11. No regrets

Cayden knows the Casey story. He actually just read it all again, in that last post. Yes, Cayden reads this blog. So does Casey. It's a little hard writing about these things sometimes, knowing that they now know what was going through my head at the time. Cayden can't stand the thought of me being with someone like Casey in the past. Casey can't stand that I was with someone like him in the past. But really, I can't say I have any regrets about it. I mean, sure, no one wants to date a woman beater, but that experience added a layer to me that I didn't have before. It's part of what plays into who I am today.
The first time I told Cayden that story, it was that night on the roof, before the base running. I know what you're thinking, "You talked about your abusive 'ex' on your first date?!!" Yes. I did. We talked about everything that night. And it didn't feel weird. Usually when I'm out on a date with a guy and he even brings up a past relationship, red flag no doubt about it. But that night wasn't like a first date. It was like a first, second, third. It was like talking to someone I'd been talking to for months and months. And when he left, those discussions only intensified. That's the funny thing about long-distance relationships: The physical aspect is completely removed, so all you can do is talk. People say sex changes everything. They couldn't be more right. If we lived in the same state, we'd make out instead of date, have sex instead of talk. But what I had with Cayden was completely different. He knew me better than I anyone else. I didn't even talk to my mom as much as I talked to Cayden. And if you know me, you know that's saying a lot.
After a month or so, Cayden started talking about flying back out here to visit me. He wanted to come here in December. He wanted me to think of all the romantic things people do in NYC, so we could do them together. Before this particular email, the romantic things in NYC made me want to vom. Ice skating in Bryant Park? A carriage ride through Central Park? None of this appealed to me. But when I thought about doing these things with Cayden, my gag reflex calmed.
I was still dating Jon, but losing interest as the days passed. We hung out less and less. I ignored his calls now and then. I tried to picture myself ice skating with Jon. My stomach turned. Romance with Jon, or any other guy I'd dated for that matter, made me queasy. Will (my best friend turned boyfriend in college) was a romantic. He'd bring me flowers on a date. Write me sweet notes in a Valentines card. One day, I had stayed the night and we decided to take a shower together at his place. This took a lot of convincing, because bathroom lights are harsh, and being fully naked in front of someone under such bright lights almost caused an anxiety attack. I wanted to jump in before him, lather up in soap, and then invite him in. He turned on the dim light. Being the romantic that he was, he lit an incense and had lavender-scented body wash waiting for me. I knew he had put a lot of thought into this, and I appreciated the detail. But when I was in the shower, he was lathering me up, it suddenly felt so hot. The water was too hot. Knowing he was in there as well made it too hot. I felt like the incense was burning everything around me. Was I on fire? I suddenly felt like I was going to pass out.
"Sorry, I need a second."
I stepped out of the shower and sat on the toilet, bar- ass naked, closed my eyes and put my head between my knees. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. The smell of the incense burned my nostrils. I remember being so frustrated with myself that I couldn't fully enjoy his passionate gestures. Other girls would kill for this. Will was someone who would do anything for me. Before we were even together he'd take care of me if I was sick, take me to the doctor, then go fill my prescription. He was just the absolute sweetest guy. To this day I know I'll never meet someone as caring and giving as Will. He was perfect, but not for me. We broke up a year and a half ago, and he found his perfect match. He's blissfully happy, and I can't explain how happy that makes me.
But when I think about these things with Cayden, it's different. I could easily see myself ice skating with him, even if that meant falling on the ice and permanently bruising my tailbone, as long as we could laugh about it over hot chocolate afterwards.
My days became consumed with researching romantic things to do in NYC. I knew for sure that I wanted to take him to Aqua Santa, this beautiful Italian restaurant with the perfect outdoor patio. It was a few blocks away from my apartment in Brooklyn, and it was perfect. There was a fireplace outside, and twinkle lights and (probably fake) grapevines lined the ceiling. The chairs and tables looked antique, white iron with teal cushions. I couldn't think of anything but being in front of that fireplace with Cayden, sipping red wine under the twinkle lights, talking about life.
And then take a shower with him.

6. America's Favorite Pastime

I walked into my room just as he was pulling his shirt over his head. If I were a cartoon, my eyes would have bulged out of my head and the Klaxon submarine horn would have sounded, "AAOOOOOGAH." His stomach was perfectly flat, abs defined, his waist narrow, with those perfect V-line indentations leading from the top of his hip and disappearing into the white band of his boxer briefs. I couldn't wait to get his jeans off.
So much for just making out.
He tossed his shirt next to my bed and caught me gaping at him.
"Is this OK? I can sleep with my shirt on if you'd like."
I closed the door behind me and hit the light switch at the same time. Luckily I could still see him with the early-morning light coming through my window. In three strides I was in front of him, backing him against the bed.
"I have a strict no-denim policy in my bed," I said as I reached for the button of his pants. He held my face between his hands, tilted my face up to his, and kissed me while I successfully managed to undo the button and zipper without any awkward fumbles, bent-back fingernails, or "Uh, a little help here?" comments. Well, that was a first.
Once I pulled his jeans to mid-thigh they fell easily to the floor. He freed his feet and kicked his pants to the side without breaking the kiss. I put my hands on his toned stomach and ran them up to his rock-hard chest. Then I gave him a forceful shove, and he was half sitting, half lying on my bed before he knew what hit him. I knelt down on the bed, straddling him. He sat up, putting his hands under my shirt, lifting it up slowly, as if he were teasing himself. I held my arms up to give him the go ahead to take it off. It landed next to his jeans.
"Wow." He said as he held me away from him, eyeing me. Shit, I didn't even have time to suck it in. I hope my boobs looked awesome to distract him from what was surely going on at my pants line. No matter what, sitting without a shirt on in your snug white shorts is never cute. I cursed myself for not thinking about unbuttoning my pants before I hopped on. Thank god for my 36D distractions. His hands slid up the middle of my back as he pulled me closer to kiss the part of my distractions that were nicely perked above my bra. (Thank you, Victoria's Secret Very Sexy push-up)
I pushed him back down on the bed and kissed him hard as his hands reached for the button on my shorts. Yes, please.
I was suddenly grateful I had changed into the black lacy cheeky panties and black push-up bra before meeting up with him. You know, just in case. I wondered if he had put thought into his white, ribbed, Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He added my shorts to our growing pile of denim and cottons.
"Wow," he said again, looking at me in just my unmentionables. Or maybe he was saying "Ow." Shit, was I crushing him??
"Wow, what?"
"Your curves are amazing. Absolutely amazing." (Sidenote: It's really hard to write about something someone said about my own body. Yes, this is awkward.) That same look returned to his eyes. The look he had on my roof when he was trying to take a mental picture of the Manhattan skyline. He wanted to freeze the image of me on top of him in his mind, for as long as it would last. I planned on doing the same thing to him later, only with my camera phone. (Yes, I'm serious.)
He pulled me down close to him, and his hands went for the claps on the back on my bra.
"Ah-ah. No sir. First base only."
"First base? What does that mean?" He looked truly confused.
Ah yes, baseball is AMERICA's favorite past time. Not the UKs. Maybe they use football (soccer) field locations to describe their sexual activities. (Making out is the sideline, you know, the one by the home team's bench. No, not the other bench. That's a whole different sexual scenario)
"You don't know the base system?"
His confused expression was adorable. Sounds like someone needed a lesson in Base Running 101. Just call me Coach Whitney.
"Well. this is first base." I kissed him again, pressing my hips against his, feeling how eager he was to round to second. He rolled me over and I ran my hands all over his perfectly sculpted stomach. His kisses were passionate and playful at the same time. Not usually words I use to describe other base-runners who have made their way to my bedroom. There was just something different about Cayden. I wish I could put my finger on what it was. Instead I put my finger in his waistband. I reluctantly pulled away from one of his kisses.
"And this is second..."