The Reunion

I’d just started cooking a late dinner when I got a text from Cole around 11pm. I knew he’d flown into Los Angeles the night before and wanted to link up during his two-week visit, but I didn’t know exactly when. Even when he was living in LA, pre-coronavirus, I never knew exactly when I’d see him. I was always on standby. It was a familiar pattern I’d experienced in sexual relationships with other men before him.

“Hey. What are you up to,” Cole’s text read. I immediately turned off the burner, put the crab cakes I was frying in Tupperware, and placed them in the fridge. I turned on both the stove and ceiling fans to clear the aroma of seafood, and lit a leather-scented candle.

“Hanging out listening to a podcast,” I replied coolly. Cole asked if I wanted to hang out and I invited him over. Soon I was in the shower, shaving in preparation for my dick appointment.

This time felt different because six months had passed since the last time we’d been together. Six months of sexual tension. Six months of uncertainty around when and if I’d see him again. Six months of wondering who he was fucking. 

To my surprise, we kept in contact for the first three months of lockdown. It was mostly sexting but also more non-sexual exchanges than we’d had before. For a relationship built on what was meant to be a one-night-stand, we’d stretched it pretty far.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from our reunion. I knew since living at home with his parents Cole had significantly reduced his drug use. Would we fall into our old routine of doing blow? If not, would we have the same chemistry? Would he spend the night?

Around 12am Cole arrived. We hugged before he fully got in the door of my apartment building. I was the one to pull away from our embrace first and then I felt silly for not holding him longer, given the amount of time we’d spent apart. I didn’t mean to but I was behaving in a way that didn’t reflect my true feelings in an effort to downplay them. The truth was I liked him more than he liked me. That truth revealed itself repeatedly throughout our relationship.

In my apartment we sat on either side of my couch. We spent probably 45 minutes talking before we finally touched each other again. I hated that after months of anticipation I was too awkward to make the first move.

Eventually the cocaine came out and while we hovered over my counter taking turns consuming it Cole stood behind me, moved my hair to one side, and kissed the back of my neck. I could hardly wait to pounce on him. I turned around and kissed him with half a year of pent up lust.

Sexually, nothing between us had changed with the time apart. Despite mishaps like the batteries for the cock ring I bought not working, and struggling to relax while using my vibrator to squirt in front of him, our familiar, fiery sex remained. 

After vulnerable, candid pillow talk I fell asleep on his chest. In the morning we made plans to meet up later in the day and go to the beach together. I knew better than to trust that it would actually happen. In the past he’d routinely make plans with me, then not follow through.

I was pleasantly surprised to receive a message from him that afternoon. We were still on. 

Our beach day was great. We took the downtown LA metro into Santa Monica. At a beachside restaurant Cole drank beer while I ate chicken tacos. Then we walked to a bar where we got free shots after someone spilled ketchup all over me. Cole was more aggravated by it than I was and I found that really sweet. He thoroughly cleaned the remnants off my dress, gingerly tending to the splotch on my backside, which turned me on.

Four tequila shots later we wandered onto the beach. I sat in the sand while Cole took a dip in the ocean. As he walked back to where I was sitting I took in the view of his fit, glistening body. He sat down next to me and I kissed his wet lips. Then we took an Uber back to his apartment so he could go to his Zoom class.

Being at his place again brought back memories of late night escapades. It was bittersweet. I was glad to be there but I knew an era was wrapping up. Everything had changed from my employment status to his roommate’s girlfriend. His half packed up bedroom crystallized our new reality.

We made out and then he sat back on his bed. I went down on him, tasting the salt of the ocean on his skin. “Can I sit on you?” I asked, knowing the answer was yes. It didn’t last long. Cole took charge and flipped me over. 

High on coke and nearly hysterical, I could not stop talking while he thrusted on top of me: You’re so fucking precious. I can’t believe you found me. You give me the best dick. Will you fuck me in DC? 

And then simply, “Kiss me, kiss me.” Cole slid his tongue into my mouth, intoxicating me while his professor spoke to a sleepy Zoom class in the background.

I knew we had to stop so he could attend virtual learning but I begged for more. “Just five more seconds,” I pleaded. I felt like a junkie.

Eventually we got up and collected ourselves. I pulled my dress down. We kissed goodbye and he cheerfully said, “Let’s try to do this again before I leave?” 

“Yeah!” I said, hopeful that we’d have another encounter. Earlier he’d mentioned wanting to buy a new neck chain and asked if I wanted to go shopping with him. I thought maybe our beach trip marked the beginning of long-term changed behavior. Maybe the days of Cole making plans with me and then forgetting (or disregarding) them were behind us. After all, he was out of the fog of non-stop drug use, and that was always the excuse I used to overlook his actions.

It was wishful thinking. The days that followed were disappointing. Cole didn’t reach out to me the rest of the time he was in Los Angeles. One day I sent him a link to a light-hearted essay about the elusive sexiness of men’s chains. He replied with a photo of him wearing one. “Like this one?” he asked. I asked if it was new.

He wrote back, “Yes!

“Couldn’t wait.

“Had a rave to go to. Wanted some accessories.”

There was nothing left for me to say. It was clear Cole was not emotionally available, as one of my friends would later point out when I told her the story. It reiterated to me what I already knew—I liked him more than he liked me. I was more invested than he was. I had to just get over it.

I muted his Instagram stories for the rest of his visit. I understood that he had other people to see and responsibilities to take care of, but it hurt my feelings to see him spending time with others and having fun without me. I felt disconnected from his life. It showed me where I stood in it. 

When Cole was at my apartment days earlier he said that ours was the best sex of his life. I couldn’t understand, then, why he wouldn’t prioritize having as much of it as he could while he was in town. I sulked about it for the next month, until I met E.