Blame It On The Alcohol (Part 2)

Not a good sign

This story is from Kate, a 24-year-old merchandising assistant in NYC, as told to Raz:

In case you missed Part 1 (which is right here, so you can just read it now), here’s what happened:

Co-worker Simon is old but gorgeous. He sucks at showing up when he’s supposed to. I had too many cocktails (of the strong variety). And now we’re heading back to his place.

The story continues:

His apartment was nice. Like the kind of nice that no one my age in Manhattan could afford. We started making out as soon as we got past the doorman, and continued until we were horizontal on his couch. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember at all what I’d disliked about him. After about ten minutes, he got up to go to the bathroom. When I sat up, I noticed the framed photo on the side table. It was Simon, with a blonde woman and two kids. The younger couldn’t be more than a year old.

“Who’s this?” I asked as soon as he walked back into the room. (Alcohol makes me lose all sense of stealth.)

“Oh, those are my kids,” he said, conveniently failing to mention the pretty blonde. “John is 6, and Mikey just turned 2.”

He went back in for the kiss.

“And who’s she?” I cut him off.

“My ex-wife, calm down.” This time when he tried to kiss me I didn’t pull away. What? He said ex!

The kissing and over-the-clothes petting was great and all, but after I’d banged my knee on the coffee table for the third time, I suggested we move things to the bedroom.

“Actually, I’d rather we stay out here,” he said, taking off his shirt to reveal what could only be described as a 16-pack. I caved. We had sex on the couch. It was sloppy and awesome.

Then, the cuddling began. It was nice in theory, but a little squished on the couch. And I think those cocktails were starting to wear off… Before long, he had fallen asleep. I considered attempting to extricate myself from his hug, but gave into my exhaustion and fell asleep, too. When I left the next morning, I still hadn’t seen his bedroom.

Obviously, I can read between the lines on this one. I was not welcome in his bed, where he and his (probably current) wife sleep every night. I don’t know what the deal is with his kids—he never brought them up again. And I never asked.

We had one more fling, similarly drunken, similarly hot, and similarly on the couch without any sightings of the bedroom. I decided to call it quits after that. While it was tough at first to pass him in the halls at work everyday without ripping his shirt off, I’m usually sober at work, so have found the willpower to resist.