After I got over the initial surprise of his attractiveness, I actually quite enjoyed our date. Unlike most men, he asked me questions about myself. When I told him that I grew up in South Dakota, he asked me if I had a favorite spot in my hometown. I told him about an open field near our house that I’d drive to in high school, where cows roamed with authority and, if I was lucky, would greet me with their complacent moos. It was where I went whenever I’d endured a minor humiliation inschool—when a teacher called me by the name of the Korean exchange student who came for a semester, when the group of boys harassed me in the hallway about whether my relatives ate dogs. But it was also where I went to celebrate the wins. It was where I went to watch the sunset after getting my letter of acceptance to Columbia. It was where I drove straight to after winning the state championships in debate, with the trophy still buckled in the back seat of the Toyota Camry. It was one of the few parts of South Dakota that I wasn’t ashamed of calling home.
I didn’t reveal all of this to David. I already felt embarrassed talking so much about myself, not because the details I revealed were too intimate, but because I didn’t think my life was interesting enough to warrant this much attention. But then I thought about the dates that I had gone on in the past—didn’t I ask the same number of questions, show the same amount of interest? David wasn’t doing anything novel; perhaps he was just one of the first men I had met who didn’t want to only talk about himself.
After our second drink he asked if I wanted to go to his apartment for a nightcap. I said yes. I usually didn’t have sex on the first date. Not that I thought there was anything inherently wrong with it; it just wasn’t my style. This time was different. For one, I felt bad for dismissing him earlier, for assuming he was playing some kind of game when he was actually just being nice. For two, I wanted to feel something other than the stress about law school and the whole Laura thing, and it was either this or drugs.
After David paid the check, we called a car to his apartment. He lived in a one-bedroom in Williamsburg with floor-to-ceiling windows and furniture in shades of gray and white. Imade a mental note of how I’d describe his apartment to my friends later. “Cringey millennial minimalism.” He asked if I wanted a drink and I said no, so he just poured a glass for himself. He sat next to me on the couch in the living room and leaned forward to kiss me. Not even ten seconds into the kiss he asked if I wanted to move to the bedroom. “Sure,” I said, and pretty soon he was on top of me. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but I felt a little crushed by his body weight. Plus, he had gotten sweaty quite quickly, and some of it rubbed off on me. I asked to be on top instead, which helped, but I still felt quite stiff.
“You’re so sexy,” he said, and this helped me loosen up. The problem was I didn’t believe him. If he wanted to, he could sleep with far sexier people than me. I couldn’t help but suspect that this compliment must come from ulterior motives. Maybe he could tell I wasn’t feeling too enthusiastic, that I was too distracted by other things. But I told myself that I was just overthinking it, and imagined that Iwassexy. I imagined that I was a little skinnier, a little taller, with a better face and better hair. Kind of like Laura.
I wondered how Laura would act in this situation. She’d probably accept the compliment in stride. She wouldn’t doubt for a second that he was telling the truth. I tried to channel this energy, but it didn’t work when I imagined myself in my own body. My ass and breasts were too small to make up for the little bit of extra fat on my arms and thighs. I found it weird to think of myself as sexy. Pretty or cute maybe, but sexy was reserved for 80th percentile attractiveness and higher, in my opinion. Or if someone did think I was sexy, it must be because they really loved my face or personality and their brains tricked them into projecting that onto their view of my body. So instead, I closedmy eyes and imagined that I was having sex in a body that was more similar to Laura’s rather than my own. I imagined myself with less body fat in the areas where you wanted less body fat and more body fat in the areas where you wanted more. Suddenly, I no longer felt stiff, no longer felt like I was only pretending to have a good time. It seemed David could tell. He picked up the pace and, shortly afterward, finished.
“Sorry,” he said, and gave me a little sheepish smile. “That was just so amazing.”
No one had ever reacted this way to me. I was quite flattered. Apparently, I didn’t actually need to be hotter. I could just pretend to be hotter, and that would make up some of the difference.
—
David fell asleep immediately afterwe finished having sex, giving me the perfect opportunity to sneak out without needing to say an awkward goodbye. The glass of wine he had poured for himself was still sitting on the coffee table, untouched. I took a sip from it, out of curiosity, and so not all of it would go to waste.
Getting back to campus from Williamsburg required I take three different trains, and it was 1:00 a.m. by the time I set foot back in the lobby of my dorm building.
Are you up?I texted Eunjin while waiting for the elevator.Have some juicy news
She responded right away.YES!!!!!!! Always here for the hot goss
I couldn’t lie; half the reason I even went to David’s in the first place was so I’d have a story to share with my friends. I bounced on my heels in the elevator, thinking about what part I should talk to her about first. When the elevator door opened toour floor, I speed-walked straight to Eunjin’s room and plopped down on her bed. I told her everything that had happened, including details about the sweatiness, the untouched wine, and the cringey millennial minimalism.
“You slut,” she said. “Good for you.” I giggled and buried my head in the pillows. “Can I see a pic?”
I pulled up his dating app profile. Objectively, he looked better in person, but I didn’t say that because it’d sound too cliché.
“He looks like a generic tech bro founder.”
“You are correct.”
“Interesting that you’ve gone the tech bro route rather than the finance bro route.”
I shrugged. “What I’ve learned from my dating experience in the city—which you know is still very limited—is that both finance bros and tech bros are not the greatest people, but tech bros are just annoying, whereas finance bros are actually evil.”
“Fair enough. And this one is actually cute.”
“Why do you sound surprised that I’d be seeing someone cute?”
“I’m not! Stop projecting.” Eunjin threw a pillow at me, which stopped just short of hitting me and fell onto my lap.
“Okay, so you think he’s out of my league?”
“No! He’s cute, you’re cute. Same league.”
I rolled my eyes. “You wouldn’t tell me even if he was.”
SEVEN
I spotted Laura a couplemore times the following week. Two days before the start of Thanksgiving break, I was eating lunch with Eunjin at Ferris and stood behind Laura in line at the pasta bar again, interested in the new version of the not-pasta bowl that she was ordering. I whispered each ingredient under my breath to commit them to memory. Carrots, peas, spinach, chicken, alfredo, no pasta. Alfredo sauce, how rich. Maybe this was Laura’s cheat day.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Laura turned around and asked. I nearly tripped from surprise.
“Uh, no,” I said. “Sorry, just talking to myself.”
