Between kisses, Danny and I decide it would be best if we didn’t tell people we met on Tinder. I also made him promise he wouldn’t ever mention that I am nine years older than him. “I pinky swear,” he says before his teeth softly sink into my arched neck. I had no idea Danny existed six hours ago. It was Sunday, and I had spent all day watching The Office and editing work. A brief moment of distraction turned into an hour of swiping through profiles on dating apps. Suddenly, there he was: a six-foot, four-inch Latino with a mischievous smile. It’s been a while since I have been reckless, so for old times sake, I swiped right.
A couple of years ago, I took lovers the way some folks pick up hobbies. I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, coquettish conversations and long nights that became early mornings spent with someone. I didn’t worry about love or heartbreak; there wasn’t a need for either one in my life. I once met up with a man in the parking lot of my garage, had sex that evening and then spent an entire month being chauffered in and out of hotel rooms and restaurants by him. I was perfectly fine with not being in love with my lovers. I had finally left a painfully long relationship, and I was ready to have fun. One of my favorite weekends of this period was when I took three different men to the same restaurant each night. We sat at my usual table, and my favorite waitress took our order each time. I gave her my best coy smile; she winked in complicity.
Eventually, I got caught up with one man – all the feelings slowed me down. I gave up all other men for him, my situationship. Years I waited for him to commit, and when he finally did, it was to someone else. You can imagine how angry I was at this unfortunate turn of events. I had surrendered my roster for someone who had an entire girlfriend I didn’t know about. My past lovers had already moved on. One married, a couple of them had children, another moved outside California and others had found someone new to text “wyd” at 3 a.m. I had to rebuild my call sheet!
I recently was having dinner with my girls Mala and Diosa. While catching up, they filled me in on their glorious end-of-summer sex. I was green with envy. It had been too long since I had a juicy story to give as an offering during chisme with friends. I knew I had to fix this as soon as possible. Thank goodness miracles named Danny happen on Sunday nights.
“I should come over,” I say.
“You should,” he agrees.
Next thing I knew, I was in a room in Koreatown filled with Raiders posters. Large hands ran over parts of me that had been asking to be touched for months. I pressed my mouth over his and felt the thrill of a one-night stand shooting down my spine. Danny and I had great chemistry. I gave him 30 of the best minutes I had to offer before I orgasmed. It was beautiful. There were fireworks, and I could hear Selena and Juan Gabriel singing in the distance. I floated back into my body, ready to cuddle for 10 minutes, throw on my clothes and take an awkward Uber back to my house, where I spent the whole ride wondering if the driver could smell the sex on me.
As I was mentally calculating how I was gonna dodge running into Mami as she started getting ready for work, Danny murmurs into my ear, “Don’t stop, keep going.” I had objections, mainly that I was tired, but he had been so lovely that I figured I had another 20 minutes of energy to give him. I orgasmed again. This time it was so good that I think I might have died for a second; it was great. “Let’s keep going, baby,” he urges again after sweet-talking me for a few minutes. Clearly, I didn’t think it through when I thought hooking up with someone nearly a decade younger than me would be fun. The man had stamina! I told him to finish because I was ready to go home and didn’t have time for marathon rounds.
As he walked me to the door, the promises began. He wanted me to meet his roommate, go to his favorite taco truck and cruise in his lowrider. I nod, making promises I had no intentions to keep. We kiss one final time. I go home, shower, climb into bed and sleep peacefully all night. The next day I text the homegirls: “Girl, guess what I did last night…”
It is Sunday again, and I have no idea where in the world Danny is. I hope he is enjoying himself with a new woman who is in search of thrill in her life. I hope he is promising relationships he doesn’t want with women who don’t want them either. I hope they, too, mutually ghost each other afterward. A perfect ending to a perfect night. As I frantically type this story, Mami gets up to go to the restroom and stops to stare at me. She asks what I am laughing at, and I say, “Me rio de mis locuras, Mami.” She shakes her head and says, “If you go out tonight make sure to lock the door, muchacha Suelta.”
“Sí, Mami,” I answer. A promise I plan to keep.
