Welcome to your thirties

Another week had passed without much word from Statham. I got dressed and left my apartment for my weekly night out. I look forward to it; it's the only social interaction I get all week. Most nights I leave work late and run along the river. After I get home and walk the Femme Fatale and prepare dinner, it's 9:30 by the time I finally sit down.

It was a light crowd that night. Inclement weather in the South kept most people at home. But when the boys discovered I just had my birthday, they took turns buying me birthday shots: blow jobs, red-headed sluts, blonde-headed sluts, something that tasted like orange-flavored cough syrup and then the southern version of an Irish Car Bomb.

Another boy appeared in front of me. I recognized the tattoo sleeve poking our from under his red t-shirt.

I pointed at him, "Is your name [Tattooed Boy]?"

He smiled.

"Hey! I'm Sarah!" I extended my hand to him.

"I know," he said as he took my hand. I've seen him around;I've just never spoken to him.

He sat down next to me and ordered the strongest drink I've ever tasted. He enjoyed watching me try it and then scrunch up my face in disgust. Every so often, he's push his drink toward me.

"I haven't seen you around lately," I said.

"I know. And you won't after this week. I'm moving. Leaving the state."

"Aw, that's a shame. You seem pretty cool."

"I am very cool," he said. "You're missing out."

He invited me out the next night. I accepted and gave him my e-mail address.

Clemson appeared from the corner of the bar. I was splitting food with the Tattooed Boy. He ordered food as well. The Tattooed Boy kept pushing his drink to me and then laughing as I coughed and sputtered.

The Leader grabbed my hand and we danced to a song on the jukebox. I laughed. I laughed a lot. It felt good that the new group of friends were acknowledging my birthday. It felt like acceptance, that I was now one of them.

The Tattooed Boy left and Clemson and I began chatting. He was inquisitive about my family and my origins. I spoke of my father leaving in the middle of the night. He shook his head in sympathy.

"So you hate men?" he asked.

"No! I don't hate men. I'm just wary. Trust has to be earned," I corrected. We spoke for awhile and I grew tired.

Clemson looked at me. "You doing okay?" he asked.

"I'm pretty shit housed," I admitted.

"You can come back to my place again," he offered.

"Okay," I said without protest. I couldn't drive. It wasn't even a question.

He took me back to his place and turned on the TV. It was some ungodly hour and I had to show up to work sometime the next morning. He sat down next to me and I threw a pillow on his lap and laid down. He immediately put his arm around me and caressed my shoulder. I closed my eyes. It felt nice. It felt really nice to experience that kind of physical contact. Despite the selfish, dirty sex, I hadn't received any affection since Valdosta back in January.

Clemson noticed I was dozing and he shut off the TV and told me it was time for bed. He told me to sleep on his side of the bed because it was more comfortable. I climbed in. He pulled up the sheet around me. When I shivered he found a blanket, shook it out and laid in on top of me. I appreciated his sense of detail.

"Ugh," I moaned. The birthday celebration had caught up with me.

"What's wrong?"

"My stomach feels wonky and I have heartburn," I whined.

Clemson fetched a glass of water and a bottle of Tums.

"You have Tums? But you're a boy. Boys don't keep meds," I said.

"Are you kidding me? I'm in my thirties and I'm a computer geek, of course I have Tums. Welcome to your thirties," he said as he toasted me with the water glass.

Clemson climbed in bed and spooned me. I relished it. Not specifically Clemson, but the touch. It felt so good to be held; I miss being held. I sighed and stretched my legs.

"Ow ow ow ow!" I cried as I sat straight up in bed.

"What's wrong?"

"I have a charlie horse in like the arch of my foot!" I wailed. I had increased my running frequency that week, running a 5k every day. I don't know if the increase in male attention was directly related to me dropping a pants size, but I wanted to lose another one just to be sure.

Clemson sat up in bed and grabbed my foot. He rubbed out the cramp. He collapsed into the sheets and I nestled in the crook of his shoulder. When Clemson's alone, he's kind of a gentle guy, I thought. He rubbed my back as I drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, his alarm went off. I got up and ducked out of his apartment without saying goodbye or thank you.

I have no idea what I'm doing these days.