With impeccable timing, Home for the Holidays turned up again, 2½ years after we’d first met, while I was conveniently single.
Summer night, his parents’ place. We sneak in the back door, quietly down into the basement — his domain. He puts on a movie, we start watching. After 20 minutes, wide awake, movie thoroughly forgotten, he’s leading me to his bedroom. He asks, fervently, may he lick me between my thighs? Mmm, yes please.
I liked receiving oral; Bad Boy did it only occasionally and with bad grace. What a revelation that a guy might enjoy it enough to ask me if I would allow it.
A few days later HFH asked if he could make love to me and I said yes, but logistics was an issue and his parents’ place was out. (It could be that they were still up and they’d hear us, which would be awkward. It could be that they’d wonder who he was having sex with, given the fact — I later discovered — that he had a girlfriend in another city.)
We (he) decided to go to a central but rather seedy hotel and he gallantly offered to pay. He didn’t actually have the cash on him but would pay me back.
We slept together that night; I didn’t feel pressured and it was nice. And though I don’t really remember anything else about it, it must have been at least OK for me because we had sex again in the morning.
Later, he dropped by my place (I wasn’t the only one home) and handed me the cash. It was … awkward. I had already been thinking that this maybe wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.
Not long afterwards, Bad Boy and I got together again. I must have confessed that my groin had been itchy and he offered to take a look. Oh god! I had crabs! I sat on the counter in the basement bathroom while he painstakingly removed the crabs with tweezers. There was an uncomfortable discussion about where they’d come from, and he got pissed off at me about HFH, even though I’d been single at the time. He blamed HFH for it, and I ended up writing a snarky letter to HFH, which I delivered to his parents’ house in a sealed envelope the day before he left town. It didn’t occur to me until much later that the source might actually have been the bedding in the dodgy motel. Oops.