Date 1 ~ Drinks.
Date 2 ~ Dinner. Drinks.
Date 3 ~ Dinner. Drinks. Lots of them. Invitation to her place.
I was shocked when Sonya had me follow her car out to the suburbs to her McMansion at the end of a cul-de-sac surrounded by houses that looked all the same. The girl wasn’t even 30, but she lived in a three-bedroom, 2.5-bathroom house a good 30 minutes outside of the city? It’s funny how much less you vocalize questions you have about people before you have had sex with them for the first time.
I had a distinct feeling that wall was coming down that particular night. There was no way Sonya had me drive a half hour each way, already somewhere between buzzed and drunk, just to have one more drink.
Once inside the house, Sonya explained that both of her parents died fairly young and left her the house. It was a heavy dose of negative emotion to throw into the heavy petting and making out we were doing on the couch, but I was relieved to find out she wasn’t actually married to a 40-year-old guy who was going to burst through the door in the morning with a shotgun or something.
The conversation melted away faster than I thought it would. It was only a matter of time before I was in Sonya’s pink bedroom which looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since her high school years. Even more morbid than hearing about her parents dying as I had my hands all over her was taking things to the next level next to a poster of The Jonas Brothers.