The Showmance: The Saga Continues

(Note: Cora and Ann probably shouldn’t read this one. It may be T.M.I. I say this because I love you. You have been warned. Ha-ha…but don’t assume too much info from the picture. I just liked it.)

So many people enjoyed my Showmance Saga, that I thought I would fast forward a year and a half or so to mine and Dewey’s first semester of college at UNT. Yes, we were both going to the same school, and, yes we were in the vocal department together.

I am skipping over the whole “he broke my heart” part of the story for several reasons. For one, it’s not necessary to relive. It will only make him look like a bad person, and I don’t want that. He is a wonderful person, we are just, plainly and simply, two very different people. We were very young, and a relationship between us was clearly never meant to be. We went back and forth between being friends and wanting to strangle each other for years, I think, but now we both respect each other very much. Every time we happen to cross paths, we hug and catch up like old friends.

After the initial heartbreak, we didn’t speak much. This was mainly because we never saw each other and partly because there was obviously some animosity between us.

However.

This does not mean that there did not still exist a rather strong physical attraction between the two of us. The fact is, I was extremely attracted to Dewey, and I don’t think I’m so bad to look at either…especially back then. I looked fantastic, actually, because my then roommate Shelly and I went out dancing several nights a week and we were too broke to buy food (but somehow we managed to scrounge up the cash for club cover charges…interesting). Anyway, the point is we were two good-looking people, and we were at a very specific point that every teenager faces in life. Both of us were approaching 19, both of us had experienced slightly more than the innocent, yet still intense feelings of the first kiss, first love, etc. Well, I’m assuming he had. I had dated someone 4 years older than I was during my senior year of high school, so one can only assume that after that first kiss Dewey and I shared, we had both progressed.

My first semester of college was such a breeze, as everyone’s first semester should be. This was a time for adjusting from high school to college, so most advisers felt it necessary that the transition be as easy as possible. No sixteen-hour workloads here. Choir was every day from 2:00-3:20 pm, and the class I had before that ended at 11:00am. I was walking over towards the music building in hopes of finding a couch to nap on before choir when I saw a familiar face outside of Bruce Hall.

Dewey was sitting outside the dorm on one of the benches. I hadn’t seen him in months, but I knew he’d see me if I just kept walking. I didn’t want to seem rude, so I decided to say hi, expecting the worst. After all, we weren’t always on the best of terms with each other. It turned out that I had nothing to worry about. I was greeted with a bear hug and that old familiar smile. We sat on the bench talking for a few minutes, when Dewey asked the question that has been oh-so-innocently asked by men for decades and has subsequently resulted in poor decision-making by the women on the receiving end.

“Wanna come up and see my room? You can meet my roommate Robert.”

Being the novice that I was, I agreed. Even one year later I would’ve raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, “You’ve got to be joking, right?” However, I hadn’t learned enough hard life lessons yet, so I followed him up four flights of cement stairs to his and Robert’s shabby little dorm room. Robert was nowhere to be seen, of course. Dorm rooms just happen to be so wonderfully arranged so that there is no seating available except in two places: the desk chair….and the bed.

Dewey and I sat down facing each other on his twin, extra-long bed and began to catch up on each other’s lives. We talked about how school was going, whether or not we liked our voice teachers, etc. By this point in my life, I was much more confident and comfortable talking to the opposite sex. Also, after Dewey had run me through the ringer, emotionally, I had no reason to feel apprehensive or nervous around him anymore. The spell had worn off, if you will.

Somehow one of us (I honestly don’t remember who at this point) got the brilliant idea that, since neither of us had class for another few hours, we should take a nap. To be honest, it was probably my idea since the nap had been my primary goal in walking that direction anyway. If I had the option to sleep on a bed rather than one of the smelly couches in the main music lobby, it became a no-brainer.

So Dewey and I stretched out on his bed, facing each other and rather close to one another. It was a twin, after all, and Dewey is a pretty big guy. Dewey got us a blanket and we promptly fell asleep. College students love to sleep. Especially in the middle of the day.

If the story ended here, it would be pretty disappointing, yes? Not to worry. My experiences with Dewey have never been boring, that’s for sure.

I woke up a bit later, and something felt very different. For one thing, there was a large, warm hand wrapped around my waist (then much narrower) and resting on my exposed lower back. When I opened my eyes, I expected to see Dewey still fast asleep. This wouldn’t have been surprising, since it is a natural tendency for us to cuddle with something warm nearby while we are sleeping. However, Dewey’s eyes were open and he was looking right at me.

I had learned a lot in two years, as I’ve said, so there was no doubt in my mind about what was going to happen next…nor was there any apprehension. I knew what was going to happen and I wanted it to happen. Even with the tension between us, the broken heart and the tears, the eyes pleading for understanding that had occurred in the past…I wanted this. The physical attraction was too strong.

I believe this time I made the move before he had a chance to. There was no timid meeting of the lips, no breath catching in the back of the throat in anticipation this time. Both of us had grown up and experienced things that elicited much more than just a heart full of teen angst (again, I am speaking for him on an assumption).

This kiss was intense and hot, our bodies much closer together and in a much more compromising position than that night in his living room ages ago. The little voice in the back of my head that was saying “Um, excuse me? Is this a good decision?” was promptly ignored and shoved to the back of my mind so that the much more pleasant and enticing feelings could have free reign.

I still believe that heavily making out, especially when the other person is a great kisser, is one of the sexiest things in the world, even more so than what usually follows. The intensity, the feeling that you can’t touch enough skin, the flush rising to your cheeks, the unbelievable high that it causes…there is no better feeling in the world. They don’t call it “hot & bothered” for nothing.

If I never believed in the intervention of Higher Powers before, I believed in it in the events that followed. Before we could get too stupid, the alarm on the nightstand started blaring, rudely interrupting us. Dewey had set the alarm to make sure we didn’t sleep past choir. The alarm also brought us back to reality. There was a slightly awkward silence as we both looked into each others’ eyes, searching for…something. I spoke first.

“I should probably go…don’t wanna miss choir.”
“Yeah…me neither.”
“I’ll see ya down there?”

He nodded, and I left. As I walked back down the stairs and out into the crisp September air, I wanted to hit myself for being such a moron. All that could possibly do was cause more confusion and awkwardness between us. What had I done?

I had nothing to fear. Less than a month later, Dewey and I attended the same Halloween party thrown by a fellow choir member. We also both happened to consume large amounts of alcohol that night. I don’t remember what Dewey came to the party as, but I do remember that I was wearing the Little Black Dress, fishnets, and a Liza Minelli-style wig (I was going as Sally Bowles). At one point I ended up sitting on his lap on a couch in the apartment and we both drunkenly laughed about how stupid we both were.

“Dewey, what’s wrong with us?”
“I dunno…maybe it’s just that you’re hot.”
“Yeah, probably…hahaha”
“So are we cool?”
“Of course we’re cool, asshole.”

And with a friendly, platonic kiss on the lips, the Saga of the Showmance was ended for good.