His demeanor snapped back to awkwardly appreciative. "It's really cool of you to let me crash here," he said. "What can I do for you? Can I rub your shoulders?"
And . . . okay. I knew at this point that the "too late for the train" excuse was a ploy, that his showing me the porn site was not just an awkward gaffe, that he was trying to get into my pants via my shoulders. But the joint was kicking in, and my back did hurt. It always hurts. But more than that, I suddenly felt like my personality was on trial. Why did I have to be such a ball-busting bitch all the time? He was trying to get into my pants, but he was also trying to be nice, so I should try to be nice, and let him be nice to me. I didn't have to be a bitch about this. A little niceness could be nice. And I wasn't consenting to anything but a backrub — I could say yes to this and still say no later. "All right."
He sat behind me on the couch, and I rested my joint in the ashtray, already missing its comforting weight between my index and middle fingers. He smoothed my hair gently off my neck, placed his thumbs at the base. "Relax," he instructed.
He started massaging. "Wow, Janice, you're so tense."
"I know." I sighed, and his hands moved downwards towards my shoulders, thumbs digging between the blades. "Uuuuuhh," I groaned.
"Is that all right?" he asked softly, his breath warm against my ear.
"Feels good," I said, trying to sound as if I were addressing a professional in a clinic setting. "Thanks."
He continued to rub my shoulders, and I groaned some more, started to let go, unclenched my jaw from its fake smile, let my head sag from its crane. Let out all the loneliness, disappointment, frustration of the past few months. Uuuuuuuuuhh. For all the shit I said about my ex-boyfriend on stage, I missed him, missed the comfort of hands on my back.
"I can't really get enough leverage this way," the comedian said. "Why don't you lie down?" I laid down on the couch and let him straddle my back. He lifted my T-shirt, put his hands on my skin. "There," he murmured, soothing. "That feels good, doesn't it?"
"Mmph," I said into the couch cushion. It did feel good. He had strong hands, which he pushed hard into me, and the pain was a release, a relief. He started rocking a little, sitting on my ass and grinding into it, his hands moving ever southward. I thought I should stop him, but I didn't know how to say so politely, without telling him that he'd gone too far and was starting to creep me out. I held my breath and clamped my lips shut, hoping he'd figure it out for himself.
He didn't. His hands moved over my ass cheeks, and I felt him getting erect against me, his breath starting to come hard.
"Well, that was nice," I told him, sitting up abruptly, pulling my T-shirt down over my back. "Thanks."
He tried pushing me back down. "We could do more," he purred. "I could keep it up all night."
"Thanks," I said. "That's all right."
He tried pushing me back down. "We could do more," he purred. "I could keep it up all night."
"Come on," he insisted. "Doesn't it feel good?" He traced his fingers lightly over my arm, and the hairs rose without my permission.
"It does," I admitted. I'd consented to letting him rub my shoulders, I'd let him make me feel good. "But I don't want to do anything else."
"Why not?"
"I just don't."
"Are you . . . not attracted to me?" His voice was crestfallen. I felt a pang on his behalf. I'd been rejected enough lately. I wasn't trying to be mean to someone else.
"It's not that you're not attractive," I said. "I just don't have those feelings for you."
"But that was nice, right? You were enjoying it?"
Why was this argument lasting so long? It was five a.m., I was tired and high. All I wanted to do was go to sleep. I didn't want to sit there looking at his pinched, wounded expression and explaining why I didn't want to have sex with him.
"We don't have to go out or anything," he said. "We can just have a good time." He tickled my arm again, and it felt heavy, like the time I got hypnotized in a failed attempt to quit smoking pot. I started to feel resigned, like I was going to lose the debate anyway. Maybe I should just give him a handjob, I thought. Maybe that will shut him up.
