Entry No. 8

Last night two other nurses had invited me to join them at Vessel in Union Square. I was a bit worried that this high-end techno palace was way too upscale for my meager bank account, but Kristen and Rachel assured me that it would be affordable. They were so right. The place was teeming with San Francisco’s nuevo-riche males. Both of the girls cleaned up pretty good, and my shear black plunge skater dress practically shouted, “Pleased to meet you.” As things worked out, I don’t remember buying a drink all night.

Today, as you can imagine, I was paying for it dearly. I snuggled under the comforter for most of the morning, enjoying the cool, foggy air that came in through the open window during the odd wakeful moments. Have I told you how much I love this city? The refreshing morning air is so different from what I grew up with in Storm Lake, Iowa.

Eventually, I stretched and pushed my ass out of bed. Despite needing to stand steady and carefully in the middle of my studio apartment for a few minutes, I decided to get over to the BridgeView Athletic Club and sweat this out. I had joined the club as soon as I arrived in town for its well-known social aspects. An unintended consequence was that I had developed a new interest in squash, and I was starting to get some game. I now felt confident enough to drop in on the challenge court most days. I even loved it when I got my butt beat badly. I had also dropped 12 pounds which helped that dress last night look….well, you already heard about last night.

I headed over to the Club and checked in at the front desk to see if my favorite pro had an opening. I really wasn’t up for any Round Robin play today. Chris, who had quite the Squash Tour résumé, worked with me on a weekly basis, and he sure was easy on my eyes, too. I wondered if he could sense my ogling sometimes. Of course, I still don’t have any idea what his story is. Just never saw any wedding ring and he has kept his personal life pretty close to the vest.

“Hey Gigi. Does Chris have any openings today? I know its last minute, but I was just hoping …”

“Hi Casi. Uh, you’re looking a little pale today, you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just started my weekend a bit early. I swear, Thursday nights in this town are better than weekends,” I mumbled hoarsely.

“Looks like you had a good time,” she smirked and then paused to check the schedule. “Well, it looks like you are in luck. Chris has an opening in about an hour for 45 minutes. Want it?” Gigi’s squeaky voice was starting to accelerate my headache.

“Yes, please. I’ll just go get a juice upstairs and then go warm up. Hopefully, I’ll feel a little better in an hour.” I was rambling and decided I had better move on.

I headed to the café for my juice drink and then took it to the locker room lounge, stretching in front of the TV where I hoped to go unnoticed until life came back into my face. Time flew by and eventually I headed to the court. I pinched my cheeks in a last ditch effort to bring some color to my face. There was Chris, adorable as ever, waiting for me. “Hi Coach,” I said convincingly perky.

“Hey Cas, how’s my favorite nurse today?”

“Oh I’m fine. Just need a little ass kicking, and figured you would be a little gentler on me than the regulars – you know since I’m paying you and all.” I remember thinking, Oh my God, I hope I don’t stink of booze.

Chris rolled his eyes, and said, “You can count on me. I promise to go easy on you. If I’m too rough, just safe wor… uh say ‘Uncle’,” and he gave me a wink.

After going through 10 minutes of warm up and 20 minutes of drills, my head was feeling like it was going to explode. Chris could see it in my squinting eyes. “You okay?” he asked, as I slumped, bent over holding my knees.

Panting heavily I groaned, “Yep, my head feels like it’s going to explode though.”

“Too many shots last night, eh? I keep aspirin, Tylenol and ibuprofen in my bag on the bleacher. It’s in the front pocket – take a 5 minute break and grab some.”

I sighed, “Thank you, good answer.” I walked out of the court and found his bag. Without thinking, I automatically unzipped the top main compartment and stuck my hand in looking for the pill bottles and instead found, ‘wait, what’s this?’ You can imagine my shock when I pulled out a pair of leather buckled handcuffs. Oh jeez, I quickly shoved them back in the bag and kept fumbling for the bottles. That’s when I pulled out a long leather stick – crap that’s a riding crop. What the hell? I flashed to riding my favorite horse, Harley, back home in Iowa. Okay, think, think – what did he say – front pocket – I quickly zipped it back up and found the front pocket which had all his first aid goodies. I popped three ibuprofen and headed back to the court.

As I pulled the door to the court open, Chris was rhythmically hitting balls along the far wall, each one hitting just above the tin. I watched the ease and grace with which he moved and immediately flashed back to the toys in his bag. I am not sure the drugs were working, because quite frankly, I could barely breathe as I watched him. He turned and saw me staring.

“Hey, Casi. Are you feeling better?”

I nodded and mumbled and blushed. I picked up my pink Black Knight and kept my face to the floor so he couldn’t see my embarrassment. The absurdity of the situation got the best of me as I looked at my racquet and flashed on what else it could be used for. And then it happened. The giggles. Just like in first grade when the nun yelled at me for talking in class. Just like the time in third grade when Riccardo kissed me at recess. Just like the time in nursing school when I dropped the tray of instruments in the O.R. I got the fucking giggles. And of course, I turned 50 shades of red.

“Casi….sunshine, are you ok?” Chris asked with his own chuckle as he stared at the lunatic on the court with him.

As I pulled it together, I nodded emphatically and walked to the T to continue the practice. I prayed I would be able to finish the lesson without further conversation. Chris complied by hitting more balls to me. Though, I sensed he was looking at me strangely.

When we finished, I did smell like alcohol, and I really needed a shower. A cold shower. Chris seemed oblivious to my discomfort.

“Casi, it seems like you are having a rough day. Let’s grab dinner tonight. Would you like to meet me at Manora’s? Nothing like Thai food to chase a hangover.”

Dinner with Chris? A few minutes ago I would have jumped at the chance. Now I mumbled and stumbled and damn it, I started giggling again. Chris, of course, thought I was laughing at him.

“Casi, I’m sorry. I understand. I ….”

“Yes!”

“What?”

“I said yes. I would love to have dinner with you.” I think. I instantly re-blushed, if that’s a word.

Chris recovered quickly and cemented the plans. “6:00 pm at Manora’s. You know where it is?”

I nodded yes, mumbled some more, gathered my stuff, and escaped to the locker room.

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I generally don’t put a lot of work into what I wear. Blessed with good genes that look good in jeans, and an Iowa corn-fed body that looks great in the sweaters that I can wear year round in San Francisco, it usually takes me just a few minutes to get dressed. So why, sweet Jesus, was I staring at my closet like a school girl before her first date. Eventually, I grabbed black silk pants, and a bit-too-snug V-neck and pronounced myself ready to rock.

As I stared in the mirror, though, I started to have my doubts. My discovery in Chris’s bag was about as far from Storm Lake as I could imagine. I knew that moving to San Francisco would bring a world of new experiences, like Thai food, but I was not sure I was ready to mix in Chris’s hobby with my dinner. Pad Thai-Me-Up and Pong Pang Spank must be the advanced course in San Francisco cuisine.

Nonetheless, with these thoughts I was fully flushed and blushed as my Uber car pulled up in front of my building.

“Hi there, Folsom Street,” I reminded the driver. “Manora Thai restaurant on the corner of 12^th.”

“Good choice, I love that place,” the driver spouted, and off he flew leaving Cow Hollow with a fury. I’m thankful I didn’t have to give him more information. Some of these Uber drivers are such losers and haven’t a clue about this city, which doesn’t help a new girl like me get around town.

I opened the door to Manora and Chris was already standing there waiting for our table. Thank goodness, I don’t have to wait alone, I’m already a little nervous. He had retrieved two Singha beers and immediately handed me one as I greeted him. The cold icy bottle felt great on my skin at that moment. “Here, I think you need the hair of the dog. Cheers! It’ll be another ten minutes before they can seat us.”

We clinked bottles. “Thanks, how thoughtful of you,” and I took a big swig. “Mmm, this does hit the spot.” I have no problem drinking straight from the bottle. Why dirty a glass. There’s something about holding an ice cold beer bottle in one’s hand that makes it taste even better. And, well, you can make it look like it tastes even better. Don’t go down that path, girlfriend. It’s way too early.

“So, are you feeling any better?” queried Chris.

“Oh, definitely. Some exercise, a shower, and even a little nap this afternoon definitely helped. The price of getting to know this City, I guess. Thanks again for suggesting this for dinner, I’m starving now.”

“It’s nice to get to know you a little better, Casi. I mean, off the court that is. You’ve really developed some great shots and a nice little bounce which gets you to the ball, well, except today, of course.” Oh I could gaze into Chris’s hazel eyes all day. He was wearing a handsome ribbed crew neck sweater that showed off his muscle definition and his beautiful V-shaped body. Add his nice ass-grabbing jeans and it’s quite a package. Wonder if he noticed my ass-grabbing jeans? Wait, did he just say I had a nice little bounce. Wow! Fluttering now – I need to sit down soon.

Again with the blushing -- I could feel it -- and shyly I muttered, “Oh really, gee thanks.”

We finally sat down at a table and he took control of the ordering since I’m still a novice at Thai food. I wonder what he likes? I’ll try anything at this point I’m so hungry.

Then Chris started quizzing me on my time in San Francisco, making sure that I was grabbing the basics of local history. “So, you know the obvious, right? We’re known for cable cars, sourdough bread, Ghirardelli chocolate and Rice-a-Roni – does anyone still eat that stuff? Did you know that we are home of the Twinkie Defense, too?”

“Huh, the Twinkie Defense? What’s that all about?” I inquired.

“Well the short story is that back in the late 70s when our gay and hippie communities were becoming more and more prevalent, San Francisco’s mayor, George Moscone and a city supe, Harvey Milk, were shot by a former disgruntled supe, Dan White, right in the City Hall building while at work. His defense was that he became depressed from eating too many Twinkies – all that junk food got to him. Only in San Francisco would someone dream of using a phallic-shaped, cream-filled object in the court of law.”

Oh my God, I could feel my face blushing yet again. So I looked down at the elongated mint spring roll with peanut dipping sauce on my plate. I started to giggle at the irony and slowly looked back up at him peering through my doe-like lashes to make sure I was giving the correct response, and I couldn’t help but bite my lower lip as I saw Chris gently biting on his roll. I’d caught his eye and he winked back at me.

“Uhh, well, that’s definitely something I didn’t know and will be sure to include in reciting local history to my visitors. Thanks.” Hopefully I stumbled out of that one okay. I’m not sure I can keep up with this guy. Why does he keep winking at me? And suddenly I envisioned myself in those handcuffs and him holding that riding crop. I’m so out of my league. Ahh, stop these thoughts. Is it really this warm in here? Maybe this sweater wasn’t such a good idea. It was time for another long swig from that cold perspiring Singha. Uh oh, looks like I need another one.

Somehow, we got through the rest of our meal and I managed to focus on Chris and what was really very normal dinner conversation without any more naughty thoughts—except when he did order the Pad Thai.

By the end of the meal I was feeling better, my head was sitting straight, and my stomach was happy. As the waiter brought the check, my mind started to consider my options for the rest of the evening. I am not generally promiscuous, but I do have a certain hunger to learn. So, as Chris was distracted with the waiter, I went through the typical mental and moral debate that every young-girl-from-Storm-Lake-who-happens-to-be-dining-in-San-Francisco-with-an-attractive-squash-pro-with-a-bag-full-of-sex-toys goes through. Remembering that mom always taught me the value of a good education, I excused myself to the rest room to make sure that I was well-prepared for whatever happened next.

As I came back to the table, I was surprised to see that Chris was not alone. No, he was definitely not alone. Sitting next to him was another beautiful man; tall, thin, perfect tan, closely cropped hair, and absolutely radiant blue eyes. It was hard to tell while he was sitting down, but his tight black leather pants seemed to show that he was incredibly fit. My eyes focused, however, on the interesting little spiked dog collar he wore around his neck. Say, what??? Yup, that brought me to a dead stop in my tracks. I stood near the bar and continued to observe Chris and his friend from a distance. Something about the scene made me strangely uncomfortable. I approached the table slowly as my date and the stranger were in deep conversation.

When he saw me, the stranger stood and introduced himself. “Hi Casi. I’m Ernesto.”

I returned the greeting and as I sat, I cast a quick glance at Chris, who picked up the conversation.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Ernesto to stop by when he finished teaching class.”

“Great. Where do you teach?”

“Ah, Casi, I teach alternative lifestyle classes at the Citadel,” Ernesto answered.

Regrettably, I asked him to explain, which he did. I wished I hadn’t asked. Chris looked mildly embarrassed as Ernesto told her that the Citadel was a “school” for those wanting to explore the world of S & M.

Say What? Toto, pack your bag, we’re out of here.

My mind quickly drove into the panic lane as I wondered just what the hell Chris had planned for the night. I quickly tried to change the subject.

“Chris, how do you and Ernesto know each other?”

Chris looked confused for a second. Then, with a laugh, he said, “Ah, Casi, I am sorry. You are new to the club. I thought you knew. Ernesto is my fiancé!”

Fiancé? Stunned, I looked at Ernesto, then Chris, then Ernesto, and realized that I certainly needn’t have spent so much care in getting dressed for dinner.

And then, as I did when Riccardo kissed me at recess in 3^rd grade, I got the giggles.

This story and the stories in this contest are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or to any other works of fiction, is entirely coincidental.

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