The moment I saw that I had mentioned the word “love” to a boy who I had known for less than 24 hours, my heart started racing. I didn’t even know the boys name… he was listed as “Zombie Shirt Boy” in my phone, for Christ-sakes.
I immediately erased the history of texts with “Zombie Shirt Boy,” and spent the next few hours sitting in shame at the remembrance of my actions. That evening I went home and wrote a letter to Z.S.B on my blog, apologizing for prematurely using the “L” word. I didn’t figure I’d hear from him again, and the possibility of him coming across my blog didn’t even cross my mind. Even if he did happen to stumble across it, I figured that he would see the entry that was written only a few a days before about me shitting my pants, and that would be the end of it. I Within a few days I had nearly forgotten the incident had even occurred.
About a week later I got a surprise text from Z.S.B. asking me when he could take me out to dinner. I sent him a calculated witty reply, letting him know that I would oblige, as long as he agreed to answer to the name Z.S.B. We spent the next few days trying to outwit each other via text, and we eventually agreed to meet at a restaurant half-way between our two suburbs.
The first date went well. I had been a little worried about what we would talk about and how comfortable it would be, and it turned out I didn’t have to worry about a thing, Z.S.B. talked enough for the both of us. He talked about his experience in the drum line, which he was absolutely obsessed with. He told me of all the bartending jobs he had been fired from. He told me about his sister and his high school friends and how he wore his socks inside out so that the little line wouldn’t rub against his toes.
I wouldn’t have usually found his conversation particularly interesting, but he had a way of finding himself so fascinating that I somehow followed suite. I found myself laughing every time he laughed. Whenever I did squeeze a few words in, he listened accordingly before quickly finding a way to turn the conversation back to his own life. I didn’t mind. For once, it was nice not to have the pressure of keeping a conversation going lying on my shoulders. It was easy.
After a few drinks, he walked me out to my car where we proceeded to make out for 45 minutes, Junior High style. Finally, sweaty and out of breath- I told him that I needed to leave for the 12th time, and actually did.
A few days later, he invited me to meet up with his family for drinks to celebrate his birthday. We hadn’t actually spoken to each other since our first date, but we had kept a steady stream of texts going; so even though I thought it was a tad bit early to meet the fam.- I went with it.
I got along great with his family. I thought it was a little odd that they all claimed to have heard so much about me, but I thought they may have just been being polite. He wasn’t shy at all about making it clear that we were a couple. He openly put his arm around me and held my hand. At one point in the night, his sister asked where I had gotten my John Lennon necklace, and before I could answer Z.S.B., explained that I had gotten it the week before at the State Fair. It only took a moment for it to sink in that I had never told him where I had gotten the necklace, but that I had in fact- written about it in the same blog entry that I wrote him a letter.
I’m sure my eyes grew as wide as pancakes and I rushed to the restroom in embarrassment.
He quickly followed and admitted that he had found my blog before I even got the chance to mention it. He said that he was intrigued, and not to worry that I had written about shitting my pants, because he had shit his pants the same night we met. It somehow did make me feel better.
Before we parted ways, we spent another hour and a half fogging up his car windows.
The third date though, was when the magic really started to happen.
He invited me to meet with his friends at an exclusive hotel where his friend bar-tended. We spent a few hours sitting around a hot tub ordering every exotic drink on the menu. Z.S.B.’s friends were nice, and although they were mostly girls, I thought that we could really be friends. About half-way through the night, Z.S.B. and the other boy in the group got up to order drinks, leaving me alone with his 2 “best girl friends.”
“Soooo… You and BDB seem to be getting along great.”
She seemed sincere, though I wasn’t sure who this “BDB” was that she was referring to.
She must have seen the confusion on my face because she quickly followed up her comment with, “Oh, you don’t know about his nickname yet? We all call him BDB.”
“What does it stand for?” I asked innocently.
A sly smile crossed her face and she told me that I would find out soon enough.
A little while later Z.S.B., or “BDB” as his friends so fondly called him, decided that it was time to go and watch some television. He presented me with a giant suite that had a shower in the middle of the room. It had 3 flat screen T.V.s and a bed with a canopy with one of those curtains that closed around it…