How Not to Get Laid

We’ve all been there. We’ve all had moments when the need for personal comfort overrides the need for sex. For me, there has been no better example of this than the following story.

It was July 2001, the pre-9/11 New York City summer of carefree fun. Summer in NYC can be hot and this particular July was no exception. The mercury was boiling as the temperature was well over 100 degrees during the day and only dropped down to the low 80’s at night.

On this particular night, I figured I had no choice but to grin and bare the excessive heat, especially since I had a hot date.

I took this lovely lady out to a nice dinner on the Upper West Side, and she decided that she wanted me to walk her home. I had no problem with this.

As we walked up Broadway, she held my hand. Which would not have been a problem, but I was already starting to sweat a bit. I knew she must have felt my hand get a little clammy, but I hoped she’d chock it up to the wonderful evening we were having. Little did she know about the sweat starting to seep out of my back and the droplets of sweat beading up on my forehead.

Thankfully, the five block long walk in the hot summer night was coming to a close. I knew that once we got into her apartment, her air condition would make me feel better. But alas, that wasn’t to be.

After one step into her apartment I felt like I had literally walked out of the frying pan and into the fire. Her apartment was like a sauna. Not only did she not have A/C, but she closed her windows before leaving for the night. The heat from the day had been trapped there and it was desperate to leave at any cost. Much like I was starting to feel.

The beads of sweat on my forehead started collecting themselves and trickling down my face. I excused myself to the bathroom to splash some water on my self and to relax, hoping that would ease the flood of sweat that was preparing to break the damn of my body.

I looked at myself in the mirror and my face was redder than I’d ever seen it. I was burning up in the girl’s apartment. I knew I needed to leave, but how?

I eventually left the bathroom without feeling any better. I walked from the bathroom back into the living room. But she wasn’t there. I called out for her and she said she was in the bedroom.

Oh crap, I thought. For the first time in my life the thought of sex seemed horrible to me. I was sweaty and hot and felt gross. The very idea of another person rubbing up against me was revolting, especially the before-sex stages of kissing and fondling.

I wanted nothing than to get out of there very, very quickly before the situation was too far along and I couldn’t save myself from a polite excuse and a promise that next time I’d be up to the task.

I slowly walked into the bedroom saying that I didn’t realize how late it was. She was already sitting on the bed and asked me to sit down next to her. I knew it was either now or never.

Through sweat-salted eyes, I could see her arms and shoulders were sweating as well. The image of a sweaty girl is usually enough to get me gunning to go, but this time it almost made me hurl. I couldn’t even touch her.

I made some lame excuse about it being too late, and I ran out of there as fast as I could.

I called her the next day.

She didn’t return my call.

Eddie Gordon, Age 28, Jerusalem

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