Friday night, I stumbled off the plane with my bags and immediately called Red Beard. I figured he was probably out somewhere with Toughie and that it would take him a few minutes to get off his barstool to come get me. I was charmed when it turned out Red Beard was actually inside the airport waiting for me. We met in a cavernous hallway in Reagan National Airport under a giant American flag and shared a rather passionate kiss hello.
He asked which of my bags was heavier, and lifted it off my shoulder. Then I followed him to his car. He drove us back to his apartment, and we set my bags down on his living room floor. I slipped into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water while Red Beard followed closely behind me. I had a sip and set my glass down, then looked up at Red Beard.
He wrapped his arms tight around my body as he leaned down to kiss me. Then he lifted me up onto the counter and stood between my legs while we continued to suck face. His hands wandered down the back of my pants and toyed with the straps of my thong. Then he lifted me back up off the counter as I tightened my legs around his waist, and my arms around his neck.
He carried me into the bedroom, and I laughed as he dumped me onto his bed. He lay on top of me and I relished feeling the weight of his body against my chest. We made out some more as he worked my pants down my legs. Then he sat up briefly while he moved the whole mess of my pants, shoes and socks into a heap on the floor. His attention turned to my hooha as he moved my thong aside and went down on me.
After several soaring moments of bliss, I sat up and tugged at his belt. I smiled when I yanked his jeans down and saw his johnson filling out his boxer briefs in a most obscene manner. I pulled him down onto the bed and returned the favor. Following a round of bear-hugging, mindless sex that only the very familiar can achieve, Red Beard promptly went unconscious.
I looked at the clock. It was midnight. I wondered what happened to our plan to meet up with Toughie. I decided to leave it unmentioned as I drifted off to sleep.
Saturday morning, we woke up and did it all over again. We used copious amounts of lube as we frolicked about the bedstead. It was a cheerful start to the day, really, bouncing in the sunlight – some brisk, physical exertion that clears the mind such as would be advertised in a schoolhouse 1950s film containing black-and-white moving images of a strapping, barrel-chested man doing squat thrusts.
As both the hungover and fervent sex kittens the world over can attest, you can’t stay in bed all day, but only because you need to eat in order to live. While Red Beard and I dressed, we imagined the news headlines had we ignored our mortality: Lovers Too Lazy to Live Die of Starvation. Our mothers would cry to the heavens, “Why God, why? Why did I give birth to an idiot?”
In honor of our yet-to-be-booked tropical vacation, Red Beard took me to a Caribbean restaurant. We sipped our preposterously festooned afternoon cocktails and nibbled our lunch. While Red Beard picked up the check, we laughed that, after all of that booze and food, we needed to go back to bed. And so we did.
Of course that meant we had to have sex before our nap. When we woke up again, it was dark out and time to get ready for dinner. We brought up the conversational topic of visits past: Caveman Living, defined by only catering to our base instincts. Eat. Sleep. Have sex. Repeat. Man, we had it down, so much so that I gave Red Beard the moniker “Captain Caveman,” after the loveable, log-shaped hairy cartoon character of our childhood.
Soon after rising, Julie called. It was time for us to get the show on the road so we could meet Julie and her husband at Ruth’s Chris for a steak dinner. It was a romantic double date. Anyone who was looking would assume we were a pair of marrieds. I couldn’t help thinking, “This is a nice life. I could do this.” I wondered if Red Beard felt the same way.
After dinner, we left the restaurant and headed to a nearby bar to meet up with a group of friends. I was quite happy to see everyone, and they seemed happy to see me too. Toughie was there, along with a recently engaged couple who excitedly went on about their wedding plans. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Toughie, as he was the only single person in the bunch. I thought with horror, “That must be how I’ve been viewed by my coupled friends all these years. Yuck! How insulting. Note to self: Must not turn into a pompous relationship monger.”
On our way home, Red Beard talked about another recently engaged couple who was absent that night. He said matter-of-factly, “All my friends are getting married. It’s just Toughie and me left. Toughie doesn’t think he’ll ever get married, because he says he screws up all his relationships.” In my head, I heard Red Beard’s unspoken, “So it just leaves me.”
We were tired when we got home that night, after our rough day of eating, sleeping and screwing, so we went straight to bed. Lying next to each other in the dark, Red Beard whispered, “I’m so happy you’re here.” I felt so calm, so content, I didn’t ever want my stay to end.
We had another exciting day filled with more of the same activities on Sunday. We went out for burgers and beers for lunch. On our way back to Red Beard’s, we looked at the time and concluded there wasn’t enough left of the day to embark on any adventures.
We went back to Red Beard’s place and he got online, first to book his next flight to New York in two weeks, and then to look at vacation destinations while I packed my bag. When I was through packing, Red Beard pulled me onto his lap and showed me the Aruba resort he was eyeballing. I told him without hesitation that we should book it, and so we did.
We were absolutely ecstatic at the prospect of doing nothing but eating, sleeping and having sex in the Caribbean. He bounced me on his knee and sang, “We’re going to Aruba!” I kissed his face with delight.
Then it was time to get me back to the airport. On the short drive there, Red Beard commented, “It would be so great if you lived down here.” I swooned and smiled.
I thought about The Talk and felt that it would be a little bit ridiculous to stand on such formality after a weekend like this one. But still, I had promised myself I would bring it up if he didn’t, and so I struggled inside my own head as to how to approach such an awkward topic. “Hi, um, I know we just booked a vacation together two months in advance, and you told me I can stay with you while I interview for jobs in your city, but, so like, does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” Yeah, that’s not quite it.
Red Beard parked the car and picked up the heavier of my two bags. He escorted me to security, and then we put down my luggage and stood looking at each other. As we kissed and hugged goodbye, I thought, “Here’s my chance to bring up The Talk. Here it is. Okay, ready GO. Say it. Do it. Wait, he can say it too. But he’s not. We’re just standing here looking at each other.”
I shuffled my feet and told him I would miss him. He hugged me again and assured me, “But it’s only two weeks this time. I’ll see you really soon.”
I laughed, “Only two weeks. Yeah, that still sucks. But it’s getting better.” We had our final hugs and I turned and headed towards security. I appeased myself by thinking, “Okay, maybe we’ll have The Talk in two weeks. Or maybe … maybe we’re past it already. Maybe The Talk is obsolete.”
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