If I’ve said this before, it bears repeating: There is something to be said about a man who puts actions behind his words.
Y’all know what I’m talking about. We’ve all been talked to death at least once by some dude who had so much to say about all the things he could, should or would have done—but took little to no action to back those things up.
It’s exhausting, to be honest. Sometimes you have to weed through a few of those before you get to the one who can back it all up, but when you do get the one who can back it all up? It’s heaven.
So when I tell you that this man earned his nickname HDT (He Did That) in more ways than one, please believe me when I say that he did that.
In the weeks leading up to his visit to Los Angeles, he did little things that reminded me how sweet and thoughtful he was, and therefore kept him at the forefront of my mind.
If he had any real competition, he was smoothly sailing by them.
By the time the day of his visit arrived, I was as giddy as a schoolgirl with a crush, and I couldn’t wait to spend the weekend with him. I had gotten all of my nervousness out already, and I was ready to find out if we could spend nearly 72 hours straight with each other without driving each other crazy.
The morning of his flight, he sent me a text before he boarded his plane that said, “This is your last chance to back out.”
“I’m not backing out of shit,” I replied, and I said it with my chest.
I still had to work that afternoon, so the plan was for him to take a ride share to the hotel and then call me when he arrived so I could meet him there.
I had butterflies the entire day. I packed a weekend bag, organized the stories that I would be writing for that Friday night and waited to hear from him.
He let me know when he was close, and I was waiting for him in valet when the Uber pulled up.
He jumped out of the car, dropped his bag at my feet and scooped me up into the biggest hug. All I could do was be taken in by him. I felt myself melting into his arms and I inhaled his scent.
When we managed to pry ourselves apart, he said, “Let’s go get our room.”
He checked us in, and we went upstairs to be alone together for the first time in weeks.
I started writing my articles for the night while he showered and washed off the plane ride. He promised not to distract me so that I could get my work done—leaving me surprised and mildly disappointed when he actually stuck to that.
He had some minor work of his own to get done, so we both took care of business in a pleasant and comfortable silence.
When I was done for the night, it was my turn to shower while he ordered us dinner and dessert from a nearby restaurant.
That night and the next two days passed by in a pleasurable haze. There was never a moment of discomfort or awkwardness.
We enjoyed each other inside and out. He had me in every way imaginable, and I him—and it was just like I knew it would be. It was rough when it needed to be, but gentle during all the right moments.
There was plenty of snuggling and cuddling, lots of deep conversations and the kind of laughs that happen in the dark just before the sun rises.
We were smitten.
At the end of the visit, neither of us wanted it to be over. He’d spoiled me for three days straight, and the thought of him being back on the other side of the country filled me with the sweetest type of dread.
I didn’t know if I was going to be able to wait to be in his presence again.
The way we clung to each other saying goodbye before he took his Uber back to the airport, you’d have thought he was going off to war. He may as well have been. It felt like that type of separation.
We parted ways with sweet thoughts and memories to carry with us through the next few weeks.
That should have been enough, but I know I have been told plenty of times that sex changes everything.
You never listen to those types of warnings until the reality of them is actualized in your particular situation.
That’s the way it was for me. And him.
Sex changed everything.
And somehow, I should have known that was going to happen.
To be continued next Friday.