Kiss and tell, part 3

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Like I previously mentioned, I never get lucky when I go out at night.  I never get to meet a guy and take him home.  So that night before Ashley kissed me, I left my house in a glorious disorder:  the dining table uncleared of dirty dishes, magazines were scattered in the sofa, pairs of shoes were scattered on the floor and a few of my clothes lay strewn on the bed.

But before Ashley sees that, we were inside a cab on our way to my house.  We both seated at the back, of course.  We fastened our seat belts, and then he held my hand.  He leaned towards me and kissed me again.

When we passed by the bridge he pointed somewhere and said, "I went to school there."

"Oh you studied here," I said.  "How long have you been here in Denmark?"

"Eight years," he said.  "That's why I'm very fluent in Danish, almost like a true Dane," he said in Danish.  Still speaking Danish, he asked, "How about you?  How long have you been here?"

"Two years," I said.

My apartment is a 7-minute taxi ride from the city center but halfway to my house he said, still in Danish, "Your house is far."

"We're almost there," I said.

When we got to the door of my apartment he asked, "Which floor do you live?  Fifth?"

"No, fourth," I said.  I looked at him and he smiled with a tired smile.

When we got to my apartment, it appeared dirtier and more disorderly to me than it did when I left it, probably because of another person with me.  I offered him some water to drink which he gladly accepted.  I told him to just wait on the sofa while I prepared the bed.  Maybe it's because of the dirty dishes on my dining table that he was reminded he didn't have dinner yet.

He stood up and spoke to me in Danish, "I would like to eat some pizza."

It was around 1 am that time but it didn't occur to me that pizza parlors were only open until midnight at most.  So I went to my laptop, sat down and told him that I'll just google Domino's and see what their number is because there's one near my house.  It didn't take long before he said in English, "Nevermind, I'll just eat tomorrow."  He was standing beside me.

"Come here," he said, holding my hand.  He pulled me so that I stood up and went close to him.  We kissed again and then he lead me to the bedroom where we undressed and had sex.

Neither of us came because, a few minutes later, I thought we were just having a break when he passed out.

So there I was, lying in my bed, clothed, trying to sleep while a naked guy slept soundly behind me.  I couldn't sleep because my mind was too busy analyzing and taking in what just happened.  It's also probably because I haven't had anyone sleep beside me in my own bed.  I gave up, got up and tried to find my OTC sleeping pills in the living room.  I looked at my phone and saw a text message from Már, "I'm home."  I replied, "Me too.  And I went home with Ashley!  Yay!"

The recommended dosage for the sleeping pills that I have are two at a time.  I only took one because it was very late and I know that Ashley needed to catch a train in the morning to go back to Odense where he lives.  I have to be awake when he wakes up.

And I'm glad I only took one because later during the night, I felt Ashley got up and saw him walk back and forth in my bedroom.  I thought he was sleepwalking.  He probably tried to find the light switch but gave up and sat down on the bed.

I got up and asked, "What is it?"

"I need to go to the toilet," he said.

I turned on the light and led him to the bathroom.  I felt a little wetness on my feet on my way back and saw there are a few droplets on my bedroom floor.  Ashley was probably holding his bladder for so long and I'm glad I woke up in time.

When he came back I placed a pillow under his head.

It was past 10 in the morning when he woke up.  He went to the toilet and when he came back, he wrapped his arms around my waist and started kissing my neck.  We had sex again.  He came but I didn't, maybe because I lacked sleep--he'd been stealing my blanket from me the whole night and it was quite cold.

We decided to have brunch in a café near my place because I ran out of coffee.  "And it's the most important," he said, looking at my empty coffee jar.

On our way to the café, for some reason he said that he won't be back in Copenhagen for at least a month and a half because he will go to Iceland.

While having brunch I learned he didn't like sausages.  I learned that he hasn't been to Asia.  When he travels for holiday he doesn't like to go to beaches and prefers to go to big cities, to which I exclaimed, "Me too!"  I learned that he got robbed of his iPhone here in Copenhagen and also got stabbed in the leg when it happened.  He told me he liked guys who are slim and shorter than him, and that I fit the bill.  I learned that he liked babies but I didn't know if he wanted one for himself.  I learned that he has plans to move to Copenhagen next year but there are no concrete plans yet.  He mentioned again that he won't be back in Copenhagen for another month and a half, as if he didn't tell me that before.

It started to rain hard when we finished our food.  We both had umbrellas but it was me who opened one for the both of us.  I took him to the nearby bus stop.

I wish I could write a better ending than this. I wish I could say that we exchanged numbers, and that we talked on Skype regularly in the following days and promised to see each other again as soon as possible because we couldn't get enough of each other.

But we didn't exchange numbers.  We didn't even add each other as Facebook friends even both of us have shown each other pictures from our Facebook accounts using our phones.  It was me who finally said, "Well, just let me know if you want to meet again.  You know my name on boyfriend.dk."

"I will, I will," he said and off to the bus he went.

I wish I could say that I went home with a feeling of longing. Of being hopeful and giggly and filled with infatuation. But I went home with a feeling of slight sadness.  Somehow the whole experience felt underwhelming.  While it sounds good in paper that a guy who previously rejected me a few months back, now ended up kissing me in public and then went home with me, I wondered if he did it because he truly liked me, or he just settled with me because he didn't find anyone else.

And maybe I was expecting too much because the sex wasn't I thought it would be.  I didn't feel the connection.  Maybe he felt it, too, because he didn't ask for my number or promised to be back.  He didn't send me a message on boyfriend.dk, either.

But perhaps I learned something valuable from this experience. I've encountered it before in a novel but I didn't get to personally experience it until it actually happened to me (italics are mine):

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words.  I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret."  Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling.  I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster."  Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's own fantasy."

 - Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex: A Novel

Now I'll remember that whenever a hot guy totally my type rejects me just because I'm Asian, or I'm too thin or that for any reason I'm not his type.


- The end -