My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands

THUNDER

ONE OF MY girlfriends was getting married. This was becoming an annoying pattern. Sarah was my third girlfriend to get engaged within six months, and it was becoming clear to me that more and more people were going to go through with it. It's not the concept of marriage I have a problem with. I'd like to get married too. A couple times. It's the actual wedding that pisses me off.

The problem is that everyone who gets married seems to think that they are the first person in the entire universe to do it, and that the year leading up to the event revolves entirely around them. You have to throw them showers, bachelor-ette weekends, buy a bridesmaid dress, and then buy a ticket to some godforsaken town wherever they decide to drag you. If you're really unlucky, they'll ask you to recite a poem at their wedding. That's just what I want to do-monitor my drinking until I'm done with my public service announcement. And what do we get out of it, you ask? A dry piece of chicken and a roll in the hay with their hillbilly cousin. I could get that at home, thanks.

Then they have the audacity to go shopping and pick out their own gifts. I want to know who the first person was who said this was okay. After spending all that money on a bachelorette weekend, a shower, and often a flight across the country, they expect you to go to Williams Sonoma or Pottery Barn and do research? Then they send you a thank-you note applauding you for such a thoughtful gift. They're the one who picked it out! I always want to remind the person that absolutely no thought went into typing in a name and having a salad bowl come up.

I prefer giving cash. When I get married, I'm gonna register at Bank of America. Both times. I'm a Jew. I don't mess around when it comes to money.

But it doesn't end after the wedding. Next they want you to come over and watch the wedding video. Like I really want to see footage of me passed out in a cake.

A wedding can really put a damper on a good friendship. Once people get married, they think they've got the whole world figured out. Immediately they think all their single friends are sad and pathetic.

"Oh, why don't you come over Friday? We're gonna have a bunch of people over and play some board games. Maybe you'll meet someone nice." What a hoot. My response is always the standard, "Unless you're playing Who's Hiding the Ecstasy?, I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it. I've got plans." Don't married people know that the last thing a single person wants to do on a Friday night is play a nutty game of Yahtzee? I'd rather take a bubble bath with my father.

And then there was Sarah's bachelorette party. Las Vegas and I have a special relationship. We never let each other down. Olympic Gardens is touted as the best strip club in Vegas, and for good reason. Eight of us went there on the very first night, and I will never forget the look on all of our faces when we saw our man. They announced his name, "THUNDER," and I thought, Excellent.

THUNDER was beautiful. This wasn't a Playgirl pinup type with long hair and a bowtie who could rival Fabio in a "Who's Grosser?" competition. This guy was Dylan McDermott good-looking, with an ass that could double as a shelf-by far the most beautiful body any of us had ever laid eyes on.

All the girls were drooling and signing up for personal dances with him onstage. It quickly became clear what had to be done. I had to take one for the team.

I had never seen all my girlfriends go goo-goo over the same guy. Most of them were in relationships and two were already married. Each one of us was in her own personal fantasy of what could be done with a body like that, and I knew I had to be the one to act on it. I saw Lydia and Ivory out of the corner of my eye start to drool and told them to step off. "He's mine."

Other than that I didn't have much competition, except for every other girl in the club. Well, they could have him too-I just wanted a piece of the action. One of my friends bought me a dance with him and I was called onstage. Now, I'm not a big fan of strip clubs to begin with. I like a little mystery, and it's my personal belief that men look better in clothes. I was wrong. I got my dance-and his ass in my face-but I managed to keep my cool. He had the most adorable face I had ever seen. Sweet baby blue eyes, dark hair, and the cutest smile to hit that side of the Vegas strip.

While he was dancing around me onstage, he asked where I lived and I told him L.A. He said he lived there too and just drove here on the weekends to work. A commuting stripper. Talk about dedication to your craft. I wrote down my number and bid him adieu. My work there was done.

The girls made me promise I'd go out with him.

"Go out with him? I'm not going anywhere with him. I will go to him and then I will have him."

Immediately I wondered how much weight I would need to lose to be acceptable to a stripper. All he saw were other girl strippers and their perfect bodies. Maybe I would just tone up. These thoughts took over my brain for the next few minutes until I found the limo and then the minibar.

THUNDER called me the next week. He tried to tell me his real name, but I quickly interrupted him. "I like THUNDER. Let's just stick with that for now."

"Okay, I guess, but no one really calls me that," his husky voice replied. This guy was giving me too many details.

"No matter," I said. "How was your drive back from Vegas?" I had to feign interest in all this nonsense until I could ask when I could come over and sit on his face. I didn't say that out loud, of course. I never say the things I really want to. If I did, I'd have no friends.

"Can I take you to dinner?" he asked.

"How about drinks?" I replied. I just wanted his address, but I didn't want to scare him.

We met at the Lava Lounge. I made sure it was somewhere close to his place. I told him I didn't want him driving too far after his drive back from Vegas.

He showed up in a flannel shirt and blue jeans. Nothing too revealing, kind of like a lumberjack. Kind of like on a men's calendar. I stared at his flannel shirt, wondering whether it was material I could actually rip with my own two hands. I decided that it was going to be very rough sex.

As I downed a couple of vodka Collinses, I asked him questions about his life and what he planned on doing. "Well, I just turned thirty-seven" (that was a shocker, he didn't look a day over twenty-nine) "and now I want to start really focusing on my acting." Oh, my God. I looked around to see if anyone else had heard him.

"An actor?" I said, trying to sound intrigued. "Wow, that's so… You have a great look, I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Who in his right mind decides to get into acting at the tender age of thirty-seven? Weight lifting maybe, but acting? Was this guy serious? What had he been wasting his time with until then? Well, stripping, I guess. They say it's hard to walk away from that kind of money. THUNDER told me he made anywhere from three to four grand a weekend which, compared to my $311 per week unemployment check, sounded like quite a handsome income. But forget taking this guy to Sarah's wedding. I'd never hear the end of it. I just smiled and thought, Keep on talkin', you hot piece of ass.

"So you're a comedian," he said. "Tell me something funny."

"Okay. The great thing about being an alcoholic is that when you're bored at a party, you can leave without saying good-bye, and people just think you blacked out."

"Are you an alcoholic?" he asked me.

"That's not really the point," I responded. "And I don't like the word 'alcoholic.' I like to think of myself as an advanced drinker."

"I'm confused," he said. It was pretty obvious that THUNDER spent a lot of his time being confused, so I switched the conversation back to his career.

There is only so much actor talk one person can take, and I had reached my limit. We needed to wrap this little chitchat up now. I excused myself to the bathroom, hoping that would give him some time to finish his beer, and we could move on to the action. In the restroom, I met two girls who were making fun of a guy one of them was talking to. Evidently, he had a pretty bad lisp. I told them that was nothing-if they really wanted to see funny, they should come and listen to THUNDER for a minute. "I'm not even sure this guy can read," I said and relayed the story of how we had met.

They got excited at the idea of meeting him, and the three of us all went back to the table together.

I made the introductions, explaining to THUNDER that I had run into some friends. They looked at each other and giggled. It was clear they were taken with his beauty. Who wasn't? Then one of the girls whispered to me, "Does he talk?"

I said, "Yes, he talks, he's not a chimp."

"Ask him a question," she persisted.

That's too mean, I thought. "What should I ask him?" I said with clenched teeth.

"Ask him how to spell something," she shot back.

That crossed the line. I started to feel bad about mistreating THUNDER. Flashbacks of being harassed in high school by older girls flooded my conscience. I had never wanted to be mean like that to someone, and now here I was acting just as bad. Possibly even worse, since I was technically an adult and should know better. And, at some point, he was going to catch on. He was a little slow, but he wasn't out and out brain-dead.

So we bid our adieus and jetted back to his pad. I told him I wanted to see his head shots.

Twenty minutes later I'm airborne and getting the bottom knocked out of me. This guy wasn't so stupid after all. He really knew his way around a woman. It was crazy, rough stuff. I couldn't get enough of him. He was flipping me around, pinning me this way and that. His skin was soft and he had a back you could just hold on to for dear life. His arms were solid muscle and he had this beautiful, perfect ass. Of course I had seen this all before when he was on stage, but now I was living out every girl and gay guy's fantasy. Soft lips too. Really good soft lips. I love men.

There's something truly wonderful about a man who knows how to take a woman. I thought maybe it was love. I even slept over. I knew I would be back for more. Who cares if he didn't know how to multiply? This guy was some sort of sign from God.

THUNDER and I started seeing each other on a regular basis. We got into the pattern of skipping the formalities of cocktails altogether, and I would just come over. The sex was amazing every time. I even enjoyed sleeping next to him. It felt like sleeping next to a rhinoceros. His body was so big, I felt petite next to him. I wanted to show him off to my friends, but I didn't want him to speak. I was torn.

I called him while he was driving back from Vegas one Sunday. He didn't seem happy to hear from me. I sensed something was wrong and that I would not be getting any action that night. He told me he was exhausted from driving and didn't know if he would be up for one of my visits. What? Too tired? I understood our Cirque du Soleil act required some stamina, but I felt it was well worth it. Then he laid it on me. He had met someone else whom he thought he wanted to get serious with.

"A girl?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You're a really great girl and we've been having a blast, but I think we both know that this is not something that's going any farther. I just don't see myself getting serious with you."

Oh, my God. I couldn't believe I was getting dumped by THUNDER. I couldn't believe I was getting dumped by someone whose real name I didn't even know. My time in heaven was up, and I was being told I wasn't the marrying kind by someone who undresses for a living. Was it because I wasn't flexible enough? Not serious enough? We were seeing each other at least two times a week. How much more serious could we get?

"Are you there?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. I understand," I lied. "So, is there any way I could still just see you tonight?" I asked.

Silence.

"Good-bye, Chelsea. I wish you well." He hung up. Well, onward and upward. It's not that I hadn't had my heart broken before, but this was the first time I heard my little beaver cry a little. Talk about sad. She didn't leave the house for days.