All Undressed Up & Nowhere To Go
I wanted Valentine’s Day to be exceptionally romantic this year. It was the first time the lovers’ holiday would be celebrated in my own apartment, which meant I could have a movie scene moment without paying $10 for stale and greasy popcorn and $30 for overpriced tickets.
I had it all planned. I picked up my favorite drink from the liquor store–this sweet coconut rum that helps me transform into my sexy alter-ego. I grabbed his drink of choice as well. I didn’t have a lot of money to buy an expensive gift, so I figured the gift would be…well, me.
I cruised the Internet days prior, searching for the perfect piece of lingerie to set the evening off. I got nothing. I couldn’t trust my Double D’s to fit, so I decided to shop local. On my way to the mall, I happened to stumble upon his closest friend. I grabbed his number and told him to keep my boyfriend stalled until a certain time. The mall was depressing. I couldn’t find a single thing, and believe me, I tried on at least seven garments. Frederick’s Of Hollywood was the last resort. I found a sequin halter dress that stopped right at my kitty cat. It had a plunging neckline that revealed my buxom breasts. I felt confident. I was excited. I grabbed a pair of thigh-highs, and a garter to top it off.
On the way home, I picked up some Dominican food from our favorite Hispanic restaurant. By the time I got home, I had only an hour left to shower, do my hair, and complete a flawless face of makeup. My eyes popped in radiant blue eye shadow. My hair was pinned up so nothing would cover my beautiful face.
I set out my black wine glasses that I had never used before, then stamped a bare index card with my red lips and scribbled across the lines, “Drink Me.” I laid it neatly beside a fresh cup of Hennessy. I texted my man and told him to be at our place promptly, then set on the mood music and hid in the hallway.
Standing in garters and heels is one thing, but keeping calm and cool after waiting for 20 minutes is another. Still, I was anticipating what the night would have in store for us. He is a great partner, so I just knew he would rip this fabric off as soon as he laid eyes on me. Finally I heard the music lower, so I knew he was in the house. With my heart racing, I rang the bell like I was entering the threshold for the first time and hadn’t lived there for a year. He answered the door. I stepped inside and opened my trench coat, revealing my masterpiece of a body.
“Sequins? Where’d you get that?” He asked. I was vulnerable. I instantly I felt embarrassed, but I was determined to make it through the fantasy I had playing on repeat in my mind.
“The store,” I replied, handing over his cup of Hennessy. “Here, drink up,” I urged him, presenting him with the kind gesture.
“Na, I’m good,” he replied nonchalantly.
I felt my insides crumbling like an anthill in an earthquake. My hopes for a great time were slipping away. His attitude was ruining the entire occasion. My last attempt to salvage an intimate Valentine’s Day was the food.
“You hungry?” I asked and he shook his head. I let loose a deep sigh. Ready to cry, I retreated into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and tried to regain my composure. What was I missing? Why was he so not into it? What was the problem? I wiped my tears as I heard his footsteps closing in.
“You called me here, to sit in here?” he asked.
By the time I returned to the living room in a pair of his boxers and a tank, his size 11 feet were inside his Jordan sneakers, on the way to the door. What took days to orchestrate was over and ruined in 10 minutes. I said “F**k it,” watched him walk out on me then opened my Spanish food and dug in!
