A cautionary tale.
The year I turned twenty-four.
I had just come back from another grimy-yet-hilarious national tour of another overplayed musical and was itching for something to do. At the time, I was a (broke) hostess at a Long Island sports bar and came home every night stinking of burgers and truffle fries. Needless to say, I would have agreed to anything if it got me out there for a couple of days. When my best friend Jared asked if I wanted to take a spontaneous day trip to Philly, it was a no brainer. We hopped on the first (and cheapest) bus out of Port Authority and hit the road. I had sixty bucks in my wallet for cheesesteak, booze, and a ticket home. I was ready for a womanly adventure.
We spent most of the day tooling around South Street, eating and drinking up and down the blocks. I gorged on cheesesteak, french fries, margaritas, and Philly soft pretzels. We wandered into a massive used bookstore and poured over dusty astrology books from the 70s. I bought a bright red lipstick, which I thought matched my attire. For this special rendezvous, I decided to wear a tight pencil skirt and black stockings - I guess it felt like the WOMANLY thing to do.
You might ask why I would wear such sultry trappings?
Well, dear readers, I forgot to mention THE GUY.
What guy?
Mutt the Musical Theatre Sex God
For the sake of this tale, let’s say his name is Mutt. I should also add that Mutt was what many would call ridiculously good looking. He also had the voice of a husky angel and the body of a Roman warrior, so I was still computing the fact that Mutt knew who I was, let alone that he might be - gasp - attracted to me.
Me?
Personally, I never spoke to Mutt, but we had mutual ‘theatre people’ friends. Also an actor, Mutt was in a musical that was - coincidentally enough - playing in Philly that weekend. Huzzah, what an opening!
Mutt always said I should text him if I was in the area and wanted to see his show…why not?
It would be a very bold and womanly move.
I texted him and he put the tickets under my name at the box office.
The night suddenly got a lot more exciting.
The Stage Door
The show is a tedious three hour medley of folk music, wrapped in Irish brogue. I couldn’t sit still; I was so jittery and nervous, thinking about all that lay ahead. It was such a womanly night.
Would I wait for him at the stage door?
Would he hug me after the show?
Would we have a friendly ‘catch-up’, or even - gasp - grab a drink?
Jared teased me, saying I was going to get laid that night, which only sent me down a deeper panic spiral. As one whose sexual history allotted to less than a small handful of men (whom I thought I was hopelessly in love with at the time), the idea of suddenly getting laid by Mutt in my womanly black stockings and red lipstick sounded TERRIFYING.
But, I did it anyway.
***
Three (miserable) hours later and I was having a total panic attack. My friend and I waited at the stage door like groupies as we watched the actual groupies prep their playbills and sharpies and cameras. When Mutt emerged, girls giggled and whispered. He made his way through the crowd, flashing his celebrity smile and sensually signing autographs for quivering teens and horny moms. He took photos and hugged crying fans, what a nice guy, they all whispered. I stood at the back of the crowd, feeling fat and ugly, suddenly hating my very womanly black stockings.
When Mutt’s eyes found mine in the crowd, I felt a hot flash wash over me.
This was a mistake. He’s not interested in me, I feel ridiculous, these teen groupies are way cuter than me, I’m just the weird girl from that musical. What am I even doing here?
He approached us, wearing a VERY trendy-yet-casually-hot leather jacket and tight fuck-me pants. He hugged Jared, then wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed my check.
My cheek! I could have fainted.
“Glad you guys came. Let’s grab a drink!”
He flashed me a celebrity smile and I felt the muscles tighten in my vagina.
Jared was right.
I am so about to get laid.
Cast Party
One drink turned into two and three. Before I knew it, we were at a very trendy lounge with white leather chairs and glass vases of weird long-stemmed flowers and expensive drinks poured by mixologists with frosted tips. Mutt was making it very clear that he was INTERESTED; touching the small of my back, laughing at my weird jokes, staring at my lips. Naturally, this burst of attention caused me to panic and run to the bathroom to make sure I didn’t have bits of cheesesteak stuck in my teeth (I didn’t).
When I emerged from the single stall bathroom, Mutt was waiting for me. I could hear Jared, along with Mutt’s castmates, laughing and dancing and doing shots in the lounge next door. Mutt leaned against the wall, his hip jutted to the side in a very sexy model-esque way that made me nervous. He stared at me, disarmingly biting his lip, daring me to come out and play. He told me he liked my outfit (huzzah!) and the way it hugged my hips.
I said thank you.
Suddenly, his hands were around my waist and in my hair and he was pulling my hips closer to him and it was all hot mouths and breath and grabbing and I lost all sense of space and time. Mutt whispered against my lips, begging me to come home with him.
Me! Go home with him!
How could I say no? I didn’t want to. For the first time EVER, I was going to HOOK UP with someone I had no interest in dating. He wasn’t my boyfriend or my love interest or my high school crush or my friend’s cute older brother.
He was Mutt the Musical Theatre Sex GOD and tonight he would be all mine.
***
When I told Jared the news, he gave me a quick hug and basically shoved me out the door.
Originally, we were planning to take a hilariously wretched midnight bus back home together, but when Jared heard of my BIG PLANS, he insisted on going alone.
“See you tomorrow, you little whore!” He called after me. It felt very womanly to stay overnight in a different city with a different guy for an impromptu one night stand.
Who IS this womanly-woman? Who IS this french courtesan?
Staring at my recently-kissed face in the lounge mirror, I barely recognized myself.
And I loved it.
Mutt and I walked to his hotel room, hand in hand. He kept kissing me and touching my hair, telling me how beautiful and funny I was and how he couldn’t wait to get me in bed. I felt only mildly panicked as we marched through the hotel lobby and up the glass elevator. When he opened the door to his hotel suite, two large and goofy dogs pounced on me, snagging my very womanly black stockings and stepping on my indestructible combat boots. The sudden ambush definitely helped to lighten the very WOMANLY mood, even though my stockings were damaged beyond repair.
Who cares, they were coming off soon anyway, right? Ha-ha.
Mutt baited the dogs into the bathroom with treats as I primped and prepared for the BIG SHOW. I imagined Jared on the bus home, smiling to himself with glee because his weird spinster bestie was about to get laid by Mutt the Musical Theatre Sex God. I tried not to overthink what was coming next - would he kiss me? Would he just rip off my clothes? Do we need to talk about condoms? Is he going to ask me if I want a drink? - as I waited for his return to the bedroom.
When he strode back in, Mutt immediately took off his shirt, revealing a number of questionably trendy tattoos and mannequin abs. I tried to control my face as he peacocked around the room, obviously in his own preparations for the BIG SHOW. There was something laughable about the pageantry, but I still couldn’t wait for the opening act. Suddenly, he was back and kissing me again, slowly taking off my clothes and lowering me to the bed. I floated away on a pornstar cloud and watched myself from the ceiling.
Who IS this womanly-woman?
When he peeled off my womanly stockings, I barely noticed.
I was EUPHORIC.
The dogs barked from the bathroom.
The BIG SHOW
You might be wondering, how does someone get Pink Eye from an impromptu one night stand with Mutt the Musical Theatre Sex God?
How does a womanly woman end up entangled in such hijinks?
I’ll tell you this, readers.
Bottom line: Communication is EVERYTHING.
***
With my stocking officially flung into a distant corner, things officially got hot and heavy. I settled very nicely on my pornstar cloud and watched myself becoming a cool-girl-sex-queen.Things were going great!
Until…shall we call it - Mutt’s grand finale. Apparently, euphoria had a very different effect on Mutt, as our dear Sex God got an unfortunate case of the whispers.
What does this mean? This means that instead of giving me a “It’s time for the grand finale!”, Mutt decided to say… NOTHING. Which means that certain things went to certain places they certainly and definitely should not go.
As in, my eye.
As in, Mutt the Musical Theatre Sex God had a grand finale in my face and gave me Pink Eye.
It doesn’t get more dramatic than that.
***
The Encore
What does a womanly-woman with a face full of euphoria do when her eye is rapidly
pink-ing? Great question.
Mutt was, of course, mortified. Not wanting to bruise his very fragile Musical Theatre Sex God ego, I told him it wasn’t that bad and I felt okay, which was a complete lie. My eye burned like a bee sting and I wanted nothing more than to flee into the night in search of a cold compress and a hot shower. Alas, my ride or die went back to New York and it was 2am in Philly, baby. There was no way I was leaving for the bus station, so I agreed to spend the night.
Pink Eye aside, our impromptu one night stand was exhausting.
I was asleep before Mutt hit the lights.
I woke up to find Mutt wrapped around me like a Philly soft pretzel. (Ha.) After stealthily unraveling his limbs from my torso, I crept into the bathroom (past the goofy dogs who licked my legs) in search of my cosmetic case and a mirror.
Prognosis? My eye looked rough. I would definitely need eye drops, and most likely a trip to my local ophthalmologist, nightmare of nightmares.
I emerged from the bathroom and crept about the space, searching for my long forgotten clothing. Mutt woke up and watched me creep about, eyeing me curiously.
“You leaving?” He asked.
“Yeah, I need to get back to the city.” I whispered (for no reason at all). Amused, Mutt watched as I tried and failed to get dressed un-awkwardly. I asked if he had seen my womanly stockings anywhere. “Nope” he casually replied, as if he were not the one who savagely flung them into a forgotten corner six hours beforehand.
The dogs sniffed around the room, excited to help me search for the rest of my missing wardrobe.
I checked the bus times on my phone - 40 minutes to make the next ride home. I grabbed my underwear and socks, then shoved my feet into my indestructible combat boots. After a few more awkward moments, I gave up on my womanly stockings. Collateral for a night of euphoria.
Mutt the Musical Theatre Sex God walked me to the door of his suite, his goofy dogs licking my boots on the way. He opened the door, then pulled me in for one ENCORE PERFORMANCE. More hot mouths, more hands in my hair, that familiar tingle in my now-exposed nether region, a quick butt slap, then the door closed behind me.
On the way to the bus station, I bought an eye patch.
***
The bus ride home felt extremely scandalous and womanly. I listened to triumphant love songs and smiled to myself as I stared out the window and replayed my sensual evening.
Who IS this womanly woman?
Jared texted me the entire way back to New York, eager for every juicy detail.
What a womanly woman night of adventures.
Not bad for a spinster serial monogamist, eh?
***
I never saw Mutt again, but I always wondered what he did with my stockings.
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