What happens in Vegas...

Sorry, I've been so irresponsible in posting this past week. I went with the YM/YW to Youth Conference in Flagstaff. Let's just say, sometimes I'm pretty stupid, and I have a lot of fun doing it. The conference was great and contrary to popular report, I didn't get arrested by the military police. But, I really think it's time to get back to my story, so here goes...

March turned into April and David filled me in on plans that he had to go with his friend Scott to Las Vegas. He would be gone for about a week. I worried about David on his bachelor weekend, but reminded myself that he wasn’t my boyfriend and I didn’t have any claim on him.

I wondered what to do with myself. Since I had been spending so much time with David, all of my other friends had plans. Out of the blue, a mutual friend of David’s and mine, who shall remain nameless, called me. He knew David was out of town and asked if I was going to the dance. I told him that I didn’t really have anyone to go with and didn’t want to go alone. He offered me a ride. I thought it was a little odd since he lived about an hour from me and the dance was half an hour back the other way. After the dance, he’d have to drive me home and then an hour back home himself. It was so nice of him, maybe a little too nice. I tried not to over think it. This guy had a history in my mind of trying a little too hard.

My friend came to pick me up and we drove to Scottsdale to the dance. Dennis was deejaying which he did less often since he’d gotten married. I looked forward to dancing to good music with a lot of my old friends. We had a good time, and then helped Dennis load his equipment up, and we went to get some food. It was pretty late when we got to my house, about 2:30 in the morning. My friend said he wasn’t ready to drive all the way back home yet and asked if he could come in. We sat in the living room, laughing and joking. Somehow with the lateness of the hour and our teasing conversation, we started to talk about how you can tell if you’re a good kisser or not. My friend dared me to kiss him to prove that I could kiss well. My pride was at stake in my tired mind, so I did. He actually kissed pretty well and I hadn’t kissed anyone for a long time. We kissed for a while until I started to realize what I was doing. He told me that I’d proved my point, that I could definitely kiss, and laughed it off. I saw him out and felt that familiar stomach ache return as I headed to bed, this time for an entirely different reason.

I had told David, who I really cared about, that I didn’t kiss boys for no reason. Then, I had done exactly that. I wasn’t overly worried about our mutual friend; after all, the kiss had merely been a dare. What would I tell David? Probably exactly nothing.

The next day, my kissing friend called to ask if I wanted to go dancing again. I certainly didn’t! I felt like a fool in the light of day. I’d been talked into something I didn’t want, and it hadn’t been all that hard to convince me. The kisser called back later and said that he thought we really ought to talk. I figured that was true, so I agreed to meet him. When we were alone, he told me that it really bugged him that I was spending so much time with David. (Remember, this guy was friends with David before he met me.) He told me that David was basically a player, although we didn’t use that word then. He told me that he thought I would be much happier going out with him, then I wouldn’t get hurt. Stomach tied in knots. Not what I wanted. Unable to form coherent thoughts! What was I going to do? Finally, I was able to explain that our kiss the night before really had just been a dare to me. While I thought of him as a good friend, I didn’t have any other feelings for him. David wasn’t really relevant to the discussion. Could we please not tell anyone what had happened? I didn’t even tell Mary!