The Mexican: Fajitas, Fornication, and the Great Flight

The Mexican first e-mailed me asking if I wanted to come over the same night to watch a movie and smoke. I was out (yes, with another CL guy), and I didn’t get the message until late. But when I responded that I was sorry I'd missed the chance, he wrote back and asked me out for drinks and herbage the following day, a Monday. I agreed, and we met at a bar near his apartment. We had a good time chatting and got really comfortable really quickly when we went back to his place.

Because it was so late when the movie we watched ended (and, more importantly, because I had no cash for a cab home), I ended up accepting his offer that I stay the night. I made out with the guy, but I wouldn’t even let his hands roam on top of my clothes. While respecting my wishes for the most part, he, unfortunately, didn’t make a very good bed buddy. I don’t sleep well with others anyway, but this guy was tossing and turning spastically throughout the night. When he wasn’t flipping about, he was rubbing my feet with his and/or trying to make out with me. Between that and watching out for his occasionally-roaming hands, I got no sleep whatsoever.

The next day at work was, to say the least, absolutely horrible. In addition to the lack of sleep and the proverbial fan-hitting shit at work, I was pissed off that The Mexican never responded to my flirty e-mail I’d sent that morning. We’d exchanged about 30 messages the day before, and he’d told me he didn’t have much to do at work because Congress was in recess. So his not responding only sent me over the edge that day. He finally texted me the following night, asking what I was doing, but it was quite obviously a booty call-timed text, and that pissed me off even more. He went out of town a few days later, and I didn’t hear from him for a while.

He timed his contact so that when he finally did get back in touch with me, my anger had abated. After several weeks of sporadic contact and a few tentative plans that never panned out, The Mexican and I finally made arrangements to see each other. He was to make me dinner at his place. I was to bring some DVD selections. I threw a bottle of wine in my bag for good measure and headed out the door (only a few minutes late). Either my eyes or my directions failed me because I soon found myself in Georgetown, and that was not at all the route I should’ve taken. (What? You’re surprised I get lost driving in the District after being here 8 months? Don’t be. I sometimes get lost on the way to the gas station.) Long story short, I ended up getting to his place more than an hour late after parking all kinds of illegal. He was pretty gracious about it, though, so the night began and progressed fairly smoothly.

He made some delicious fajitas, and we settled down to watch one of my favorite movies. It wasn’t long before my shoes were off and he was rubbing my feet. We killed a couple bottles of wine, and I was pretty buzzed. He said I could stay the night again.

Belle: I would, but I don’t want to…
The Mexican: What, have sex?
Belle: Yeah.
The Mexican: That’s cool, as long as I know now… So, what, are you just not sexual or something?

And that’s when I laughed and drunkenly told him about The Resolution. He thought it insane, I’m sure, but we soon ended up in his bed. Things got a little heated, and we lost the clothes soon thereafter. Realizing his Little Mexican was at full attention and remembering what happened after he’d kept me up all night the last time, I felt I was faced with two feasible options if I wanted even the slightest opportunity to nod off: fellatio or fornication. Being that my confidence is low in my skills in the former (yeah, I just said that. I have no shame), I chose the latter.

So after about 10 months without sex, I ended up caving to a guy I’d met only once before. (Take note guys: two pseudo-dates + dinner = you in Belle’s pants!) And, to make it all even more bittersweet, the sex was less than mediocre. It wasn’t the worst I’ve ever had, but it certainly was nothing to brag about. When he got up to dispose of the condom, I suddenly felt amazingly sober. I got dressed and was practically heading for the door before he made it back from the bathroom. I told him I needed to move my car before it got towed (I did), and he didn’t make much effort to protest.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I’d left all my DVDs at his place*. I was kicking myself already. Now I’d have to see him again or lose some of my favorite movies. I considered the sex and The Great Flight an act of sabotage on my part. If a guy vamped like that on me, I’d never want to see him again. And I figured my doing so had pretty much guaranteed the same reaction from him.

Amazingly, he’d e-mailed me by the time I got to work the next morning asking if I’d made it home okay. I told him I had and that I’d left my DVDs there. He said he’d keep them safe until next time.

I met up with The Mexican about a week later. I’d asked if he wanted to go to a movie, but he said he’d had a long night and just wanted to stay in. I went over after work, and he made dinner again.

That night, I got the feeling he had a girlfriend he wasn’t telling me about. Lots of little things that really mean nothing on their own, plus a vibe I was getting that I’ve experienced before gave me a suspicion I couldn’t shake. Before we went to bed, I asked him about it, and he denied it. But, really, if a guy is cheating on his girlfriend, why would he have a problem lying to my face about it?

Of course, I had sex with him again, but I made sure to collect my DVDs in advance this time. Not surprisingly, I haven’t heard from him since.

* It either says something about me or about my friends that almost all of them were much more concerned that I'd left my DVDs at his place than they were that I'd broken The Resolution. God, I love you guys.