Super Crush jumps on top of me; I grab his wrists and toss him to the other side of the bed. His body ricochets gently as I get on my knees and tackle him again. He puts both his hands around my neck and draws me in closer. I rotate my head, and he looses his grasp on my neck. He is out of breath now and laying down with his arms open. I pin him down and kiss his neck softly, making my way up from his jugular to his jaw. I can hear him rustling his feet and taking off his sneakers, and then he raises both of his legs and puts them around my waist. I shift up and grab on to him. I stare him down and can feel his crotch getting harder. I surrender.
Super Crush takes off his maroon polo, and I kiss his clavicle as soon as I see it. He takes my hand and places it on his chest, as if he’s trying to show me how fast he’s breathing or… how hard his heart is pounding. I finger his blond chest hair a little bit and then hug him as we both collapse onto his comforter.
He has a big window right by his bed leading to the fire escape. Every night that I’ve been staying over for the past few weeks, the moon, thanks to that window, has been the only source of lighting we’ve needed at night. By this point, I can almost navigate his body blind-folded.
I unbuckle my belt and move my hips forward so I can take it off with one swift pull. I take off my socks next. Socks are always one of the first things that need to come off. I don’t hook-ups in socks.
Earlier that evening, Super Crush and I had gone on another date. This time, we went to see Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona. Perfect date movie, I think, ’cause you have the quirky Woody Allen humor mixed in with steamy Spanish sex scenes.
And now back to my sex scene: Super Crush unbuttons my shirt and tosses it on the ground next to my socks. I lay down on my back and he climbs on top of me. It shocks me a little bit, so I make an overly exaggerated expression of confusion. He starts giggling and that confuses me even more.
“What is it?” I say suspicious of his laughter.
“Nothing, I just… haha. Nothing,” he says. I’m not satisfied with that answer, so I keep looking at him in wonderment. He finally lets down and confesses, “It’s just… I haven’t had this much fun on a date in a while.”
The morning after, I wake to the sound of Sunday morning cartoons playing on his television. The Fairly OddParents, I recognize Timmy’s voice. Super Crush is sitting up on the bed, waiting for me to get up.
And I think: I’m so lucky. My summer in New York has just started, and I’m living in the perfect location on the Lower East Side, interning at one of my favorite magazines and dating a caring boy and getting way past the point of pretending.
I had been thinking all night, while we cuddled, how I was going to bring up the subject of becoming boyfriends in the morning. He, too, had prepared all night for what he had to say to me this morning.
“Hey, so I talked to that guy at Marvel,” he says starring at the TV, not looking at me.
“What did he say?” I ask even though I know the answer. He’d been talking to Marvel Inc. about a potential short-term internship starting as soon as possible. This whole time, I had pretended to be supportive, faked a smile whenever the subject came up and told him that I hoped for the best, but, deep down, I wanted him to get rejected, I wanted him to stay in New York, stay with me, so we could keep doing this, keep doing this until…
“They want me to go work for them in California.”
I had found my one superhero. And he had found dozens.