On our first night, Andy and I bought some incredibly cheap wine. Well, really it was great wine--Woodbridge Cabernet--but so cheap in California compared to back East.
I'd just taken a shower since I'd opted to skip one at 4:45 in the morning, having to leave for the airport at that God forsaken hour. So, all fresh and clean and comfy in my pj bottoms and tank top, I cracked open the bottle of red and poured it into one of his drinking glasses with a cow on it (nope, not a wine glass to be seen in that bachelor pad). What the hell, I was on vacation, therefore nothing was worth sweating over.
We sat on the bench out front of his building and I marvelled at the tall palms above us, and the crop of bamboo growing behind us. Whaaa? Bamboo? I was anxiously awaiting pandas to come for a feeding. No pandas, just Andy, and he's just as squeezable. I love California! I loved that wine!
We drank. We flirted. We exchanged adoring looks till it got dark. Hey, let's go for a walk he said. He took my hand and we walked up a block to Santa Monica Blvd. Around the corner and he led me into a world I'd never seen before. The city was alive.
It was a beautiful balmy night, but just chilly enough to make me aware of my nipples. Hell, I was practically naked. No undies, just one thin layer between my goosebumps and the night air. It felt sweet, like newfound freedom. Walking in pyjamas is not the strangest thing one would see on Santa Monica Blvd. No one gave me a second look. Except Andy, of course.
Most interesting were the displays in store windows; mannequins made of cork, and chains, a few gay sex shops, but tasteful, and amazing furniture stores. Mouth-watering smells wafted out of sidewalk cafes, blaring horns sounded like symphonies and couples in love paused at corners, kissing.
We were one of them. What a perfect opening night. We went home and Andy and I made love in his bed for the first time.
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