Posted by: bourbonmama | 10/06/2009

WBW #20: How I Found Philip, part 4

If you’re new to this story, check out the first three parts: the chance meetings, the date that never happened, and our first real date.

First, I’ll give you a little background.  After douche bag Travis, I took some time off from dating.  I knew that I just needed to be alone for a while.  I never intended on being alone for two years.  It was not for lack of trying, and it’s not like I never got any action went out with a guy, I just never got serious about anyone.  Which was mostly because they never seemed to be serious about me.  I was like a kid playing on an older siblings “team” in a game of Rook (what you don’t know what Rook is?), just following their lead.  What I learned was that I liked being single.  I liked not having to answer to anyone, account for anyone, being able to do what I wanted, when I wanted.  I had never had this freedom.  So, when Philip came along, I was sure he would be just like all the others, just another notch on the bedpost bump in the road.   I never intended on being with him forever.

Alright, back to the story…

In Vegas, May '06

In Vegas, May '06

So, I dropped Philip back off at his parents’ house after dinner.  All I can remember thinking is what a loser I was.  Why am I even wasting my time on a guy that is obviously not for me?  Because he’s HOTT, that’s why.  When I got home, my brother, Jason, was there. 

“Where’ve you been?”

“I had a date.”

“Yeah?  You got a new boyfriend?”  A huge smirk on his face.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dude.  I’m probably not even gonna see him again.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Uh, yeah.  I drove, I paid for dinner, and he lives with his parents.”  Jason’s only response was laughter. 

Still, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I should give him another chance.  It would take three, actually.  

Our second date, we met up at another one of Club Dub’s shows.  We danced and drank and made out like two horny teenagers.  After the bar closed down, a friend of mine invited us over to smoke pot hang out.  We walked the 100 yards from the bar to his house, Philip leaning on me most of the way (classic case of a guy being too embarrassed to admit that a 98 pound girl could drink him under the table).  When we got to my friend’s house, he tells me he needs to sit down, he doesn’t want to come in, yet, he tells me to go ahead, he’d be right there.  I wasted no time, he was totally cramping my style by this point.  Once we’re all positioned in guy-whose-name-I-can’t-remember’s living room, the ribbing begins.  Jason was there.  “Where’s your boyfriend?”   

He’s not my fuckin’ boyfriend!”

“Then who is he?”

“I dunno, some guy who I’m letting hang out with me.”

“Ohh, aren’t you special?”

“Well, I hope he’s your boyfriend,” says Jordan.  “He’s a decent guy, he just can’t handle his liquor.  You should go check on him.”

“I don’t think he wants me to.”  After a few more minutes of heckling, I go outside to check on Philip, feeling pretty guilty for leaving him out there all alone and feeling crappy.  He was sitting on the steps, with his head down. 

“You OK?”

“Yeah, just leave me alone.”

“You sure you don’t need anything?”  Hell, at least I was trying.

“I need to be left alone.”

“Fine.”  I turned and walked back inside, all feelings of guilt had disappeared.  “See, I told you he didn’t want me out there.”  We stayed inside for at least another hour.  When we came out to go home, Philip was not where I’d left him on the stairs. 

“Where’d your boyfriend go?”

“Gawd, Jason, he’s not my fuckin’ boyfriend!”  I look to my right, and he’s sitting on the edge of the porch with his feet dangling in the bushes.  “What are you doing?”

“mumble, mumble, something about trying to take a piss.”  This is when I noticed his shoes were gone. 

“What happened to your shoes?”

 “mumble , mumble, something about hot feet and taking a piss, more drunken slurring.”  We locate his shoes, one on the stairs, and the other in the bushes.  Jason and I help him walk back to our house, and I tuck him in on our couch.  The next morning, I dropped him off at his parents’ house, silently promising myself, that I wouldn’t put myself through that, again.

Something just kept pulling me back, though.  We went the closing of a legendary bar (Lynagh’s club, it was so long ago that I couldn’t find a link.  Thanks Google, now I feel old).  I have no idea who was playing, I do remember the place was packed.  Right after we got there, they quit letting people in.  There was drinking and dancing and good music.  Then came 1am, and last call (yes, I know, that is lame), there was an after party.  We went to the liquor store next to the bar (yes, that is very convenient), and got my usual party essentials: a fifth of the kickin’ chicken and a two liter of coke (that’s just how I rolled).  I remember Philip was getting on my nerves, he had been trying, without much success, to keep up with me and my iron liver.  Every time I turned around, there he was, smothering me.  When we got to the party, I tried to put some space between us, I was able to for about five minutes.  Then, I heard a commotion, two guys, screaming at each other.  Is that Philip?  Great.  I walk out onto the balcony.  Some frat guy thinks Philip spit on him, Philip, to this day, claims that he didn’t, the guy was 20 ft away.  I calm him down and lead him inside, preparing myself for another night of babysitting. 

Cut to the end of the night, we’re leaving, douche bag frat boy is leaning on the wall as we pass, he spits at Philip’s shoe.  In seconds, Philip has him by the collar, shoved against the wall.  There’s alot of yelling and cussing.  Douche bag’s girlfriend and I are both trying to separate them.  Finally, I pry Philip away and we walk back to my apartment.  I silently promise myself that I wont answer the phone the next time he called.  Yeah, right.

We went out a few more times.  Philip had finally come to grips with the fact that a 98 pound girl could drink him under the table.  He started calling me every day.  I freaked out.  He started wanting to see me every day, I freaked out even more.  I started screening his calls, making up excuses as to why I couldn’t see him.  I didn’t know how to handle someone actually wanting to be with me.  Then, he dropped the mother-load on me.  He calls the week before the fourth of July.  He asks me to spend the long weekend at the lake with his familyOhmyfuckin’god, he wants me to meet his family.  We haven’t even known each other a month and he wants me to meet his family (I’d already met his mother, ya know, him living with herand all). If I wasn’t freaked out before, I certainly was now.  I told him that under no circumstances was I going to spend the fourth anywhere else than downtown with Jason(seriously, it’s like Mardi Gras with out the plastic beads and excessive naked boobies, or how I would imagine Mardi Gras, since I’ve never been).  Philip gets mad, we have our first fight.  I hang up the phone and vow to never see him again.  How dare he want to spend time with me and introduce me to his family! 

I had a blast on the fourth with Jason, but that’s another Wednesday.  Philip called when he got back into town, I was true to my word, I didn’t answer the phone.  He left a message, told me he was sorry, he just wanted to see me.  “You should call him,” Jason told me. 

“Whatever, he’s smothering me.”  He called again later that afternoon.

“Mary, call your boyfriend.  He’s sorry.”

“Gawd, Jason, he’s not my fuckin’—”

“Whatever.  You should feel lucky that this guy wants to be your boyfriend.  Feel privileged that this guy thinks that you’re so great he wants his family to meet you.  He’s a good guy.  When’s the last time, I introduced someone to Mom and Dad?”  And, all at once, I realized what a complete bitch I was being.  I called him back. 

“Hey.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I know it’s kinda soon to meet my family.”

“It’s OK.  So, did you have a good time?”  We talked for a minute and then he said something that made my spine tingle with excitement.

“You wanna go for a motorcycle ride?”  Hell yeah, I wanna go for a motorcycle ride!  

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up on a bright yellow Suzuki.  A little shiver ran down my spine.  He was hotter than ever on that bike.  I met him at the door and he handed me a helmet.  “It’s my little brother’s, it should be about your size.”

I hopped on the back off his bike and off we went.  We rode out to the old one-lane country roads.  We watched horses and went to see the castle (yes, a real castle in KY, in Versailles, actually, oh, and that’s pronounced Ver-sails, we pronounce all the letters ’round these parts, not like them high falutin’, fancy-pants French people).  We stopped at the top of a hill and watched the sun set.  I sat on a fence, and he stood behind me, letting me lean back on his chest.  The air was chilly after the sun went down I used it as an excuse to press my body up against his on the ride home.

 

One of the few stories in my life that ends with a happily ever after, I hope you enjoyed it!

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Responses

  1. totally cute.


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