Your Place or Mine?

The air was practically dripping of estrogen and testosterone. Both men and women studied them with appraising eyes, as Sandy followed her friend into the fray. The women appeared to be sizing up the competition, and the men, why they were just sizing them up! Surreptitiously unfastening one more button on her already dangerously open shirt, Ginger grabbed Sandy's arm and steered her to a nearby table which still had empty chairs available. The tables were purposely large, seating ten or more people, in an effort to encourage fraternization among the patrons. Because it was a bottle club-meaning you brought your own beverages-there were coolers of ice, beer, liquor, and mixers here and there between the tables. There appeared to be an unspoken rule that you didn't mess with someone else's booze, for unopened drinks were unguarded, and no one seemed to be taking advantage. There were several 'bouncers' mingling in the crowd, who were quick to squelch any disputes, escorting any uncooperative parties to the nearest exit!

On stage, the red-haired vocalist was belting out a 'he done me wrong' ballad, accompanied by a bearded, burly, electric guitar player clad in muddy brown and yellow western-style shirt, tight, faded jeans, and highly polished cowboy boots. As the singer in her brick red, cleavage-flaunting mini dress held the phallic microphone to her lips, she leaned suggestively toward the guitarist for emphasis. All around the dance floor, couples were clinging to each other, demonstrating varying degrees of intimacy and dancing ability.

"Welcome to singles night at Country Connections," she muttered to herself. It hadn't been her idea to come to this place, known throughout the southern part of the state to be frequented by fast- moving men and freewheeling women. Ginger, her best friend and confidant, had convinced her that a night out-- a chance to meet and mix with a few eligible men--was just what she needed at this juncture in her life. Both women had been divorced for a year or more and had spent most of that time adjusting to their new roles as single Moms. Both had moved to the same city within months of each other, had secured employment at the same company, where they met and almost immediately become close friends. For months now, Ginger had been trying to get Sandy to get out and socialize, without success. It was only due to Ginny's relentless pestering, and a bit of secret loneliness on Sandy's part that Sandy finally caved. Now she was having second thoughts.

With a Bud Light from their shared cooler in hand, Sandy surveyed the crowd. There was a mixture of ages from 20's to maybe even 60's, some seated at tables chatting in loud voices in attempt to be heard over the strains of the band, others on the dance floor were moving with the rhythm of the music. She marveled to think there were that many singles within commuting distance of the dancehall. Of course it was difficult to know how far lonely and fun-seeking souls would travel for a few hours distraction and the possibility of a hook-up, be it a one-night stand or a long-term relationship. In her peripheral vision, she noticed a guy watching her. He looked like he might be on the lower side of 40, wearing glasses, a light blue shirt, and dark jeans. Her heart sank when he started toward her.

Quickly, she turned to talk to Ginger, but Ginny was already out on the dance floor with a fellow who had swept her away while Sandy's back was turned. "Okay, don't panic, don't panic," Sandy told herself, hoping she was mistaken and that he was about to approach someone else. No such luck. She turned again, and there he was, less than three feet away, his right hand extended.

"Hi. I'm Mark." He strained to make himself heard over the pounding music. Then the song ended, with applause from the crowd for the red-dressed singer. Mark smiled as she shook his extended hand. He was easy on the eyes; not drop dead gorgeous, but pleasant enough; he wasn't salivating and his attention was not focused on her breasts-both strong points in his favor!

"Sandy," she offered, as the band burst into another number. He took her hand and guided her to the dance floor. She was grateful for the rock music; it eliminated the need to be physically close to her partner, and the volume precluded any attempt at conversation. They swayed and gyrated to the beat of the music, and Sandy began to relax a little. It had been a while since she had danced, and the acoustics of the place made giving herself over to the gods of rock pretty easy. She was actually beginning to have fun when the band segued into the tones of "I can't help it if I'm still in love with you." Before she had time to think about it, Mark had pulled her him and they were up close and personal. He moved smoothly around the dance floor, and she felt herself melting into the mood of the song, slightly sad, somewhat nostalgic, and a little romantic. When the song ended, she was almost sorry. He thanked her and escorted her back to her table.

While finishing her beer, Sandy glanced around her. There was Ginny holding court on the other side of the room. Several men and a couple of women were gathered around her in animated conversation, and she was nodding her head in agreement with whatever they were saying. Her black, curly locks were moving with each nod. Finally, she spied Sandy and returned to their table.

"Well, wha'd ja think, kiddo? Is this a good time kinda' place or what?" Ginny asked as she reached into the cooler for another Bud.

"It's okay, I guess. "

"Well, listen-a gang of us are going to HoJo's after the dance for breakfast. Are you in?"

"Sure, why not?" Sandy responded. She didn't really care one way or the other, but since she had ridden to Country Crossing with Ginger, she felt obligated to go, or Ginny would have to drive out of her way to drop Sandy off at her apartment first.

The band was starting up again, and within a few minutes, Mark was back asking if she wanted to dance again. She nodded agreement-the chances of being heard over the music were pretty slim. They moved out among the other dancers, and this time she felt a little more comfortable. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was Mark, but she actually was having a good time. They danced several times, and chatted some during the band's next break. She learned he was divorced, a computer programmer, and the non-custodial father of a 14-year-old girl named Mandy.

Sandy had another beer while they were chatting, and when the music started up again, she finished her drink and followed Mark back out onto the dance floor. She was feeling more relaxed and comfortable, mostly because she was really enjoying dancing. The effects of the beer were minimal, because she was eating cheese and crackers, dancing, and perspiring in the summer evening's warmth.

When the band played its final number, Mark did what most men do: he offered to drive a drunken lady home. She was normally silly and giggly when sober, so he was assuming she was quite inebriated at this point, when she was barely buzzed. On impulse, she agreed and whispered to Ginger that she would see her at HoJo's. Ginny had already invited three people along with her, so she had no problem with Sandy making other arrangements.

Mark walked her to his car, and opened the door on the passenger side for her. Once he was seated behind the wheel and had started the engine, they left the parking lot and pulled out onto the highway. Country C0nnections was not yet out of sight when he turned to her and with amazing originality said, "Your place or mine?"

"How about Howard Johnson's" she countered. He was not delighted, but to HoJo's they went. Over English muffins and steaming cups of coffee, he tried the intellectual approach.

"One hundred years from now, what's it going to matter if you and I went to bed tonight?" He removed his glasses--apparently, Mark was in the habit of removing his glasses when making a pitch.

"You may be right, Mark, Sandy said. One hundred years from now, probably no one will care. But I care, now, tonight, and I am saying, no, I don't want to sleep with you." With a man like Mark, who was quick to get right to the point, there was no sense beating around the bush.

"But, I'll tell you: It would be over in seconds the first time," Mark went on. "I'd spend the next 20 minutes apologizing, and then. . ."

"No way, Mark."

He paid the check, left a tip for the waitress, and they went outside. Again, he opened the passenger door for her, walked around the vehicle, and climbed in on the driver's side behind the wheel. Mark was not to be easily discouraged. He started the engine, then turned and grabbed her. He planted a kiss on Sandy that so caught her by surprise that his tongue was getting acquainted with her tonsils before she knew what hit her. Then he released her, expertly backed the car out of the parking space and drove out onto the avenue, while she sat there with her mouth hanging open like an idiot.

"Where do you live," he asked, as if what had just happened was not at all out of the ordinary, and perhaps it wasn't for him. It was for her, however. She had not been 'soul kissed' to that extent in some time-perhaps years!-and it was NOT unpleasant.

Sandy gave him directions to Pinewoods, the new apartment development where she lived, and he immediately knew where they were going. On the way, he pulled the car into the parking lot of the Wise Potato Chip factory, and took her in his arms again. Once again, he kissed her breathless, then without a word, drove back out to the street in the direction of Pinewoods. When they arrived at the complex, he parked the car outside her apartment and embraced her again. It had been a long, lonely summer for Sandy, and a lonely year before that. Even though she was not that attracted to Mark, she did enjoy his attention. He was not insistent; when she resisted his attempts at groping, he did not push.

"How about inviting me in for a couple of minutes," he asked when his tongue wasn't trying to follow the shortest internal path to her navel.

"No way," she responded when she could speak again. By this time, he was breathing heavily, and she found it necessary to suppress a giggle. It seemed so ridiculous the he should be sexually aroused when she was totally unmoved. After a few more attempts to gain entry to her apartment, and thereby her thighs, he gave up with a sigh and said goodnight. All in all, he was a pretty good sport-some men might not have accepted defeat as good-naturedly.

In retrospect, she felt a little strange. Seldom before had she been kissed so passionately; yet it was as if she was standing back and watching it all happen to someone else. His kisses had no effect on her. She enjoyed them, as she might enjoy having someone shampoo her hair. It was a passive experience. Sandy concluded that his defeat had less to do with any lack of prowess on his part but to a lack of readiness on her part. She had heard the term reading readiness-maybe she lacked bedding readiness!

As she climbed into her bed that night, Sandy reviewed the evening's events in her mind. She had taken some big steps tonight: She had stepped out of her comfort zone and actually attended a mixed social activity; she had danced with a man and let him driver her home, trusting her instincts that she would be safe; and, she had experienced her first kiss in years and enjoyed it. Maybe there was life after divorce after all!