Date 2: Friday Happy Hour

My first two weeks at work were a whirlwind. I would arrive at 6:30 or 7am, and would get home at 7 or 8pm. For some people those are normal working hours, but for me it was about 20% longer than I was accustomed to. Working all those hours, and being the new face in my building, I did manage to meet a cutie in my building. We chatted in the elevators and in the deli in our lobby. When D2 learned that I just moved to DC, and that I hadn't seen much of the city she offered to show me around Dupont that Friday night at happy hour.

D2 (we will call her Kate): Kate was cute, about 5'6", medium length brown hair, light brown eyes, big boobs, and a good handful of a butt. Kate was sharp-tongued, very funny, and I would later learn, extremely mercurial.

On Friday afternoon Kate and I met at the Metro stop near our office and rode to Dupont. She looked really good. It was warm out, so she had on a somewhat tight button down shirt (showed off her boobs nicely) and a knee-length skirt. I hadn't noticed before, but she had killer legs, and wore fairly large high heels that made them look even sexier. I am a sucker for sexy legs (ok, I am a sucker for almost every part of the female anatomy). Our first stop was a Mexican place on Connecticut Ave, and we had a few drinks over the course of an hour and a half. Kate was really easy to talk to and interesting. Her trademark was her edgy rants. No one was immune; politicians, Hollywood stars, the homeless population, even the attendant at our parking garage, they could all be verbally strafed in the same paragraph, or singled out for a more in depth lashing. I was thoroughly entertained.

After our third drink Kate recommended we move to another bar. I don't recall many names of the bars we went to, but I would guess we hit 5 more bars in two hours and had at least one drink at each. I was surprised and nervous that Kate, whom I out weighed by at least forty pounds, was still drinking at a good pace and not showing any signs of slowing. I, on the other hand, was pretty hammered. I did notice that Kate was leaning in much closer when we talked, and by the time we reached our third bar I was pretty sure I was at least going to get head.

We did a huge loop through Dupont, and eventually circled back to Connecticut Avenue. We stopped at Circa (or someplace like it) for what must have been drink number 10, then walked down a side street to another hotel bar. It was a really cheesy place filled with booths (or maybe not, I was a wreck) and Euro trash. It did have a large outdoor section, but around midnight they closed it so the hotel guests could get some peace and quiet. We finished our drinks and walked outside to see if there was anyplace in Dupont we hadn't gone. Somewhere between the front door of the hotel and the street I grabbed Kate and we started making out. Generally speaking, I am opposed to PDA. However, I didn't think I could go on with our little pub crawl much longer, and wanted to test the waters and this seemed like a logical time and place to do so. Kate was more than happy to reciprocate, and I suggested we go to my place for our next drink. I realize this is not a particularly creative line, but why make things more complicated than they need to be.

We hailed a cab, and once inside we proceeded to give the cabbie a little show. While nothing very technical took place, there was a lot of groping and sloppy kissing, and I am pretty sure we would have had high ratings on The Taxi Cab Diaries. We made out the whole way to my place, all the way up the elevator, and maybe even a little down the hall.

Once inside my place we moved right to the couch. My dog was locked in my bedroom, so I didn't have to worry about her sniffing around and killing the mood. It took a few minutes to get Kate's top and thong off, but for some reason her shoes and skirt remained on. I went down on her for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually she tapped me on the shoulder and pulled me up. Things got a little tricky here. My condoms were in my room, not easily reached, and she was making it very clear that one wasn't necessary.

Side Note: I always use condoms for random hookups. I am terrified of diseases, and a wise man once said that condoms are easier to change than diapers. The only girls I have had unprotected sex with were long-time girlfriends, and only after we both were tested for STD's. What can I say, I try to be safe. I smoke, I drink, I drive too fast, but I always use condoms.

That is, except this time. We had sex on the couch, once in my bed, and once in the shower that night. I think I managed to walk the dog somewhere between the second and third time.

Second Side Note: My ex-girlfriend, Gina (again, not her real name), whom I broke up with the week before moving to DC, was a dirty talker. She would say the nastiest things in bed, and after a while it was a habit I picked up. I became quite an accomplished dirty talker myself, but I hadn't realized until that night that it had become a major part of my sexual repertoire.

I'm not sure exactly when I said it, but at some point on the couch I suggested Kate rub herself, and the word clit was mentioned. I remember very clearly that her eyes got about 50% wider. Surely, Miss No-rubber-sex-on-the-first-date had heard the word clit before. I tried a few more key phrases that Gina loved, until finally she said "I can do without the potty mouth". Potty mouth, wow, that's so not dirty talk that it's the antithesis of dirty talk. As a matter of fact, it turned me off. I felt like I was in kindergarten and being reprimanded, but not in a sexy teacher fantasy kind of way. I was mostly silent for the rest of the night.

The next morning as I rode my motorcycle home from dropping Kate off at our building I burst into laughter at the thought of the term "potty mouth" being used while I was inside a girl, and I made a mental note to remove most of my dirty talk from my coitus vocabulary for a while.