Double-Booked

 I am not a good planner

One day, I realized I’d booked two first dates the same night. The first, I couldn’t wait to tear off his clothes; the second, I wanted to take home to meet my parents. The first was going to take me on a walk through Central Park at 2:00; the second was coming over to watch a movie at 6:00.

I really wanted to meet both guys; they had real potential for a second date. So I devised a plan: I’d tell First Guy I hurt my ankle, and would he come over to watch a movie instead. I was pretty sure he and I would end up messing around, so I’d kick him out afterward, shower, and be ready to receive my second gentleman caller at 6:00.

First Guy texted me back quickly that it wasn’t a problem at all, but that he’d be running a little late. I put on a red zipper-front hoodie with nothing underneath and super short running shorts—easy to get off, if necessary. Hanging in my closet, ready to go for Second Guy, was a polka-dot shirt from H&M and a pair of short, pleated wool shorts.

First Guy didn’t show up until three, but that still gave us at least 2 1/2 hours to “get to know each other.” He was just as sexy in person as his pictures, muscley and scruffy and rough, and I made us a drink. He hadn’t torn off my clothes by 4:00, so I unzipped my hoodie myself and straddled him on my couch. He picked me up and carried me over to the bed.

Forty minutes and what seemed like forty positions later, we collapsed next to each other. Unintentionally, I fell asleep. I woke up to the annoying ringtone on my phone. I sat bolt upright. “Oh my God,” I said, jumping up and checking my phone on the couch: Second Guy was calling. It was 5:40—I should have known he’d be early.

“Everything OK?” First Guy asked from the bed.

My mind went blank for a moment; then, “My parents are taking me out to dinner tonight, and they’re almost here.”

“Oh!” He got up and recovered his clothes from where I’d tossed them on the floor. “Then I better skidaddle.” I hated that he said skiddadle, but I loved the way his dick looked in basketball shorts.

“Sorry,” I texted Second Guy, “just got out of the shower. Just a minute.” I took a minute-long shower to soap off then buzzed him in, knowing that just seconds before First Guy had just left the building and walked past him.

I made the bed, then answered the door in the first thing I grabbed—a silver Nathan Ayon speedo. After getting dressed, we watched a movie and drank a bottle of wine, cuddling on the couch, and he asked to spend the night. I knew we would only cuddle, but I made sure to change the sheets first anyway.