home. He slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, right next to him. I laugh out loud and tell him to get off as he puts his weight on my right arm. I secretly don’t want him to pull away.
Our sparring lesson continues and it’s just a verbal chess game: he confesses he owns all of Shakira’s albums. I tell him I do, too and that I have tickets to see her in October. I tell him he’s a typical ‘Zonie (that’s what we call people from Arizona) and he scoffs and wonders why we don’t call Californians “Fornies.” I tell him he should. Suddenly his friend Aaron grabs me by the hips and pushes me right up against Jonathan and says I should stand close because I’m in the way of the bean bag toss game. I apologize and fall over Jon like a drunken fool. He doesn’t seem to mind. He says we should go to Jo-Cat’s down the street. I disappear with him into the balmy Wisconsin night and totally forget about Caroline and the rest of the group. Some of the people from Club Brady wander over with us. Jonathan waits for no one and hops down the stairs, incredibly sure of where he’s going. I don’t even know where the fuck I am in relation to Caroline’s apartment but I don’t give a flying crap. I’m following Jonathan and he’s already 10 huge steps ahead of me on the sidewalk. I run and catch up, forgetting to hesitate. I want to go where he’s going.
Jo-Cat’s is a dimmer, low-lit bar on Brady Street. It looks a little classier, like a wannabe jazz bar. Aaron looks over at me and says it’s time I pulled some of my weight and that I should buy Jonathan a drink. I raise an eyebrow and look over at Jonathan: “What do you want?” He refuses at first but I insist. He thinks and says he’ll have whatever I’m having. I shrug, “White Russian?” He makes a face and says we shouldn’t throw milk on top of what we’ve already been drinking. “Cuba Libre, errr I mean rum and Coke?” I counter. He shakes his head. He suggests a vodka tonic. I feel my insides churn but go along with it, like it isn’t a big deal. We down our drinks like we’re thirsty and keep talking. I make a reference to Foreigner, which leads him to make a reference to Aqua Teen Hunger Force which then leads me to do a killer impression of Ignignokt and Moth Monster Man. He laughs so hard and gives me this look, like I just made his life. I giggle and ask if we just became best friends. He hugs me and I’m convinced we’re made for each other. At least that’s what the alcohol in my veins is telling me.
We make our way over to a third bar (whose name I can no longer remember) and play a little foosball. I beat Jonathan and Aaron with the help of a very inebriated Sean. We trick Sean into giving us free Johnnie Walker shots. No Blue Label of course, but I’m so drunk it all tastes like sour water to me. Jonathan suggests we go back to Jo-Cat’s. I don’t even argue, I just follow him like a very drunk dog following her owner. I love it at Jo-Cat’s. The dance floor is packed and Jonathan pulls me over to dance. Me and some of the girls from Caroline’s group find us and we start doing an impromptu dollar dance. The boys will toss a dollar bill on the middle of the dance floor and then we girls have to get down low and pick it up all sexy like. Then the girls do it to the boys and so on. It’s hilarious to watch the guys try to be sexy. I make sure to bend down at the waist and show Jon my cleavage. Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” comes on and the place erupts. I dance to every song with Jon, even to Big & Rich’s “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).”Once Katy Perry’s “California Girls” comes on, Jonathan is a goner. I push him up against the wall and sing the entire song to him, throwing in all my sexy hand gestures and making sure to wrap his arms around my hips. He won’t stop smiling down at me, like I just let him in on the secret that none of these people here know: that we got a spark going. I pause and tell him I need to hit up the restroom. I wait in line for the ladies room and text Caroline that I’m fine and with Jonathan. Once I get out of the bathroom I stand near the bar and watch the activity on the dance floor. I’m miles from Caroline’s apartment. Should I go home? What’s going to happen? Jonathan has his own apartment; will he let me stay there? I look up and he finds me through all the faces in the crowd. He’s dancing and he’s gesturing at me to come over, beckoning me. I breathe and think, “Let’s do this.” All of a sudden “Whatta Man” by Salt-n-Pepa comes on and I think it’s time to get dirty. I turn around with my back to him and start grinding. He loves it and wraps his arms around my waist again and we go at it for the entire song. Once that song is over I start fanning myself because it feels like a million degrees here. He asks if I want to outside for some air. Of course I say yes. He grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the bar. We catch a cab and take off to his apartment. The air feels so fresh and cool. Jonathan is starting to sound a little drunk. He says the cabbie is a trust-worthy guy because he’s taking all the shortcuts to his apartment. The cabbie humors us and tells us he’s from Jordan, which Jonathan hears as Georgia. It’s hilarious. We get to his place and I stumble out. I manage to knock something out of the cab which I promptly apologize and try to put back in. I just throw it on the backseat and run while Jonathan berates me for destroying this man’s beautiful cab. I laugh and stumble even more up the steps, nearly four floors to Jonathan’s cute little flat.
Once inside, things calm down. Things take on a different tone. Everything’s quiet now. No more dancing, no sweating, no drinking. Jon gets me a glass of water. We sit on his couch and quietly chat about politics. He remembers our earlier conversation and says he’ll get some Smiths going. He fiddles with his lap top and suddenly iTunes is providing the soundtrack for the rest of our night. “Sheila Take a Bow” beautifully streams out of his surround speakers. I drink my water with pleasure and study his apartment. He has a Kyrgyz tapestry over his windows, a collection of Milwaukee Brewers baseball helmets on his wall and several Marquette men’s basketball posters. He looks over at me and motions that I should get closer. He wants to hold me close. I oblige and put my water down. I crawl over on his couch and rest my head on his chest. I put my right arm around his waist and listen to his heart beat. It’s beating pretty fast. He’s super excited. We sit and listen to music, both of us softly singing along to the Smiths. One of my favorite “That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore” comes on and remarkably I can sing all the words and not mess up despite all the alcohol I’ve had. He strokes my hair and I run my fingers across his stomach. I get up abruptly and announce I have to use the restroom. It gives me time to think what the next move should be. I pee and wash my hands in his tiny little restroom. I take a quick inventory: a bathroom scale, men’s shower wash in the bathtub, blue striped shower curtains, and a wash cloth on the floor next to the toilet plus blackberry and melon scented hand soap. I wash my face too and make sure I don’t stink. I glance at myself in the bathroom mirror and pray that this all goes well. I clear my throat and walk out. He’s still on the couch and now the Smiths “Half a Person” comes on and he’s impressed that I know all the words to this one, too. I confess that I harbor an unhealthy groupie lifestyle for a Smiths/Morrissey cover band called the Sweet and Tender Hooligans. He smiles and sings along, stopping to tell me he can relate to the song because he too was once “sixteen, clumsy and shy.” I agree that I kind of was too, except I was more sixteen, awkward and friendly. And then it happens. We hold eye contact just a little longer than normal; it gets quiet….and we both lean close to kiss. That first kiss is always so magnetic, so full of fireworks. His beard is coming in and though he looks pretty clean-shaven, I can feel the scratchy stubble burning on my lips, cheeks and chin. I absolutely love it and don’t want to stop kissing. I try to kiss his neck but he stays right on my mouth. We kiss wildly, like we’re going to die, like we’re on a collision course, like we might never ever get to kiss again. We bump teeth a few times and pause to laugh when it happens. I pull his T-shirt away from his neck and kiss the soft, smooth skin of his shoulder. Shoulders drive me nuts, by the way….huge turn on for me. He kisses me right at the neck, too and then tries to pull my shirt off. I whip it right off for him just so he won’t stop kissing me. He moves in for the kill and undoes my bra with one hand. We keep kissing like two crazed teenagers and once he moves onto sucking my breasts, I know I gotta make him stop before it goes any further.
“Do you have condoms…?” I ask breathlessly.
He shakes his head, “Uhh nope. Do you?”
I frown and think hard. I brought condoms on this trip just in case but I know they’re sitting a few blocks away at Caroline’s apartment, right in my suitcase. “No. I left them in my luggage….I didn’t think any of this was going to happen!”
We sit on his couch and debate what to do next. He doesn’t want to go back to Caroline’s apartment 4 blocks away (there’s probably nobody home) but he is willing to run over to the QP convenience store directly across the street from her place. My mind is racing but it sounds like a good idea. He hopes the place isn’t closed by now. He says I don’t have to come if I don’t want to, and then apologizes for leaving me to sit there in my underwear. I tell him its fine, I just want to be 100% safe and I don’t need any “souvenirs” from Wisconsin. He grabs his keys and bolts for the door. I put my shirt back on (with no bra on) and take my shoes and socks off. I lie out on the couch in my gym shorts and sip my water, while listening to the Smiths. “Ask” comes on and the only sound in that little apartment is the sound of my own voice singing along to the music. I’m left there with my own thoughts wondering what it’s going to feel like when he finally takes me. Will I finish? Will he? Will it be weird? Will it be awesome? Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of keys jangling. I look over at him and ask how it went.
He says, “You know condoms are pretty overrated.”
I gasp but he quickly starts laughing and tells me he’s kidding and tosses over a packet of Trojans. I thank him and say I’m sorry for making him run around but he says it’s quite alright and that this should be his responsibility anyway. He says he ran the 4 blocks over to the QP and when he got there the clerk asked him if he wanted a packet of one, three or 40. He said three would be fine and didn’t care how much it would come out to, it could be a hundred dollars, and he was ready and willing to fork over his debit card. I laughed and felt pretty good about myself, I guess. I have Jonathan prepared to hand over a copious amount of money just for some sex. Suddenly he looks down at me with that smile of his, it always looks like he’s being sarcastic and asks: “Why is your shirt still on?”
Off goes the shirt into a pile of his clothes and mine. We go at it on the couch for several minutes and I reach for his dick. He’s pretty fucking hard. I stop the wild and passionate kissing to ask if I can suck his cock. Yeah, it didn’t take very long for him to turn his futon couch into a fold out bed. He says his regular bed is an air mattress and it’s not very comfortable. I don’t care. I tell him to get on his back, to which he responds with a very enthusiastic “Yes ma’am!” The old me is totally back. Now I’m the one in the lead. He’s not circumcised. Oh well, they can’t all be perfect. I give him a hand job while asking if he’s the type of guy that will come in my mouth but then won’t be able to come inside me later. He says he won’t try to come in my mouth and will try to wait. I grin and say “Good!” before deep throating him like a fucking whore. I love, love, love it. He can barely talk. All I hear from him are soft moans and the sound of my name. I pause and tell him that he’s hit pay dirt, “I love sucking cock and I can come pretty quickly.” He sighs and says that I’m not kidding. I suck on him for a long while, taking him all the way. I know he’s close and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction yet. He reaches down between my legs and rubs my clit until I'm practically sobbing his name. He doesn't struggle to find my spot like other guys, he finds it very quickly and murmurs "There you are" when I start to squirm and shake. I make him stop and scoot back up so that we’re face to face lying on the bed. He kisses me and says it all feels great. I ask if he wants me to get on top. “Yes, God, yes!” he says and hands me the condom. I refuse and tell him that it’s all him. “If you do it, then it’s not my fault later if something goes wrong” I say and he agrees. He slips the condom on and I quickly get on top. It’s a little awkward but together we’re able to maneuver his dick inside of me, It’s not a huge thing so he feels like he’s going to slip out. I don’t let on, I just ride him like my whole life depends on it. It takes a few tries but we get into a nice rhythm. He reaches up to kiss me several times with this silly look on his face. I ask him if it feels pretty bad. He laughs and shakes his head, “No…no…it feels…whatever the opposite of pretty bad is!” His face is pretty red. This is usually a tell-tale sign. I ask him if he wants to switch it up again. I whisper in his ear: “Come on, fuck me, please!!” In a flash he’s on top of me, struggling to get his dick back inside. Once I know he’s in, I tell him to let me put my legs on his shoulders. “It’ll hurt more this way” I whisper. He happily obliges and then we get to some straight, dirty, painful fucking. I know it’s weird…but I like a little pain with my pleasure. Jonathan gives it to me hard and fast. I look up at him, practically screaming his name out, telling him I love the way he fucks me. I dig my fingernails into the wooden arm rests of his futon couch and hear how they scrape with every thrust of his dick. I tell him I can’t wait any longer and asks if he’s going to come soon because I am sooooo close. He reaches down urgently and kisses me again and says I can come anytime I want to. That’s all I need, that’s all the approval I want and I feel it all swell up inside of me, rushing through every nerve of my body. I come so hard on his dick, I squeeze him out. We pause only for a little bit before we switch positions again. “Do you want to do it from behind?” he asks all out of breath. I beg him to but not before telling him that if he dares to put it in my butt I will sock him in the mouth. He shrugs and says “Fair enough.” I get down on all fours, put my head down and angle my hips upward. He grabs a hold of my butt and effortlessly slides in. I cry out when I feel him enter me and immediately feel the need to tell him he can slap my ass if he wants to. He doesn’t even hesitate and gives me a few sound, spanks on my bottom. I scream, “Oh God, Jonathan!” over and over before I hear him choke out: “Okay, okay, I’m coming!!” and then it’s all over. We collapse on the futon and catch our breath. That was amazing. I roll over on my side and tell him I’m so sorry if his neighbors heard me screaming to which he responds “Fuck that guy! He hates me anyway.”
Our post coital talk is even better than our regular conversations. We lay there, both still naked and talk about the night, how we both sized each other up, how silly Caroline’s friends are. He confesses it’s been a couple of years since he’s had sex, since Peace Corps when all they had to choose from where other PC volunteers. I tell him it’s not been that long for me but that I’m in the middle of breaking up with my boyfriend of a few years. I tell him that our relationship disintegrated and now I’m moving out. Jonathan retorts: “Fuck guys like that…fuck him.” I laugh. I know he doesn’t know all the details and I’m guilty of not telling him everything, but whatever. It’s weird….I had forgotten all about Dan for a few hours there. I’m over him without even being completely out of the relationship. Oh well.
Jonathan says he doesn’t want to be one of those guys that immediately fall asleep after sex. We cuddle and talk some more. I ask him about the small 5 inch scar across his stomach. He lies and says he got cut by a bottle in a bar fight in Mexico. I scoff and say that’s not true, why would the scar be so straight? He smiles there in the dark and squeezes me, “No. I actually had an operation right after I was born because all my organs were pushed up into my diaphragm. So they had to fix it when I was a baby.” I touch it and run my finger along the pink scar. I tell him about some of my scars and he feels them with his fingers and says he can’t even tell they’re there.
He brings out a white bed sheet and apologizes for the smell of mothballs. I take a bathroom break, too. It’s time for us to get some sleep. The chilling sounds of “Meat is Murder” come on and I ask if he really wants to hear it. He says no, it’s kind of a scary song and we turn off the music. We still don’t go to sleep. We talk for a few more minutes, vowing to not friend each other on Facebook. I tell him I know his last name already but he doesn’t know mine and he tries to guess. He goes through all the Hispanic last names he knows:
“Marquez?”
“Nope!”
“Garcia?”
“Nooo!”
“Hernandez?”
“Nah!”
“Okay, I got it….uhhhh..Arteaga?”
“No!!”
Finally I tell him but he pretends not to hear me. He asks, “So you said Escobar, right?” I laugh and say yeah sure, that’s it. I roll over on my stomach and fall asleep. He warns me that he sometimes kicks people in his sleep. I say it’s fine as long as he doesn’t spit on me or try to put it in my butt. He says that’s the best life motto a person can have. His screen saver comes on his laptop: it’s a picture of a donkey which he claims is his only friend. I smile and tell him he’s so incredibly cute and I touch his chest. He says I’m not so bad myself.
The next morning I wake up with a start. Jonathan is still fast asleep clad in nothing but his boxers. I hear the sea gulls outside his window as they fly over to Lake Michigan. I get up and use the restroom, a little dizzy and a little hung over. That wakes him up and he hops in the shower soon after. I get back in bed and doze a little, wondering if the night before was really that awesome. I look at the play list and smile. Of course it was! Jonathan comes back from his shower, wearing a blue Optimus Prime shirt and sits on his recliner to do some homework and read a few notes before he has a group meeting with his summer school class. I ask if I’m bothering him. He shakes his head and says it’s okay and I can totally go back to sleep. But I can’t. I sit up in bed and ask if he can just take me back to Caroline’s. He stands up immediately and says it’s okay. He asks if I’m hung over at all. I stumble towards his front door and kick a box full of empty beer bottles. “Uhhhh, no?”
We walk through his neighborhood and arrive at Caroline’s in a few minutes. I call her but she’s at her boyfriend’s place. Jonathan says it’s fine; we can grab breakfast while we wait for her to get over with the keys. We stop at the Broken Yolk and the cashier convinces me to get banana and chocolate chips pancakes with an orange juice. Jon grabs a coffee and an omelet. I’ve almost forgotten that he’s a vegetarian. The cashier asked what name should the order be under and he says “Jon” and I kind of melt inside. He grabs the local paper and we have breakfast on the outside patio. I love it!! The cashier guy chats us up outside and asks us if we go to Marquette. Jonathan says he does but mentions that I’m from out of town. The cashier asks from where and when I say “L.A.” his eyes light up. It’s mad funny how excited people get here when they meet someone from the “big city.”
When the cashier guy leaves, Jon mentions this guy is always this way, even when the line is out the door. He’s friendly and likes to chat. Suddenly an older lady who has just ordered her breakfast decides to chat us up, too. I guess we look like a pretty friendly couple or something because she jokes that I should have the control in the relationship and make sure he gives me the newspaper at the breakfast table. I laugh and say he’s been good so far. Jon smirks and tells the old woman that I definitely have all the control. I feel myself blushing. “Believe me, she knows…she knows” he laughs as he folds up the paper.
I’m almost done with my breakfast when Caroline shows up and takes me home. We more or less finish eating. We rehash some of the events of the previous night and then decide it’s time to go. It all happens so fast. He takes off the opposite way and I don’t even get to give him a proper goodbye. I just look back at him and wave goodbye as he says “See ya later.”
And that’s it.
That was my perfect day with this amazing, smart, adorable boy I will never see again. I tortured myself the rest of the day wondering if I could see him one more time before I left but he had a study group meeting at 6 pm and then I was too chicken shit to see if he’d be around later. I broke down and decided to text him around 11 pm after getting his number from Caroline.
Me: Hey, this is [...] from…uh, this morning. It’s my last night in Milwaukee. Just wanted to say it was great meeting you.
I got no response until the next morning.
Jonathan: Glad you had a good time. I’ve enjoyed it as well. Enjoy the Miller Tour and travel home safely.
Awww. He remembered I had told him I’d be visiting the Miller beer factory and taking a tour of the facility. And the sentiment was so sweet there at the end. I haven’t received a text that nice in years. It feels weird to be treated like I matter.
So what does this all fucking mean? I DON’T KNOW!!! I’m just so confused. I believe things happen for a reason, that chance meetings between someone like me and someone like Jon are not “random” or “meaningless.” I think God puts things and people in my path for me to learn and grow from. I’ve hooked up with a few guys over the years and though I feel giddy about it afterwards, the emotions soon fade away and I’m left with the crushing realization that there will never be anything more. I got my lumps this way dealing with the likes of Julio and Edgar….and I’m pretty sure soon enough Paul. But then there’s someone like Jonathan where I don’t know him so my image and memory of him are perfect. I don’t just feel like I could hit it and quit it. I feel like I want to know more about him, I want to date him, I have a deliciously unrequited crush on him. I want him to be in my life.
Ughhh….or maybe it was just a one time encounter. But why can’t I stop thinking about him? And why have I been quietly praying to God with tears streaming down my cheeks, begging him to let me see Jonathan one more time? I don’t need a boy to be my salvation, I know this. But why is my heart so stubborn?
In the mean time I’ve been Facebook stalking Jon and looking at all his pictures and thinking he’s about the cutest boy ever. That will have to do for now. (sighhhhhh) I really believe I left my heart in Milwaukee.
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