Rebound: The Return of Crazy D

Or, "You are really, really gonna hate this entry."
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Or, "You are really, really gonna hate this entry."


Baseball is slower than life. It's so slow that you're forced to fixate on the smallest details and spend the enormous amounts of mental energy trying to figure out what comes next. I explained this to Jessica -- a friend who often does contract work at my office -- as we watched the Mets and sipped pints at Reservoir in the East Village.

Jessica has no interest in sports and jokingly refers to every game as a "match." She's in her mid-20s and beautiful in a quirky sort of way. It's fairly obvious Jessica only asked if I wanted to grab drinks because she does not want to return home to the apartment she shares with her fiance. Through mutual friends, I've been told that Jessica doesn't want to get married to the guy and she's known that since the beginning of the engagement over a year and a half ago.

On the way home, I saw I had a text from Crazy D. I have my hands full with C and E. I do not need D in the picture. She's shown her hand and it's clear she likes me too much after just one date. I was deluding myself to think it was going to be a casual hookup. A second date would only make things worse.

That said, I wanted to be honest and open with her. Our first meeting included two glorious blow jobs, so the least I could do is meet her and make my intentions clear. If she wanted to grab drinks after work, I would go. However, I decided to go into it with complete conviction that nothing extracarricular would happen.

My plan would be simple: Have a couple drinks with D, tell her I think we are better as friends, and excuse myself. I didn't want to be the guy that just ignored her after getting serviced so completely.

It would be complicated, though. Her drinking makes her a poor listener and causes her to communicate in non sequiturs. I needed to keep the drinks short and sweet. Then I would bolt.

Crazy D was in a satin dress when I arrived at the bar. It was clear she had done herself up for a big night. This was warning sign #1. She was nearly finished her first glass of wine by the time I got there and had polished off five glasses in total by the time we left. This was warning sign #2.

She asked me to kiss her and was touching my leg throughout most of our conversation. The request for a kiss occurred minutes after I said we should just be friends. This was warning sign #3. And yet, I still thought I could walk her to the subway after we left and end the night unscathed.

Then, about a block from the train, she said she really wanted a slice of pizza. I purchased a few slices for the two of us. I handed them to her and she looked around the shop.

"Can we just eat these at your place?" she asked. Fuck. I should have seen it coming. When we got to my place, D asked if she could borrow shorts and a T-shirt. She didn't want to eat the pizza in her dress. She wanted to relax. I gritted my teeth and opened my closet.

"Don't give me the ones you give all the other girls," she said. I chuckled uncomfortably.

I turned on the TV. D asked if I was going to pour us cocktails. I said no. As we ate, she talked about how much fun we have together and that everything could "totally be casual" if that's what I wanted. I said nothing. I was cold.

She looked up at me and said, "I like you. I think you like me, too." I cleared my throat and told her she was fun and nice. D asked if I was dating a lot of other fun and nice women. I said yes.

"I just got out of a long-term relationship. I don't want to be in anything monogamous right now."

I grabbed the pizza box and paper plates and took them to the kitchen. She followed me. When I turned from throwing away the box, D threw herself at me and shoved her tongue in my mouth. I kissed her back. She pulled back and asked if we could go to my bed. I gulped,

"Just for a little while."

The next three hours were a sad dance of terribleness. She would kiss me, then make some comment about how great we are together, only to stop a few minutes later to tell me I'd never call her again. We got naked.

She told me I got two blow jobs on the first date and I owed her. I complied and went down on her. She kept asking if I had condoms and I kept telling her I didn't think it would be a good idea to have sex. The whole time I wanted her to leave. My inner monologue was screaming to stop this -- to get dressed and send D home.

A little after midnight, I told D I thought it would be a bad idea for her to sleep over. Like clockwork, she started rubbing my dick and slowly made her way down. It was an inspired blow job. It was better than the first two.

All my muscles tensed, and I came harder than I had in months. I cleaned up and came back to the bed to find her curled up, feigning sleep. Again, I said that I thought it was a bad idea for her to stay the night.

"Fine, I guess that's it. I'll never see you again," she said angrily as she gathered up her clothes and stormed out of my bedroom.

As she got dressed, I finally broke down. "We've only been on two dates," I said with a sharp, exasperated tone. "Why are you trying to make me feel bad? Why is this happening?" She didn't answer, other than to say that she needed to go to the bathroom. She came out two minutes later. She's was seemingly composed.

We kissed goodbye in the hallway, but she wouldn't end it. She kept leaning in for one more, then another. At one point, she started rubbing my crotch. D asked if I wanted one more blow job before she left.

"It's getting late," I responded. She smiled and finally turned to walk out the door. "Hope to see you soon," she whispered with a smile.

I closed the door and locked the deadbolt. After downing a cold Mexican beer and watching about 20 minutes of "Baseball Tonight," I went to sleep.

Single Guy is a newly unattached 30-something living in New York City. These are his real journal entries, which you'll be happy to know have only four more installments.