My V-Day With Princess Leia and Her Rules

The truth is I sort of haven’t had sex in nearly six years.

I’d like to say it’s not my fault, that my first wife was both cold and expensive, and that when another woman caught her eye she left me holding all the debt. Not that I blame her, I’m pretty sure she didn’t realize there was anything for her on that side of the fence until it drove up into her backyard as it were. I blame myself really; I knew better but I enjoyed making my friends crazy jealous by having such a classic beauty.

My vanity and I ruined three years of each of our lives by staying together. Then I spent the next five years wallowing in guilt, alternating holes in the wall with evictions, and fending off the creditors hounding my forever assistant librarian-ly salaried ass. Between broke and guilty, it wasn’t just that women or even decent porn weren’t on my radar, it was more like my libido had fallen off the map.

It’s not as if I haven’t had opportunities either. My fellow co-worker has been showing all the signs of heavy interest since she came on staff a month ago, but I’ve a hard time holding conversation with anyone so prim, proper, resemblant of my ex-wife, or clueless as to what an ‘R2 unit’ is. But yet another Valentine’s Day has rolled around and simply because I thought having someone’s interest, anyone’s interest, might make me feel less depressed about life in general (okay, really about my life in specific), last night I finally took up her invitation for drinks at the bar down the street.

But of course we can’t hit it off with so many strikes. The place is pretty dead because of the holiday (and I use the term loosely) and we’ve nothing but awkward small talk to occupy ourselves until the woman behind the bar slides up and hails me with, “Oooh a scruffy-looking nerf herder! What’ll ya have?”

Yes, I did in fact have a bit of stubble, and yes, fortunately I’m a slow grower and can make my razors last longer by skipping the occasional day. The more important thing is that here was a great looking woman who knew what a ‘nerf herder’ was and had a sense of humor. So after I replied with the obligatory “Who’s scruffy-looking?” my co-worker became a third wheel for few minutes.

But awkward isn’t my co-worker’s thing; when ‘Leia’ wanders off to tend some drinks, my co-worker just says real cool-like “She really is much more your type isn’t she?” And before I could even reply she kisses my cheek and adds, “That’s all right at least you might crack half a smile tomorrow.” And when she even tosses a “Have a good night!” over her shoulder on her way out the door I am certain there’s much more to my co-worker than I initially figured.

And she was completely right because ‘Leia’ and I totally hit it off. We talk all night about everything from our exes –who sadly had a lot in common– to our jobs which despite the pay we actually both rather enjoy. When her shift’s over at 2am she knocks back two shots of tequila, walks out from behind the bar, gives me this incredible kiss, and nonchalantly says, “Since we agree our own places are complete rat holes and having sex in a cars breaks several of my rules–”

Well, I know instantly she’s suggesting getting a room somewhere, and while I can’t believe I’ve got a home run on my hands, my mind’s conditioned to think fast about wallet restrictions. So I easily break in with “Well you know I happen to work at place where they insist on privacy and quiet.”

“Hmmm, if I’m behind the reference desk do I get to decide where to refer you to?”

“Absolutely.”

~~~

She insists on walking down to the library, which I honestly don’t understand. I drove the hundred feet to the bar earlier because the last thing I ever want to do after drinking is walk somewhere. But we’re kissing and groping all the way and by the time I’ve unlocked the door and keyed the alarm we’re already missing several items of clothing.

Perhaps it was the guilty years without sex, or perhaps having a nearly sexless relationship in the first place, or perhaps both, or perhaps something else –but I don’t care what it was; I haven’t felt that hot since I was a hormone bag in high school. By the time we make it to a couch in the reading area we’re both naked and her hands are clearly referring my mouth below her waist. Now this is an activity that has never been on my top ten ideas of a good time. Last time I tried it, admittedly out of desperate sexual frustration with my ex-wife, was such an embarrassing failure that it was the last time we ever tried touching one another.

But Leia might as well be from a different planet than my ex. A very nice planet that I plan on visiting again as soon and as often as is possible. We are in the zone, in sync, and in the black so freaky quick it’s as if our parts were computer designed and laser cut for one another. Things are incredible. Wonderful. Indescribable. And just as she’s about to have a seriously toe-curling oral-gasm I realize that I must be so close to exploding myself that I’m seeing flickering blue and red lights.

Right. Well.

It takes a few moments to rise above my case of ‘sex-brain’, but it sinks in someone must have seen us entering the library and called the cops.

In my younger days I think I might have enjoyed the thrill of the taboo in a situation like this. But truly all I can think is how surreal it is and how it cannot possibly be happening. I mean, there I am: trying to tell this woman, that I just met tonight, how instead of getting arrested at my place of pitifully-paying-but-mostly-enjoyable-and-still-absolutely-necessary-employment, we should instead get the hell outta Dodge ahead of the swift arm of the law –but since she can’t quite let go of the back of my head yet, my dire warnings are getting completely lost in her still shuddering hips.

~~~

Long story short: we do manage to crash out the back unnoticed, and we only make a momentary scene for drivers-by as we simultaneously run down the street and pull on the few bits of clothing we were able to snag on the way. After we’re sitting in my car and have finally caught our breath from the running and laughing, she sighs and says “it may be cliche but wow, ‘you sure know how to show a girl a good time’!”

“Oh come now, ‘the night is still young’ and I don’t believe we’ve quite finished up. Perhaps you some advice as to–”

“Yes I do, my nerf herder: Since we are definitely not doing this again until the scruff-burn you gave me heals and you can’t be trusted with a razor, you should grow a goatee. It’ll look great on you. Well, to me. As for tonight, my rules say always go home when the cops show up. ”

And that was the end of my V-Day night with ‘Princess Leia’ and her rules, having –all strict definitions aside– what I’ll continue to call ‘the best sex I never had’.

On the other hand I will say that on the way home last night I bought a new razor, and this morning I cut myself a new goatee.

Unfortunately I’m a slow grower.