I quit smoking
“What’s up?” Goober asked.
“I just came from a Cuddle Party,” I replied.
“A what?”
“A Cuddle Party.”
The idea of the Cuddle Party is that it’s a safe space for adults to be affectionate with one another without it getting sexual. There were two reasons I went. The main reason was that Brady was hosting it. A very good friend of Brady’s founded these Cuddle Parties and is now including her into his business plan. This was the first one she was going to be hosting. I’m supportive of her and her ventures, so I wanted to see what this was all about. Also, I don’t get very much physical affection in my daily life, so this might be an interesting—and safe—way to get some.
Which isn’t to say I wasn’t a little nervous and—I’ll be honest—creeped out by the idea of a Cuddle Party.
I told Brady that, at the very least, an afternoon like this was sure to elicit some fantastic writing material.
Goober crossed her legs and leaned back on her arms. She was wearing red sneakers. A few clouds floated by.
“So? How was it?”
“It was interesting.”
It was all very Bohemian. We sat on the floor of a studio apartment with exposed brick and large wooden beams crossed the ceiling. A gold tapestry hung between some of the beams. On the wall was a picture of an Indian woman. I asked the girl sitting next to me who it was. She said the name of this guru, but I didn’t quite understand what she said.
A mixed group of 15 sat in a circle, all dressed in pajamas. I made a joke to Brady that there wasn’t a bra in the room. Turns out there was at least one; The Artist’s ample chest couldn’t stand on its own, I guess.
“Did you enjoy it?”
I did. I had no idea what to expect from this party. But from all of the possibilities I’d imagined in the last week, the one that actually took place was not among them. I was nervous, but for completely different reasons than I thought I would. And I enjoyed it, but for completely different reasons than I thought I would. I feel like I’ve been socked in the stomach. But in that good way.
For me, the whole experience was altered by the presence of The Hottest Man I Have Ever Met in My Whole Life.
I’m dead serious.
He walked into the apartment just after I did. No. Way. I had to look away. Looking at him was like looking at the sun.
He was tall, I’d guess 6’2”, curly medium-length brown hair, stubble on his chin. His face looked like his, but younger. Gorgeous smile. I was stunned.
And here I’d expected a roomful of deformed and unshowered trolls.
I put down my bag and coat, kicked off my sneakers, and took a seat next to a futon. It’s not like I’d get to cuddle with that guy anyway.
A few seconds later, The Hottest Man sat down next to me. Me! He sat next to me! I’m never that lucky! We introduced ourselves. Soon, we were chatting away. He looked me straight in the eye when he spoke to me. What a look.
The Artist mentioned that he’d just come back from a trip to Miami and LA. That would explain the perfectly tanned arms.
Jobs in Miami and LA? I bet he’s a model. Or an actor.
“The Artist said you just had a job in LA. What do you do?”
Model. No, actor. No, model.
“I’m a photographer’s assistant. But actually, I’m a photographer. I want to be doing more of my own stuff.”
Well, you could be a model. (I can’t believe you’re not a model!) But I’m so glad you’re not!
Brady shushed everyone down and said a welcome. Everyone introduced themselves and said why they were there. There were a lot of other First-Time Cuddlers. The Hottest Man was a first-timer, and so was I.
Brady had a few games to illustrate some of the Cuddle Party rules.
Rule 3. Only invite or ask some one to kiss/nuzzle you if you're okay with and can handle them saying No. It's risky business to expose our wants and needs to people we hardly know (and even those we do), but not doing so is what's causing the problem in our society these days, so let's be bold. Experiencing for your adult self that getting a “No” isn't the end of the world goes a long way to healing those wounds of rejection we received as kids at the school dances.“Everyone pick a partner, someone sitting next to you. One of you is A and one of you is B.” The Hottest Man was sitting next to me. He was A, I was B.
“Person A, ask if you can kiss Person B. And Person B, you have to tell Person A, ‘No.’”
This has to be a joke.
The Hottest Man turned his body to face me. He looked me straight in the eye when he spoke to me.
“Can I give you a kiss?” he asked.
The Hottest Man I Have Ever Met in My Whole Life is asking to kiss me and I have to tell him “No!” I feel like I’m taking crazy pills! This is just cruel!
I couldn’t say it with a straight face, but I managed a “No.”
“Practice it a few times,” Brady said.
He blinked, smiled and looked at me again. “Would it be OK if I gave you a kiss?”
You’re going to make me say it again?!
“No.”
He leaned closer, lowered his head a little. Looked through me. “C, can I give you a kiss?”
“Are you going to make me keep saying this?”
“I guess so.”
I’m speechless. I have to pause a moment.
…
OK.
“Change roles,” Brady said.
I said to Hottest Man I Have Ever Met in My Whole Life, “Can I give you a kiss?”
“No.”
Now, this feels about right.
Goober lit a cigarette and we watched some kids roll an orange down a cleft in the rock.
“It’s so great to find someone you’re that attracted to.”
“I know! Makes me feel alive. I haven’t been this attracted to someone in so long. It’s nice to be reminded that I can be.”
“I just never meet hot people.”
“I know. Me either.” How sad.
After the welcome and the Hell-spawn Get-to-Know-You Games, the cuddling commenced. If there were other people there, I didn’t notice them. I myself shrank to the size of a daisy and bloomed in his direction.
I cuddled with the few people I knew—Brady, The Artist, the man who founded the Cuddle Party. And The Hottest Man. He was the only stranger I cuddled with. I chickened out a few times when I could have gotten even closer to him. I actually didn’t get to cuddle with him nearly as much as I wanted to. As I mentioned, he was hot. I was not the only woman in the room who noticed this. He was a sought-after cuddle commodity.
I can’t even believe I got to touch him at all, and have him touch me the way he did. I feel wholly unworthy.
“So?” Goober asked. “Did you get his number? His email address?”
“Pfft! No.”
“Why not?”
At the party, there were a bunch of other people standing around as we were all saying goodbye and I didn’t want to ask in front of all of them. I would have liked to walk out of the party with him; I took my time, but he was moving a lot slower than I was and it didn’t work. I even made a phone call on the front stoop on the chance he might come out while I was still around. No luck.
“But really, he was just too hot for me,” I told Goober.
“What?”
“Way too hot. I’m not allowed to be with someone that hot.”
“C! Don’t you think you deserve to be with someone hot?”
Mmm, no.
I just looked up his name on the Internet. (I peeked for his last name on the mailing list when I signed it.) Our names are on a page together. A list of photographers who had pictures in Here is New York. It's a big list. Doesn't mean anything.
He has a web site for his photography. I looked through his portfolio. I saw several mostly-naked skinny blonde models.
I’m more than fairly certain now that I could never get his attention.
… Hmm. His phone number and email address are on his web site.
I can still smell him on my skin. The smell makes me smile and ache.
*Epilogue