Sunday was always going to be a hard day. LP was still working, he had an important familial obligation. I was still feeling weird about our first date, so I texted him to ask if he wanted to meet for a drink later while I was going to be 2 blocks from his building. He was busy and a little noncommittal, so I told him I’d reach out later.

I did around 830 when I was already downtown — in very tight skinny jeans, stillettos, a sheer black silk blouse over a nude tank with a memorable coat. I looked great for the party. I had not shaved my legs, which is why I was wearing jeans.

I was with W and his idiot girlfriend. I don’t mind idiot girlfriends, except when they are vocally ignorant and opinionated about everything. Anyway, I pretended to have a nice time her as she told me she had made W take her to the restaurant to which LP was taking me the next night for dinner “as a test.” I am not sure what she was testing for, other than how much money can I make him spend to feed me. Yes, she’s that girl, who pretends to be an urbanish, vintagey hipster, while actually being a status-conscious gold digger. It’s pathological. She asked on which floor he lived and which car he drove. When I responded with just a manufacturer, she then asked model.


And, since I would never say this in real life, your boyfriend drives a minivan and lives in the suburbs, you gold-digging social-climbing faux-hemian whore.

I should add, he lives the life she wished W lived. He lives in the right building on the right floor. He drives the right car. He dresses beautifully. Everything is perfect and chic.

Anyway, we exchanged texts and he was home, but really sick. Still, he said I could come over to snuggle with him from his sick bed, if I really wanted to. Which I did.

He met me in the lobby, clothed but in socks, rather than just buzz me up.

He wrapped himself around me on the long ride up and just held on to me as though I were the only thing keeping him from falling. As he becomes more dear to me, he is becoming hotter.

Of course.

I looked at this man in my arms, over whom I towered since I was in very high heels and he was in bare feet, and just melted. I could see us reflected in the elevator doors and I was so taken by the image of us together.

Once we got into his condo, I kicked off my shoes and jacket. He lives in a essentially a loft, so we ducked around the corner to his bed where he had a 50+ inch television 2 feet from his bed. Such a man. We climbed in, after I took off my silk shirt and left on my tank and bra. He was really sick — slight fever, nausea, etc., so he put his arms around me and snuggled into the bed. It was adorable and it seemed to make him feel better to have me there.

I kissed him a little and soothed his brow, but mostly I tried to lay still, to not upset any delicate equilibrium that would keep him in bed and not vomiting.

He, of course, took our positioning as an opportunity to explore my body with his hands, eventually slipping me out of my jeans, though we had blankets between us. He is a man, after all, and it was very cute because it’s not like anything could happen. He would close his eyes and nod off and then stir back awake. He got progressively sicker as I was there and I felt terribly for him.

I was so comfortable in his bed, with him wrapped around me. I was so comfortable touching his forehead, his face, his hip. I was tempted to fall asleep there. I never wanted to leave him. He was so comfortable having me there, despite his illness.

His place had single dad touches. The night stand next to me had little girl barrettes and sandals kicked off. The view was breathtaking.

Unlike the night before, where he was throwing up all of his defense mechanisms, trying to scare me off (literally, “[Planner], I’m a vampire and I am telling you it’s getting dark . . .” which is more werewolfian, but whatever), here he was real and vulnerable. While ill, he invited me in to soothe and comfort him and it was wonderful to experience him like that.

As I stood to put back on my shoes, etc., after Mad Men, he kept hugging and kissing me gently and thanking me for coming over, for being “so loving.” We’re both very careful when it comes to words and being with him was “so loving,” I came there to care for him because I do care for him. It was loving.

I hugged him tightly as he fell apart and he did not want to let me go. I did not want to leave.