Note: This is an archived short story. See here.

About every six months, I do a bit of self-reflection and realize that I’m utterly and completely without any redeeming quality. Of course, rather than take the time to treat my underlying problems, which stem primarily from deep-seated issues related to my inability to get over one particular rejection and the accompanying rampant substance abuse, I generally just band-aid my problems with fleeting passion.

So about six months ago, while I sat in the drunk tank after urinating on a parked police car, I again decided that I needed something good in my life upon which to focus. There was a girl who worked at the nearby World Market I had encountered a number of times over the previous six months. She was reserved though attractive – a grad student at SMU studying literature, or something similarly worthless. Though most of the World Market employees were awkwardly clingy, she seemed legitimately interested in me. I hadn’t asked her out because I was concerned about damaging her. Her name was Eden.

I went to her store the next day during a long lunch break, saw her at the register, and offered a polite nod as I entered. I browsed for a few minutes, eventually finding some overpriced snack mix and a few bottles of wine to perfect the guise that our encounter was somehow vaguely related to chance.

“Shane,” she said with a smile as I approached.

She remembered my name. Confidence straightened my back. We exchanged further pleasantries and I paid for my booze and snacks. As I stepped away, I stopped abruptly as though I had forgotten something. She glanced back with a smile.

“You know, the last five times I’ve seen you hear, I told myself I was going to ask you out – and I always lose my nerve. So, I was wondering…”

Her smile widened.

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

She wasn’t. Her shift ended at six. I was to pick her at the Pearl DART station at seven for our date. She gave me her phone number. I made a bad joke about her already having mine.

“My rewards card,” I said, feeling awkward and uneasy as the words escaped my mouth. I gave her my number again.
Around six that night, she asked me, via text, about the evening’s attire. I hadn’t really planned anything. “Cocktail,” I responded.
I had to pay to park next to the DART station, which was irritating. Her train arrived a few minutes after seven.

We went to Perry’s for dinner, I ordered my traditional first date bottle of Dom. She recognized instantly that I was trying to impress her, which isn’t something I can say for all of her predecessors. She was cool about it and ordered a forty dollar steak. I had the pork chops. About halfway through the meal, we ordered another bottle of Dom.

I refused when the waiter asked if I wanted a box, though I was only able to finish half of the food I ordered. We had coffee and whiskey after the meal. After I paid our bill, which had crept above $600, I asked Eden if she needed to get home. It was Monday night and we were nearing nine o’clock.

“No, not really, why?” she asked with slight hesitation.

“I know a place.”

I drove to my office parking lot, where we left my car and I flagged a cab that was parked at the nearby Marriott.
As I fell into the backseat, I ordered, “the Amsterdam please.”

We listened to mediocre jazz and drank five dollar Manhattans until nearly midnight. Though the conversation was sparse, there was a certain nervous energy between us. At some point, I leaned over to better hear what Eden was saying and she kissed me. I played along.

It was a good kiss.

We were drunk by the time our cab dropped us back off in front of my office building. We hadn’t kissed again, though we had begun holding hands. The security guard who was at the security desk in my building smiled and tipped his hat as we passed him. Eden looked at me with a large grin and squeezed my hand.

The elevator was waiting at the lobby. As the doors shut behind us, I pushed Eden against the back wall and kissed her. She squeezed me, and I her, and we spent what felt like an hour, but was likely a minute, making out in the elevator.

Breathless, we separated from one another, shared a brief, lustful look, and simultaneously realized that neither of us had pushed the button for our floor. We laughed, kissed for a moment, and I pressed the button.

As the elevator descended, we stood in panicked silence, both waiting for the other to propose something that would extend the night, even if that meant shirking any semblance of chastity. Finally, as the elevator door opened, Eden proposed, “Does that hotel across the street have a bar?”

We stepped out and walked towards my car.

“It’s probably closed by now,” I replied.

“The hotel?” she snapped in a doubtful tone.

“The bar.”

She nodded and we climbed into my car.

“This won’t work. You’re in no shape to drive,” she said as I hit the button that starts my car.

I shrugged and lobbed a softball, “No, not really.”

She nodded to herself as the radio filled the background. “Well, we have a dilemma.”

“We?”

“Yes,” she quickly responded. “Where do you live?”

“A few blocks away,” I said, assuming we were about to head to my place and fuck.

“I see… You think the hotel rooms across the street have minibars?” she asked with devious smirk.

“I know they do,” I replied, basically outing myself as a whore.

We were across the street and in the Marriott lobby in five minutes. The desk clerk understood the situation and put us in a three-hundred dollar per night suite. The minibar was well stocked.

After two more drinks – each – Eden grabbed my arm and pulled me into the bedroom. Standing directly in front of the bed, she gave me a long, deep kiss and shoved me backwards. I landed comfortably.

“Wait here, don’t move a muscle,” she said in a laughably seductive tone.

She walked to the bathroom as I stammered out, “I’ll try.”

While she spent the next twenty minutes in the bathroom, cocaine, and only cocaine, kept me awake. As the shower ran, I thought I heard her talking to herself. I dismissed it as a symptom of the alcohol and/or drugs.

She emerged from the bathroom completely nude with her hair pulled up into a bun. She was more attractive naked than she was clothed. She took very deliberate steps as she approached the bed and briefly danced to my smile. She then surrendered the effort, sprinted towards the bed, and jumped onto my reclined body. We kissed, did our best to undress me, and shortly thereafter, she was penetrated.

It was immediately apparent that the alcohol would play some role in extending my duration. After a few minutes with her on top, I grabbed her waist and rotated us into missionary. It was relatively amazing – the standard first time together type fuck.

And then, a minute or two after switching positions, after I’d found a pretty good rhythm and we were in a deep kiss, I felt her lip quiver. I congratulated myself and continued. A few seconds later though, I felt moisture rush onto my cheek. I pulled away from her face.

Her face was puffy, she was crying. I froze, my dick very much still inside of Eden.

“Oh shit,” I said earnestly.

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. More tears streamed. She began to use her arms to cover her breasts. I didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she said between exasperated breaths.

“It’s…fine…what’s….wrong?” I asked, petrified.

“I’m married,” she said, looking away.

I nodded slowly. I could feel my penis slowly escaping the crazy through flaccidity. I shifted slightly away from her.

“No! No, no, no, no, don’t stop,” she yelled.

I held my hands up like stop signs. “I, uh, no.”

I pulled out and scooted backwards.

“NO!” she screamed. She leapt up and crawled towards me, tackling me back to the mattress. She stroked what was left of my dick into something more useful and climbed on top of me. I didn’t resist, I didn’t do anything.

She cried some more during the ten minutes it took me to finish. Her tears fell onto my chest and face. She came, or at least feigned orgasm. I pulled out at the end and filled my bellybutton.

She kissed me after we finished, first my lips then my forehead. Then we shared a drink and didn’t talk about it. We slept next to each other.

I walked to work the next day. We dated for three months.