My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands

DESPERADO

HAVE YOU EVER experienced a pain so sharp in your heart that it's all you can do to take a breath? It's a pain you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy; you wouldn't want to pass it on to anyone else for fear he or she might not be able to bear it. It's the pain of being betrayed by the person with whom you've fallen in love. It's not as serious as death, but it feels a whole lot like it, and as I've come to learn, pain is pain any way you slice it.

I walked in on Peter, my boyfriend of two and a half years, with not one but two Asian women. It was similar to what I can only imagine a Hong Kong SWAT team must look like. They all seemed very happy, especially the one swinging from the ceiling fan. I can't say that there were any clues to my ex's propensity toward Asian women, but when you break up with someone and reflect on your time together, all the red flags you chose to ignore gradually become more and more obvious. For example, I used to think he just liked rough sex when he would pull my hair tightly in bed; I realized afterward that he was trying to get my eyes to go sideways.

Peter always had an inclination toward threesomes. He had begged and begged me in his cockney accent to seriously consider one. (His accent became annoying only after I found him in bed with the wok 'n' roll twins. Before then, it was impossibly charming.)

"Just try it, try it, you're really gonna like it. It's really popular in Europe," he would say over and over again. This could have been a compelling argument had the same not been true for David Hasselhoff.

After I discovered him in his threesome, I spent the next two weeks in bed suffering from a severe case of vagina elbow. It's a condition not unlike tennis elbow, but you get it from masturbating. My girlfriend Lydia called, for the twentieth time, trying to convince me to go out.

"I can't," I said. "I threw my back out masturbating."

"That's so disgusting," she said. "How the hell were you doing it?"

"Oh, please, Miss Goody Two-shoes. Like you've never gotten yourself from behind!"

It was clear to both of us I needed a night out and possibly a little nookie. Nothing reels you into tears like your first one-night stand after a breakup, and I just needed to get it out of the way.

Lydia was the kind of friend whom people referred to as a "party favor"-always fun to be around but she doesn't really have any patience for suffering unless it's her own. I have been friends with her for so many years that I overlook her shortcomings in the emotional department and focus on the positive. Any time you go out with her, for example, she is completely committed to having a good time. Besides, it was Lydia who went back to my English ex-boyfriend's after we broke up to pick up my things and key his car.

We went to our local watering hole on Tuesday night. It's called Renee's and it should be shut down by the Health Department. That is, if places could be shut down due to unsanitary customers. I was shamefully dressed. I had put on some old Gap capris and a men's white V-neck undershirt with a pair of Adidas slides. I had no business being out in public. Not only did I look pathetic and unkempt, I had a severe case of camel toe that was starting to give me a headache.

There were only eight guys in the bar, so I found the one who most suited my needs. After three vodka Collinses I approached him.

He was definitely much older than me but could still be considered part of my generation. I want to say late thirties, but realistically it was more like early forties. The other options were unacceptable: two guys who didn't look a day over eighteen, and another guy who had close to a dozen tattoos on one side of his face. I don't like to discriminate, but I prefer my men without any makeup. The only other man who wasn't sitting with a girl was whispering to himself and laughing.

I was either going home with the older guy or going home with myself. I chose him. I could tell he was wrong right from the start. As I approached, he cocked his head back and gave me that silly look men give that says, You like what you're looking at, don't you?

I prefer the strong silent type. A little mystery, perhaps. I talk a lot and prefer it when men don't. This guy kept giggling like a schoolgirl and telling me how sexy I was. There are times when I actually am sexy, but this definitely was not one of them.

Lydia came over and looked at me like I was sitting next to a unicorn.

"What?" I asked her.

"He's disgusting," she said.

She was right. He was pretty disgusting. It wasn't that he was bad-looking, it was his personality-so wild-eyed and eager. It felt as if someone had just let him out of an asylum for the night, and he was getting his first taste of big-city life. He acted like I was Cindy Crawford and he had never had sex.

I didn't think I was going to be able to do this. I ordered a double. He smiled at me in a way I'm assuming he thought was debonair and said, "You know, you don't have to drink to make yourself more fun to be around." I wanted to tell him I was drinking so that be was more fun to be around.

When I finished my drink, I asked him if he wanted to get out of there and go back to his place. His euphoria was nauseating. He told me he was in a white Jeep Cherokee and I told him I'd follow him. I was driving a Toyota Echo at this point, which is a very silly car. It's so little you don't even have to put it in reverse; you just pick it up and turn it around.

Before we left, I informed him I needed to stop at 7-Eleven to get a sandwich. I hadn't really eaten anything of substance in two weeks, and the alcohol was bringing back my craving for something with cheese.

I ran into 7-Eleven while he waited in his car. I got a turkey sandwich out of their "deli case" and the largest bag of Doritos they sold. I hopped back in my car and proceeded to gnaw away at my Doritos and sandwich like a barnyard animal. It was like I was punishing this guy for being so willing. Did I really have to get Doritos, food that leaves your mouth smelling like a Dumpster. I'm surprised I didn't just get a block of jalapeno cheddar to suck on. It was like I was daring him to back out.

We got to his place, and it looked a lot like his personality. Just a bunch of space filler, nothing to really wow you. It looked like he had bought a lot of stuff from IKEA and then decided to refinish it at home. Everything was neat and tidy, but you wouldn't want any of it for yourself.

I sat down on his black pleather sofa and proceeded to make a spread for myself. He put on some Lou Rawls and went in to the bathroom for a couple minutes too long. Maybe he was putting in his diaphragm. By this point I was really considering leaving, but I was enjoying my sandwich and chips too much. Also, I was trying to figure out who the bigger loser was, this guy, or me for being at his apartment.

A couple more minutes passed and then I heard someone whistling. I had to assume it was him because my mouth was full. Then the bathroom door swung open and he walked out.

Now, I've seen guys do some crazy things in the movies but never in real life. He was buck naked, except for a leather neck brace/helmet and a black leather holster. There was a set of shackles around his ankles, but they weren't connected, and he was holding a flashlight.

I had no idea what to make of this. After staring at him for thirty seconds with my mouth full, I managed to ask, "What's up with the flashlight?"

The smile on his face made me wonder if he might be a serial killer.

He started playing with his penis. It was time to put down the sandwich.

"I want you to hit me," he said with a big ugly grin.

I didn't want to appear frightened, so I played along. "I love hitting guys," I told him. I couldn't figure out if he was crazy or just plain stupid. I decided he didn't fit the profile of a serial killer-he was too outgoing.

I was not sleeping with this idiot. No one should have to sleep with this guy.

He came over to the couch and sat down on the side of me that was not occupied by food.

"I love kisses," he whispered, leaning in to make his move.

I held his chest back with my hand. I should have used my sandwich to block him. I was trying to remember if I had my camera in my car. Getting some pictures of him would be fun for years to come, but that would mean spending more time with him.

"Wait," I said, in my most seductive voice. "I have something in my car that I think you are really going to go nuts over."

He got excited. "What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, you're really going to like this."

"How do you know I don't already have it?" he cooed.

"Oh, believe me, you don't have this," I said.

"Okay, sexy, you go get it for Daddy."

This was getting good. I loved that he referred to himself as my father. My dad was going to really get a kick out of this one.

I collected all my belongings, including what was left of my sandwich and bag of Doritos. He asked me why I was taking my food, and I said it was part of the surprise.

Right before I got up from the sofa, I turned and smacked him in the face. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to hit this guy. His nostrils flared and his smile grew so big I thought his head might split open. I smacked him once more for good luck.

I sashayed up to the door without breaking eye contact, walked outside, and went to my car. Then I got in, started the engine, and turned around just in time to see him standing in his doorway, buck naked in his get-up, with his penis dangling in front of him.

I rolled down my window and waved good-bye. He started to wave back and then stopped and looked confused.

If I were a believer in the theory of "rock bottom," this could very well have been it. As it stands, I am not a believer. Rock bottom is for sissies, I've hit rock bottom dozens of times. I've woken up next to a billy goat, for Christ sakes. You don't just give up!

The result of going home with someone just for the sake of getting back at a boyfriend only ended in disappointment with myself. This clearly wasn't the guy for me or any other human. And sometimes going through the roller coaster of emotions instead of trying to distract yourself from it helps the pain move along more quickly. Even if times are tough and you're enduring a terrible heartache, it's important to focus your anger on a vibrator, not another person.