Mary Jane Could Never

Let me tell you about how I met David.

My David.

I was on vacation celebrating the eve of my birthday in a beautiful mountain town and gazing at the hills from the terrace of a swanky restaurant. I was dining alone, as I often do, with just Tabatha–my beloved handbag–sitting across from me on the table. I was in between courses. The waitress had just taken away the last bits of my pork loin on a plate, and a surprise slice of birthday cake was on the way. The food was delicious.

Several members of the waitstaff had stopped by my table over the course of my meal to check on me. So, I didn’t think anything of it when I heard a man’s voice behind me while I was taking in the view.

“Stunning, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said, savoring the lush canopy of treetops that stretched for miles. We could see the peaks of the mountains penetrating the clouds. I’d never had such an incredible view from a restaurant, and said as much.

When I turned my head and looked up, I saw a polished, brawny man standing there in a sweater and blazer. He looked stately, and his voice was steady and measured. He towered above me, but I wasn’t startled; I assumed he was a manager at the restaurant.

Then I noticed the drink in his hand, and how he kept making conversation with me. He wasn’t there to check in on the food, and he didn’t work at the restaurant, I realized. He was there to talk to me. This handsome man was there to talk to me.

“Let me know if you’d like to chat more after dinner,” he said. He handed me a piece of paper with his name and his number on it. “I’m here for a business meeting, but I should be freed up in a few hours. Maybe I can take you out for a drink.”

There was something serendipitous about David coming to my table and interrupting my birthday dinner. Up until that moment, it had been five years to the day since I’d last had sex with someone. Things didn’t work out with the last guy and out of frustration, I decided to stop having sex.

It wasn’t meant to be for forever. But I was exhausted by the years of terrible boyfriends and romantic dysfunction I had endured for the entirety of my adult life. I reasoned that there must have been something wrong with me to keep attracting wayward, unsuitable partners who kept bringing chaos in my world. Plus, I wanted to get my career and finances under control, and I was living at my mother’s house at the time. I’m not a big believer in dating and having sex while being broke.

I wanted to have more stability and independence in my life before dating again because I felt that would help me protect myself more. Besides, the kind of man I wanted to be with was someone who was successful, self-sufficient, and enjoying the dignity and comfort of living in his own home. I felt it was only fair for me to live up to the standards I wanted to see in a partner.

Fast forward to that fateful night in the mountains and I had met those standards. Though I was miserable there, I’d been reporting for XXTV for a few years at that point. I was making my dream salary and I lived in my dream home. I didn’t need a man to take me out for an expensive dinner for my birthday because I could do it for myself. I wasn’t a lavish spender, but I virtually always bought the things I really wanted, and I had a lot of nice things.

For a while, I’d been wanting to date again and end my celibacy journey. By then, I felt like I’d learned the lessons I needed to learn. I’d done the work on myself. I went to therapy. I worked out. I read. I listened to relationship podcasts. I’d abstained and abstained and abstained some more. It wasn’t hard. I was handicapped by the isolation of the pandemic and the fact that I was hardly meeting any men that I was interested in in the city I worked for Channel XX in anyway. I didn’t have any romantic prospects to be tempted by and get into trouble with. Plus, the fact that I’d had become a local news celebrity made me even more reclusive, and hyperaware of the people I associated with. It was too compromising to be seen on dating apps, or to get involved with some random guy who could harm my public image and risk my job just because I wanted some.

But still, I wanted some. More than that, I wanted to date again. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to be held. I wanted to be known intimately, not for being the local newslady. I wanted to wear lingerie for someone other than myself. I wanted to cook for someone other than myself. I wanted someone to lie on my couch with me, and rub my butt as we watched the sun go down from the windows in my living room. I wanted to have sex in my guest bedroom. And the kitchen. And the whirlpool.

I wanted a man in my life. And I believed that was ready.

I walked back to my car feeling alert and self-assured. I knew I was going to have sex with him that night. Months before, I told myself and my therapist that I wanted to resume having sex by the time my birthday rolled around. I didn’t want to carry my celibacy journey into another year. But I never met anyone, so I had all but given up on that life goal by the time I was packing for my vacation. It tickled me that I was approached by someone attractive just hours before the clock struck twelve. As long as he didn’t turn out to be some terrible creep or sleazebag, I could keep my promise to myself.

I freshened up at my hotel and reunited with him when he was done with his business dinner. As I showered, I couldn’t remember what his face looked like, which made me more excited. I usually forget what a man’s face looks like at first when I’m really attracted to him. When we met up to walk to a nearby bar, I snuck a closer peak while he was looking down at his phone. I was relieved. His features were soft and elegant: almond eyes, smooth skin, cheeks that sloped like a wine glass. The light in his eyes washed over me like a warm bath when we sat on either side of the bar top.

We sat there talking until closing time. He lived in another big city, closer to my hometown, but had multiple homes in different areas. He told me about his life as a consultant in the oil industry and how he traveled a lot for business. I liked his career story; it was clear that he’d fought for what he had, and I respected his grit. It reminded me of my own. 

We shared some hobbies like golfing and reading, and we both enjoyed cigars. He told me he was the baby brother in his family and that his parents had passed away. Now it was just him, his older sister and her family. I told him that I was the older sister in my family. My family is large and spread out but we come together when we need to. 

We kept our conversation going by walking over to another bar, and he interrupted me again while I was talking at midnight so we could ring in my birthday. If there’s one thing I regret from that night, it was droning on about how unhappy I was at my station when it was my turn to talk about what I do for a living.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to be self-aware. “I don’t mean to monopolize the conversation with this. Please, let’s talk about something else. I don’t mean to bore you about how toxic my newsroom is.”

“No, don’t be,” David said. “I want to hear this. I want to hear about you. I’m here to learn about what’s going on with you. I’m not bored.”

When he said that, I started questioning if I could have sex with David that night as I had planned. Before, when he approached me at the restaurant, he was just a hot guy with a hotel room. But now he was a real person. A real, serious person. We’d been talking for four hours and hardly drank anything. It felt bizarre to abruptly go to bed with a man I would have gone on a second date with if we weren’t traveling and lived in the same city.

Somehow, we got onto the topic of kids. When the topic turned there, I was afraid I’d lost him forever.

I’ll pick this up again tomorrow. Thanks for reading.