By Melanie Martin
Some nights hold more charm than others and as I get older and experience more of this mysterious chasm called life, I find myself believing in this more and more…
I hadn’t been in the club for more than twenty minutes, when apparently I became the biggest catch of the night. I couldn’t sip my drink without finding some random man standing up behind me. If I wasn’t being offered a line of coke, then my butt was being groped by nameless faces, lost in a sea of sweat, sex and techno music, but my night was still very young…
I could humor you with the details of each and every man that I met that night–I think on a total I met about ten of them–not bad for an anti-social girl, eh? Anyway, in my mind only three of them stand out and all for their very own unique reasons. I guess I should start with him…
His eyes compliment his shirt; they are reminiscent of the waters in Greece. I’ve never been to Greece, but I’ve seen, “The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants.” Can you tell that I am all over him? I saw him before he saw me, but this doll does not chase after Ken; so I waited. I could tell from my friend’s eyes that there was a guy behind me and then I felt the slightest touch around my waist. I turned around and there he was. If I am to describe him best, then I should do it by revealing the part of me that he spoke to.
Inside of me, there is a woman who likes the handsome, 9-5, All-American guy. You know the guy who looks like he has a trust fund?. What can I say? Maybe I belong up at the vineyard with Martha and all of them. Back to my story, so we sway to the wild, raucous beats blasting through the air and for a moment in time, I let myself go. For me, this is not something that I have experienced in a long time and when it happens that the moon is in whatever it needs to be and I am in the right place at the right time, then it’s simply kismet.
So he does all of the smooth things that I go for, like: raise my hands above my head and do some Patrick Swayze in “Dirty Dancing” moves, lol. I’m cheesy, but at least I’m honest. He tells me that my skin is so soft to the touch and it helps that he whispers into my ears and that I am able to catch that amidst the loud pulsating sounds of the club. He asks to try on my nerdster glasses and I oblige. As I take them off, I am made aware of his true aim. He inhales sharply, as he holds my chin in his, “Awww, there she is.” Yes, I am partial to charming men; so what? Shoot me.
I forgot to tell you one of my latest discoveries: I’ve learned Superman’s secret and it isn’t such a secret. Wear spectacles upon your face, and it is as if you are not yourself–you are able to hold on to your true identity. So by him taking off my glasses, he unveiled me and if you understand that, then you have learned a treasure my dear friend. Clark Kent was able to go around and be himself and all he did was wear some ugly glasses. Superman was in plain sight, but everyone was too stupid to erase the glasses for a minute and imagine an S on his chest. And here I was wearing contacts for the majority of my twenties; shame on you Ms. Martin.
So we dance for a little longer and drumroll please…enter stage left: The Angry UGLY girlfriend. C’mon, you didn’t expect a guy like that to NOT have a girlfriend? I’ve been around for too long, to not see that coming.
I say, “Uh-oh, it’s time to go buh-bye. Your friend came to get you”
To which she replies (with an extra side of bitch), “Yeah, time to go buh-bye”
I move over to my pals and we hear the drama in the background and my friend tells me that he wants to go out with me all the time, because this is better than reality TV. LOL, onto the next one…
Peter from Serbia
If Jeffrey was my All-American Guy, then Peter would be the anti-thesis of that; I’m a very complexed and tortured woman. He was tall, he had an accent and he looked like a pale faced Vampire from Underworld; this guy spoke to my fantasy side. Don’t judge me!!!! He had the shoulders that I go for and his eyes were dark; you wouldn’t talk to him?
I said I don’t chase, but I’m not above giving ‘em the eyes; the eyes have it. I guess we called each other over with our eyes, because here we are, hip to hip, chest to chest, eye to chin (lol, he’s taller).
I ask him what is he drinking and he says that he doesn’t know, and that I am free to take a sip. I make note of the accent, and tell him that he sounds Russian and that he is drinking vodka. I smell his cup and it is vodka. You may call me a jerk, but some stereo types are true. He offers to buy me a drink, but I decline. We dance as he tries to grope my butt. I’ve heard that Russian men are all about the ass, but this one takes the cake.
“What’s your name?”
“Don’t worry about my name.”
Oh he’s no good already, I can tell. Anyone who is reluctant about offering up his or her name should be observed with caution.
“Are you here alone?”
“Yes and now I’ve met you. Dance with me, no?” At this point I know that he’s a douche, but I figure I’m having fun, why not just dance?
We dance, I laugh at his stupid jokes and for some reason I mark his neck and cheek with a red small pouted kiss. These are the things that confuse me the morning after; why did I plant my lips on a total hot stranger????
He smiles and then says, “I’m Peter from Serbia.”
“That’s not your name.”
“You think I make up stupid name like this? No, this is my name. What is your name?”
“Melanie.” Someone next to us says “Melania,” which is my name in Spanish. Great, now we have a translator.
“Melanie let me love you. Show you how Serbian man get down.”
Awww, he’s such a jerk, but his accent buys him time. I laugh and tell him no thank you. He asks me where I live.
“I met a girl in Brooklyn once and she was so hot, but she wouldn’t go home with me.”
I told you he was a jerk, but I keep talking for the entertainment factor.
“Peter from Serbia, I am not going home with you, that’s not on my list of things to do.”
He pouts, “I won’t lie, I won’t last long the first time, but after that we make passionate love.”
“Your glasses don’t fool me Melanie, I know a bad girl when I see one. So kiss me now and we are even. I won’t tell your secret.”
I stare at him, toy with his scarf, and finally tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the lips.
“Bad girls give real kisses; do it like you mean it.”
He’s a jerk, but you could have a sexy time with this one, if that was your thing of course.
So I hold up my oversized clutch, blocking the soon to be view of our lips locking for a mere space in time. I kiss him and do it as if my life depended on it. I open my eyes, come down from my tiptoes and stare at my masterpiece: red lipstick all over his mouth.
He winks, and then we wish each other a good night. Then it hits me: I had just given away my first red lipstick kiss and I would never get to relive it ever again.
Mike the Gentle Soldier
For the millionth time of the night, I find a pair of hands that are not my own, circling my waist. You think I would complain, but I just rock to the beat. This one is tall, taller than Peter from Serbia. He is super gentle, but he holds me with a longing, the kind of longing that you have for something that you know you cannot have. We dance for a long time, because that’s what you do at a party–you dance.
He asks me my name and at this point, I wish I had a sign.
“Wow, I’m Mike, it’s like it was meant to be.” I guess he is going off of the same first initials.
“Nice to meet you, Mike”
“What’s your nationality?”
I tell him and he smiles. “I’ve been there, one of the countries that I’ve toured.”
“Toured?” I ask feigning ignorance.
“I’m in the Army. I just came back from Afghanistan.”
Strings tug at my heart. I love men brave enough to enroll in the armed forces. Courageous men sing special songs to my soul. “Now that you say it, I can tell.”
He stares longingly at me, “I’m so attracted to you.”
“It’s a club, Mike; no real attraction here–it’s all deceptive.”
“I could step back and not dance with you. You seem like a great person. What I wouldn’t give to get to know you.”
I hug him and I recognize his longing now: he wants someone to love, because for Mike life is really a breath of vapor in the air. This moment feels like it is dreamy and time has slowed down. I wish I could think of a song to explain it, but maybe that adds to the mystery. He holds my hands to his mouth and gently kisses them, “I wish things were different, but they aren’t. I’m going back for another tour; it’s the life I chose. Just wish I had met you at a different point in time….we could be one of those couples, can’t you feel it?”
And honestly–I do feel it. Moments before I had explained to him some funny scenarios that happened to me earlier and we had a very familiar, comfortable ease about us. You don’t get that with just everyone, especially with me. I don’t offer up information easily, so we had it, but it wasn’t to be forever.
“You’re a good guy, I can tell.” He kisses my cheek and we hold hands letting our grip loosen as he walks away, where I lose sight of his frame in seconds.
And that’s how that cookie crumbled, that one night in time.
Melanie has been a lover of words all of her 29 plus tax years on this earth, it just took her a really long time to realize it. She is sometimes cool, but always glamorous, considers herself a space cadet, loves Finnish whiskey and is a realistic romantic. Most days, when she isn’t pondering her creation of a fantasy sci-fi world, she is purchasing another tube of red lipstick and thinking of how the Moon came to exist. She can be reached at Melaniak@icloud.com.