Mr. Clinton?

Last night I met Bill Clinton, in disguise. Or, rather I met someone who pulled a Bill Clinton on me. 

Let me set this up. One of my closest friends, my cousin Holly, lives a bit of a socialite lifestyle.  She’s fifty and parties like a carefree twenty-year-old. She’s in a non-committed relationship where she and her partner see each other and spend many of their nights together, however, they freely date and sexually enjoy other people. According to her, he goes out with multiple new partners each month and ends up having sex with many of them, completely casually.

Hers isn’t the kind of lifestyle that I choose to lead, but it doesn’t have to be. She is her; I am me. I don’t always understand why she does the things she does, but I love her, and I don’t judge. We’ve been confidants since childhood.

For New Year’s she invited me to come and visit. I was tempted, despite some scheduling challenges. One day, when we were talking about it, she says, “Oh, come out, I’ll set you up with Jack.” Jack is her non-committed partner. My jaw dropped and I didn’t say much.

The next day I decided not to go and called to tell her. “I’m not going to make the trip.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you sure you can’t make it?”

“Honestly, I can probably make the arrangements work, but the idea of you setting me up with Jack, for a date, has completely put me off. I’m not coming.”

“Oh, he’ll be so disappointed. Okay. I understand,” she says sulkily.

That was months ago. Last month she called to tell me that she and Jack were coming to town for the weekend, this weekend. 

Remember how I mentioned being each other’s confidants? Yeah. So, I’ve lamented my challenges finding a good partner to her. I have shared the facts of my very limited sex life, when I’d rather be having a vibrant one. I think she has interpreted this as a problem she needs to solve for me. The problem with that, is that she and I have very different interpretations of what a healthy sex life looks like. More importantly, we have significant differences in how we choose partners, and the men we select.

She texts me the day they’re arriving to remind me that they’re coming to town and invites me to join them that evening. They both have friends here and have made reservations with a few other people out at a local bar. I’m available; I accept.

Initially I’m excited about going out, but I can’t help feeling like something about this is a set-up. As I’m getting ready, I feel increasingly irritated. At one point, I realize that I’m rehearsing in my mind what I’ll say if this turns out to be an attempt to hook me up with Holly’s friends. The idea of that irritates me, because of Jack.  On the other hand, I consider that maybe their local friends live a different lifestyle than they do, and might be great to meet.  I let go of the irritation and look forward to a fun evening.

When I arrive at the bar, only one of Holly’s friends, Darryl, is there. I introduce myself. We order a few drinks, and chat innocuously. It turns out that he lives out-of-state and has come to town for the week. Our conversation is enjoyable and I relax.

When Holly and Jack, who I’ve never met before, arrive, Holly introduces us and Jack says, “I’m going to slide on in next to you!”

Quickly, I say, “I’d actually like to sit next to Holly. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

Holly says, “Oh that’s great,” then looks at him, saying, “We can shuffle around throughout the evening.” To me she says, “We like to switch it up when we’re out so that everyone gets included.”

“Ah, like the old idea of conversing with the people on either side of you during a multi-course dinner. Okay, I can sit next to your boyfriend later,” I say, as she begins sliding into the booth.

She hugs me, “Oh, he’ll correct you if I don’t.  He’s not my boyfriend.”

After only a few minutes, she gets up to get something and when she returns she asks Darryl to let her back into the booth, leaving me now seated between her and Jack.

Holly observes that my hair has grown long. As we’re comparing length to see whose hair is longer, Jack says to me, “Your hair’s not that long.” I turn my back and show him the length.  He says, “Oh, you have stripper hair.”

“Did you just compare part of my appearance to that of a stripper?” I retort.

“Oh, whatever.  All women secretly want their man to think their stripper-hot.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just plain hot,” I say, leaving unsaid that he isn’t my man. I turn back to Holly.

After a few minutes, Jack asks what I’m drinking and says, “You’ll kiss me before your drink is gone.”

“No, I won’t,” I reply.

Holly is now engaged in conversation with Darryl, so Jack and I chat about our respective work until I need to use the restroom. I ask Jack to let me out of the booth since Darryl and Holly both would have to move. 

He slides over like he’s going to stand, but instead stops in the inside corner of the booth and leans back. There’s only enough room to either straddle his lap, or shove my butt through the air in front of his face to get by. I guess he’s expecting a lap dance to match my stripper hair. I shove my butt through the air, and roll my eyes. When I return, a waiter is blocking the other end of the booth where Darryl is seated. I wait for Jack to move, but he positions himself the same manner. I should’ve just sat on the outside seat, but I wanted back to my purse and drink.  As I pass my butt through the air again, he grabs my hips and pulls me into his lap.

I turn to face him and sweetly say, “If you don’t take your hands off me, you’re going to have my elbow in your nose.” He lets go. I take my drink and slide further down the table, away from him.

Another friend arrives, Chet. Chet actually lives in town and is cute. However, he’s one of Jack’s closest friends and, my guess is, can see that Jack’s hitting on me. Not surprisingly, Jack won’t shift away from his position next to me. So much for that rotating seating arrangement.

I try to make the best of the situation and be lighthearted. I was excited to see my cousin for the first time in nearly a year and half of Covid, and I don’t want the evening to sour. I dance to the music while I’m sitting at the table. Holly shifts to the other end of the booth and starts chatting with Chet at the far end of the table, so I continue visiting with Darryl and we converse until he observes that Jack looks like a third wheel and pulls him into the conversation.

Another drink and a small bite arrive for me. Jack states, “You’re going to have to stay the night at the hotel. It’s a good thing we have two double beds. You can share mine.”

I say, “That’s not going to happen.”

Jack says, “Why not?”

“I am not going to sleep with you. You’re involved with my cousin.”

“I’m not her boyfriend.”

“I don’t care what you call it, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, so you’re not going to have sex with me, simply because I’ve had sex with her?”

“Precisely.”

“I’m not with her anymore.”

“So you haven’t had sex with her this year? You’re not sharing a hotel room with her right now?”

“Well, I guess it depends on how you define sex. If you mean am I putting my penis in her vagina until I cum, that’s not happening.”

Uh. Is he really saying this? He is. “If you have split hairs about how we define sex, you’re just proving my point. This is. NOT. Going. To Happen.”

Chet and Holly have stopped talking and are paying attention. Jack begins to argue more, to which I say, “No! You’ve been involved with her, you’re here with her. She’s my cousin. No.”

Chet says, “I think it’s actually pretty great that she’s knows her mind.”

Holly looks at Jack and says, “I told you so.”

She told him so?  The farce underlying this night out becomes transparent. She knew that he was going to try to get me into bed. Maybe she wasn’t worried because she knew I’d turn him down. Maybe she didn’t warn me because she knows I can hold my own. Either way, I don’t appreciate it, from either of them. 

He’s a creep. I don’t know why she entertains that type of behavior. Whatever it is, my cousin clearly doesn’t understand my perspective or what I want for my own life.

Jack turns sullen and the men start talking about moving to a nearby restaurant for burgers.  Holly asks if I’m going to join them, and I decline.  When we exit, I turn unceremoniously, and walk to my car.

Jack’s lucky that I didn’t crack his nose or toss my drink into his lap.  I didn’t for my cousin’s sake.  But, I do wish I’d thought to call him Bill Clinton.