“NO.” My best friend said, her mouth agape. She inhaled slowly, a deep yoga breath, a downward dog breath as she flipped her raven-black hair behind her shoulder. She then leaned in smiling, “And?”
I was referring to Jake, an ex lover of mine from a very brief period in college. These days, he was notorious for publishing videos to his Snapchat story and referring to viewers as his Snapchat fans. Having never really gotten over him, I did what any girl would do—I grabbed my best friend and made an inside joke out of his weird snapchat tendencies. Mostly, this involved playing his snaps for her and going off on tangents shouting to the heavens, “NO ONE IS YOUR SNAPCHAT FAN!!!”
And so this morning, I went on to describe the most chivalrous booty call I had ever had. It was with Jake himself, years after my initial infatuation, and just like me, I still haven’t totally come down from it.
Jake was possibly the most eligible bachelor of my college experience at Illinois State University. He was handsome, hardworking, funny (enough), and a cheerleader. Yes, the number one thing I looked for in a man was the ability to cheer, but the rest was also pretty rad. The gist of us was this—he was the bouncer at my favorite bar, he swept me off my feet for about three weeks, until he realized I was a virgin and he was graduating in December. Essentially, he spared me from the emotional turmoil of deflowering me and leaving without being my boyfriend, and I ultimately turned the immense heartache into a hilarious monologue and moved on by dating my first serious boyfriend who took my virginity to Love on Top by Beyonce. (“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” “I can’t believe how many key changes there are in this song!”) Now fast forward to October of 2014, where Jake and I got back in touch.
I sat at my mom’s kitchen table, swilling down her boxed Chardonnay and pining for my ex. Suddenly, I thought of Jake, and our unfinished business, and the way he smelled, and the way his shoulders felt when I hugged him hard. And before I knew it, I was on facebook messaging him something along the lines of (I’m including typos because I was drunk when I messaged him and honestly there probably were some)
Hannah- 9:34 pm Hey you! Sso I’m just wondering if youd like to grab some drinks soon and catch up? Would love t see what you’ve been up to. Letme know!
Jake- 10:00pm (goes on a tangent about how he’s in a relationship and is super happy but is sad he lost our friendship and would love to catch up anyway. No typos.)
He and I continued to keep in touch until we were both single. I had been pining for love-making with him since I was 21, so imagine my surprise when I found myself walking with him to his car last week, freshly showered and shaven (he was too but I was actually talking about myself). He smelled good and had one of those cars he could turn on by clicking a snazzy button on his keys. His apartment was tastefully decorated and painted, and he even constructed his own headboard and lighting fixtures… tastefully. He opened the door for me and smoothly drove us down the suburban roads to dinner where he picked up the tab and indulged me in both emotionally aware and entertaining conversation. I felt electric when our legs would accidentally graze under the table, and rather than get sloppy drunk, I actually just leaned on my hands lazily and soaked in everything he had to say. This was weird. His hazel eyes glowed under the dim restaurant lighting, and I was taken back to being 21 and trying to solve the Jake rubix cube. My babe, my cheerleader. Go team go.
He walked me to the car and kissed me passionately before we went back to his place. We pretended to get ready for bed and indulged in a nostalgic moment brushing our teeth together the way we used to after a drunken night out. We snuggled briefly before finally dancing the dance that lovers do. We were caught up in the passionate throws of each other and ‘90s spotify vibes when he paused.
“I’m making you bleed.” He said looking down at me with genuine concern.
I looked down eying the bloody show, hoping that despite this mishap, my hair was cascading over my shoulders like a mermaid and that my stomach looked flat-ish.
“Is it because I’m too big?” He asked with some more genuine concern.
“Um. No? I got my period…”
“Well. I mean. What do we do? I just don’t want to have to wash my sheets…”
“I don’t know!” I shrugged. We stared at each other for a few seconds, awkwardly maneuvering our limbs and making it to the bathroom to clean up. We decided to get dressed and snuggle and talk. This was totally his idea.*
- This was totally my idea.
“You know what? Do you just want to put a towel down and do it anyway? Fuck it.” He said, with a sort of matter-of-fact logic, like a grandmother proposing the family throw all caution to the wind and get Dairy Queen after dinner.
“Yes.” I agreed, praying my uterine lining would cooperate.
After the deed, we slept, with a mutual understanding that you cuddle until you don’t. We woke up the next morning and kissed sleepily. He offered to make me eggs, and gave me the fastest directions home, and just like that the adult sleepover ended. It may have been the craziest thing I had done in a while, and I regretted none of it.
I rolled into the city that morning as the sun eagerly made its way into the sky, and met with my best friend for brunch. A night like that calls for good coffee, great conversation, and even better granola. I can’t say that this was just a booty call for me, because it was good to feel like I was dating a man. It was good to feel pretty and adored. And now I’m finding myself checking my phone like an idiot wondering when we’ll talk next. And maybe we will, and maybe we won’t, but here’s to throwing caution to the wind, saying yes to what life has to give you, and being the ultimate snapchat fan.