Johnny, Part 1
I first met Johnny at a bar. He was friend's with Stef's boyfriend, and thus, friends with Stef. He had this bad-boy reputation with this good boy smile that immediately drew me in. I have a picture of us from that night, his arms wrapping me in a hug from behind.
Everytime I was near that bar, I'd keep my eyes open for his beatup red pickup. I always made a point to say hi. He was high most of the time, but I didn't know that then.
On the night of my best friend's 21st birthday, we hit the bar after the stripper's show ended. Low and behold, there was Johnny. I said hi, made the usual introductions (I'm Stef's friend...we've met before...blah blah blah). I kept my eye on him, and saw him dancing in place, nowhere near the dance floor. In my infinite wisdom, I used the best pickup line I had in me: "The dance floor's that way if you think you can hang." He pulled off his sweater and led the way.
The man could dance. And look good doing it. Mmm. The fast song ended and a slow song started, just the way it does in teen movies. I knew my friends were applauding my game from afar, seeing me in this mysterious man's arms. I decided to use the next best pickup in me: "I don't want to be too bold, but I think I have to kiss you." (I'm actually cringing now. I was so lame!) We exchanged phone numbers when the song ended; that was how he finally learned my name.
We began a relationship of sorts; as much of a relationship as one can have while still living in her parents' house after college. We'd talk while we could; I'd stay over at his place when I could. He was the impetus for me getting my first apartment: I wanted a place to fuck.
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