New Year’s Eve 2012. Wow, is pretty much all that I can say.
Every year the Productions hold a fabulous New Years Eve Party. This year they held their party in Charlotte, inside of the ballroom of the Hilton Hotel. It was fabulous. I made it my years agenda to go and have a fabulous time, considering the last several months of 2011 were damn near horrid.
As most of ya’ll know, me and TLA (better known as Jay) are no longer together. He and I have had several long drawn out discussions about how and why things fell apart for us. Ultimately he blames me. Hell I blame me. But tonight is the last night of the year. I’m learning to be okay with the thoughts of us as friends. I decided to enjoy the night. I’m a beautiful woman with much to offer the world. So hello world…..
I was beyond drunk. Long story. It was the unofficial REVOLUTION and New Year’s Eve party. There are pictures to prove I did what I did and the stories of what I said (and did) are starting to filter in slowly from friends. I didn’t dance on any tables. All things considered, I think I was pretty well-behaved.
Anyway, a very attractive man (for the sake of this blog he shall remain nameless) noticed I was sitting alone on the couch. He invited me to party on the dance floor with him. Strange thing is, I’ve known cutie for many many years; but LAST NIGHT, I NOTICED HIM. He was a great dancer. He pulled my body close to his, and inhaled the scent of my perfume. He whispered quietly but loud enough for me to hear the words “damn you smell good” escape out of his lips. I smiled. Better yet I blushed, and I allowed him to pull me even closer. From our first dance, he was great. We laughed, we joked, and we really got to know each other the best we could given the situation.
He had great conversation, only one dimple and a smile just made for dropping panties–and he seems to be wholly unaware of this. His laughter made me laugh. All good signs. I realize I’m nervous. Really nervous. This is very very good and very very bad too. It’s been years since I’ve liked anyone other than TLA. He made me goo goobs of nervous and no one has affected me the same way since–until now. I don’t like this feeling. I like to be in control. I debate ending this roller coaster ride but when I looked up at him, I couldn’t say a thing. Mr. Great Conversation has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. They make his eyes beautiful. I could stare at him all day. I sigh outloud and I can feel my face burning. I am blushing. My normally deep-for-a-woman voice is girlish and light. I twirl my hair over my fingers as we celebrate the arrival of 2012. I’ve got it bad.
He asks me a question about my last relationship and it catches me off-guard. I spill half of the champagne that I just sipped out of my mouth.
After the fumble. Mr. Conversation decided that it would be better if we finished our conversation sitting down. So we spotted an empty couch and made it our home for the next hour. We continue our get to know you interview, and the conversation continues to flow. UNTIL ….. He asks me what my sexual fetishes are. It catches me off guard. I realize that it is the first day of the New Year, and we are practically strangers and here he is asking me about sex (bad sign), but there is no way I’m ruining the oh-so-romantic moment with my sometimes prudish, tendencies. That and I was halfway through my third Tom Collins. I think it was the latter of the two that thrilled me.
“I got this thing for…” I laugh ’cause I can’t believe I’m about to confess this to a virtual stranger. “like bondage…. like tieing my lover to the bed, with my pantyhose,” I add quickly. “Not kinky, no whips, tie-me-up type chains.”
He sips his champagne, studies me, and leans back on the couch (you know that sexy man- sprawl they do). “What is it about the pantyhose?” he asks, eye-ing me now, smirking as he waits for my answer.
“Sometimes I like to be the one…. I like to make a man say my name for a change… That’s sexy to me.”
He smirks. “You have control issues.” A statement not a question.
I freely admit to him that I do.
“But you like to be manhandled too, huh?”
Over the course of the night he’s developed this habit of catching me off guard. Instead of spilling my drink, I laugh until I am near-tears. I avoid answering the question and he doesn’t press the issue. He hands me a napkin and just when I think he is going to switch the subject, he tells me he already knows the answer.
My girlfriends are waving their arms at me, motioning for me to meet them at the the car. I smile, and tell Mr. Conversation that all good things must come to an end. He says he’s not ready for the night to be over and offers to take me home a little later. I let him.
The REVOLUTION will NOT be televised….