Stories: “I Made Her Sleep On The Couch”
First, some context regarding our relationship.
She was not my girlfriend, but not because I didn’t want her to be and not because she didn’t want to be my girlfriend. The two of us just had complicated lives. When we met, we lived in the same city, but as our luck would have it, her career would take her to D.C., and neither of us saw long distance as an option. So instead, we agreed to keep things open at a distance, but when work put us in the same city or one of us wanted to visit the other, we became each others priority.
The arrangement worked out nicely. We even managed to be open about the other people we were seeing. I was tolerant of her dating stories and she, tolerant of mine. Long as we remained respectful, didn’t reveal any cringe-inducing details, and were honest if feelings for another intensified, we remained in a good place. We respected each other, and trusted each other, so much so, we even let each other stay at our apartments if we were out of town. One time I went to D.C. at the same time she had to be in New York, so I left with her my keys to my place, and she left with me, her keys.
This relationship was, in a word, ideal. Until she revealed to me a story that made our relationship weird.
In her defense, she already called to tell me what happened. She just didn’t tell me the whole story until later.
The first phone call she made to me was a drunk dial around 3 a.m. in the morning. I was out with my friends having a grand time, and I knew she wasn’t calling me from somewhere in the city, so I didn’t feel it was necessary to pick up the phone. She called me one more time that evening, but I ignored it again. I usually give girls a three call rule. If she calls me three times within five minutes, it’s probably an emergency, but this girl was in D.C. If it was really an emergency, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t going to call someone in New York.
So the calls went ignored and I called her back the next day. When she picked up the phone, her voice had the chirpy accent of someone who was still kind of tipsy. “Heeeey, baby,” she said.
“Umm, hey,” I said. “Are you still drunk?”
“Am I?” she asked.
“How would I know?!,” I said, a bit annoyed. “I’m not there…now, what’s up? You called last night.”
“I did?” she asked. “I did! Yes, I called. I called because I had something to tell you. Do you have a minute?”
“I wouldn’t call you if I did,” I said.
“Okay, good, are you sitting down?” she asked.
“No, I’m laying down. I’m still in bed. But what’s up?”
“Okay, well, good. I have something to tell you but promise me you won’t get mad.”
“How about I promise if I won’t yell if I get mad,” I said.
“Deal,” she said. “Promise me you won’t yell.”
“I promise you I won’t yell,” I said. “Now come on, get to the story.”
“Okay, here it goes, last night, I sleptwithawomanfortheveryfirsttime.”
The reason I just put that last phrase together without spaces is because that’s exactly how it sounded. She mumbled all the words together as though the faster she said the less upset I would be. She was wrong. I wasn’t upset at all. I was honestly turned on.
“Whoa,” I said. “Wait? Are you serious? Hold on, this is good news. Like not good, but cool. I’m actually into this.”
“What?” she said. “You are?”
Then I paused and said, “Wait, there weren’t other guys around were there? It was just you and another girl, right?”
“No!” she yelled.
“Okay, whew, good. I’d be pissed if you had a threesome without me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.”
“Anyway, wait, tell me about this whole thing. Like, tell me every detail.”
I suppose here is where I should say, I used this opportunity to have phone sex with her. When she told me all the details, I made her do so while touching herself. At first she was hesitant because she didn’t know how to take the idea that I was so comfortable with this, but when I eased her into it by peppering her with questions, things stated rolling along nicely. To this day, it remains one of the best phone conversation I’ve ever had.
We got off the phone with one another, I had a great second sleep, and we talked later that night, this time, a perfectly normal, civil conversation about her first time with another woman. I asked her how she felt about the whole experience, and we even managed to joke and laugh about it.
About a month later, she was in New York City, on business, and of course, staying with me overnight. The day before she arrived, she said she wanted to talk to me about something important face to face. I said we can do that over dinner, which in retrospect isn’t a good idea. People shouldn’t have important conversations over dinner at restaurants, but we attempted to do so.
Everything was fine between us. To be honest, I almost forgot we were supposed to talk about something important. The two of us were just going about the normal happy routine we usually went through whenever we managed to steal some moments together. The waiter took our orders, he dropped off our waters and a basket of bread, and we reached across the table to hold each others hands.
“Oh yeah,” I said, “You had something to tell me?”
“Yeah,” she said, and I swear, no sooner did she say that does she start crying. It got off to a stuttering start. You know the kind of cry that begins with what sounds like small sneezes as though they’re trying to get it all out at once but it just won’t go. She then took her hands away from mine and covered her face. I sit there in shock.
“Whoa, wait, whoa, whoa,” I said. “Hold on, calm down, take these napkins.” I hand them to her and she wipes her nose and her tears.
“Can we get out of here,” she asks.
“Umm, yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”
I grab her, and we hurry out the restaurant onto the sidewalk where I quickly hail down a cab. When we get in, I tell the driver how to get to my place, slide the window separating us from him, and tell her to tell me what’s wrong.
She says to me, “Remember when I told you about the girl I slept with?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Okay, well I didn’t tell you the whole truth about it.”
I yelled, “What!? No! No! There was another guy wasn’t there?”
“No!” she screamed.
“Then what the hell is the whole truth?” I yelled.
“It didn’t happen where I said it happened,” she said, starting to cry.
“Wait, what?” I said. “You said it happened at her place, that it started on this party bus you and your friends were riding in.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s where it started but it didn’t end there and the party bus wasn’t in D.C.”
“Where was it then,” I asked.
“It was in New York.”
I had trouble understanding her. “Wait, New York?”
She then went onto explain: “Remember that time you were in D.C. and I was in New York and you let me stay at your place while you stayed at my place? I was up here for my friend’s birthday party and we had a party bus. That’s where everything got started because we all were getting wasted, and there were guys on the bus. The girls were dancing with each other and the guys were like, ‘KISS KISS KISS KISS!’ So we kissed and…”
I stopped her and said, “Yeah, I know that part of the story. But what happened?”
“Well,” she said. “I didn’t go back to the place of the girl I was kissing.”
“Where did you two go,” I asked.
As the cab pulled up to my apartment, I yelled to him, “Right here!” He stopped. I pulled out my wallet to pay him when she said, “We did at your place.”
She started crying and I remember the cab fare was something like $9 and all I had was a $20 bill. I didn’t even wait for him to give me change, I just handed him the $20, grabbed her hand, and practically catapulted out of the cab. The cab door shut behind us and I yelled, “You did it where?! In my bed!? In! My! Bed!”
She started sobbing, asking me if we could talk inside. I pulled her close, told her to stop crying and to just breathe. I wasn’t yelling at her because I was mad, it was because I was shocked. I think I was relieved her whole experience happened without another guy like I suspected she would tell me, but in my bed? I was confused.
We walked inside my apartment and I stood at the side of my bed looking at it. “So wait, it happened right here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “And over there.” She pointed at one of my couches.
I started to laugh, but she wasn’t laughing with me. “You’re not mad at me,” she asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “I mean, I don’t think I’m mad at you, but, I’m really tripping. Right here?” I said pointing to my bed again.
She was confused at my reaction, but I was still confused at the news. I remember vividly everything she told me about her experience and I was trying to imagine it happening in my bed where I sleep most nights and on my couch, which is more like a love seat.
“Baby,” she said. “What are you thinking about over there?”
I didn’t answer her immediately because I couldn’t pick just one thought. There were what felt like hundreds of thoughts going through my head. I finally settled on one.
“Wait, did she spend the night?” I asked. “Where did she sleep?”
“She spent the night,” she said. “But, honestly, it was weird, I felt kind of bad after we were done, so I made her sleep on the couch.”
My knees went weak and I crumbled to the floor in laughter. “What’s so funny?” my girl asked.
“You made her sleep on the couch, baby.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I made her sleep on the couch.”
“Well,” I said. “I’m laughing because that’s probably what I would have done too. If I slept with a girl at your place, I would never allow her to sleep in the bed.”
I raised my hand up, told her to give me a hi-five, which she did right after slapping me lightly on my face. We kissed, laughed about it some more, and both slept in my bed that night. She went back to D.C. the next day, and though we still talk from time to time, we haven’t talked about the incident since then, and we haven’t slept in each others bed again either.
The Process: The exercise has gone very well, we’ll be revealing the entire workout process soon.
UNTIL I GET MARRIED CONVERSATION: Tomorrow evening, that’s Wednesday, at 10 EST. I’ll be hosting a virtual discussion for a half-hour via my Twitter feed and Facebook fan page. The hashtag for the Twitter conversation will be #UIGM. More details tomorrow.