BEST FRIENDS / SEX WITH FRIENDS / FRIENDS TO LOVERS
Virgin Alarm — What My Best Friend Taught Me, Part 1
“You’re my friend, Mike, and I worry about you. You seriously need to get laid.”
“Virgin Alarm!” Skye cried, holding up my elaborately painted Skaven Verminlord and quoting from one of my favorite movies. “This is why you still haven’t gotten laid, Mike.”
Skye set down the miniature, then looked over my collection of models, toys, posters, and comic books prominently displayed throughout my one-bedroom apartment.
“I can hardly say I’m surprised. You’re not just a nerd. You’re the king of nerds.”
I dropped onto the sofa and sighed. Skye was one to talk. Back in high school, she had been just as much of a nerd as I was. Anime, sci-fi movies, comic books, tabletop games, MMOs… You name it. That’s why we were such good friends. Best friends, in fact.
Her interests shifted in college, but we still talked about the latest sci-fi movies and shows, and occasionally logged on to the same MMO together. I had even invited her to join my new gaming group, but she bailed after two sessions. That was entirely my fault. With five other guys and no other girls in the group, I should have known there would be some inappropriate comments. I hadn’t expected those comments to become out-right harassment.
“Come on, Skye,” I said. “That’s a business venture. Do you know how much those miniatures go for once I’ve painted them?”
She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, apparently curious. “How much?”
“About $20 to $30 each, and the larger ones can go for up to $100,” I replied. “How do you think I’m paying for this apartment?”
Skye blinked in surprise, then made a ‘fair enough’ expression. “I guess it beats flipping burgers or standing behind a cash register.” She sighed and flopped onto the sofa beside me. “But when was the last time you went on a date, or even talked to a girl who wasn’t me?”
I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. Skye was attractive — I couldn’t possibly deny that — with her platinum blonde hair, her tight little smile, and her searching brown eyes. Today she wore a simple T-shirt over her considerable breasts and sunny-yellow shorts that showed off most of her legs.
No, Skye wasn’t merely attractive. She was gorgeous.
But we were friends, and that was all. Just as we had always been. It was for the best, of course. Of the eight or nine boyfriends she had during college, she no longer spoke to or mentioned a single one, and all were blocked on her phone and social media profiles. There was no way I wanted to end up in that boat.
“I don’t know,” I said, giving a shrug. “Maybe near the end of last semester.”
Skye rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. That one. The one where you told your date that she was ‘really talkative.’”
I cleared my throat and shifted slightly on the sofa. “You know I’m socially awkward. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. It was an innocent observation. I’m just not good with… You know… People.”
Skye gave me a commiserating smile. “I know, Mike. Believe me, I know.” Then she chuckled. “Just remember: when a girl asks you, ‘Does this shirt make me look fat?’ your answer is supposed to be ‘No, you look great,’ not ‘Well, to be honest…’”
I groaned, remembering it all too well. “That was four years ago, Skye. Will I ever live it down?”
Skye smiled fondly, sinking deeper into the sofa pillow. “Nope.” She waited for a moment, then breathed out. “If you want, I can hook you up on a date or two. I have a few friends who are constantly bemoaning all the asshole guys they’ve dated, and believe me, a shy, awkward guy is a lot better than an asshole. I’ll make sure they know you’re a soft-spoken nerd who prefers reading RPG manuals over watching porn.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, unsure how to take it. “But you don’t have to do that.”
“No, I really do,” Skye said with a sigh. She turned to face me, head tilted and eyes searching mine. “It’s pretty important that they know you’re more likely to prattle on about Star Trek and Warhammer 40K than football. And to be perfectly honest, some girls will find that pleasantly refreshing, even if it is a bit dorky.”
“It’s all right,” I said, nervously. “You don’t need to hook me up.”
Skye smiled. “Yes, I do. I don’t want you ending up a real-life Andy Stitzer from Forty-Year-Old Virgin. You’re my friend, Mike, and I worry about you. You seriously need to get laid.”
I smiled back. That would be nice. “Sure… All right. There’s no harm in giving it a shot, right?”
“Good,” Skye said with a ‘that’s settled’ nod. “Let me see what I can do. Just promise me you’ll do your best not to fuck it up.”
I nodded. “I promise.”
I fucked up both dates.
The first date was the classic dinner and a movie. I picked up my date and took her to a small Italian place, then we headed to a movie which was some pointless rom-com. She seemed bored during the movie, so I whispered a few jokes about the brain-dead plot, bad acting, and how I’d rather be watching a Marvel movie. Then I took her back to her apartment and said goodnight.
I thought it had gone well, but Skye called me later to tell me otherwise. Apparently, the girl thought I was an insufferable bore who couldn’t do anything other than sit quietly through dinner, complain about the movie, and go on about how I’d rather be watching a different movie. Worse, I had shown no interest in her, and didn’t even try to kiss her when I dropped her off.
In retrospect, it was a fair critique.
The second date went even worse. To liven things up, Skye suggested I take my date to a bowling alley.
The bowling alley had a small bar, which also served food, and a pretty cool arcade. I ordered us burgers, fries, and beer, and I did my best to help her get the knack of bowling. She clearly hadn’t bowled much before, and even with the bumpers up, her score was dismal. Eventually, I suggested we try the arcade instead. Unfortunately, she only wanted to play the coin-pushers and claw machines, which I told her were cheap con games that were only played by gullible losers. She watched me play a few real arcade games for half an hour or so, then disappeared.
Worried, I texted her, and she replied she had called an Uber to go home.
Apparently, I’d blown that date, too.
“Only you could fuck-up a bowling ally date!” Skye berated when she came over the next day.
I had no idea where I’d messed up, but Skye had a laundry list of reasons. Not only had I brushed her off to play arcade games, I’d implied she was ‘a gullible loser’ for enjoying coin-pushers and claw machines. I had also treated her like a kid while mansplaining the ‘right way’ to bowl. I hadn’t realized I had done that, and I had no excuse other than pleading ignorance.
“Mike,” Skye said with a sigh. “She called an Uber to go home. Usually, a girl does that only when she’s creeped out or feels unsafe. But you just seemed to forget that she was there, or that you were even on a date.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, leaning back on my sofa. “I thought she was having a good time.”
Skye, sitting next to me, rested her head against my shoulder. “I know, Mike. I know.”
I froze, feeling her against me. My stomach fluttered with butterflies and I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember we were just friends.
“All right,” Skye said, sitting up again. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but… We’re going on a date.”
I blinked. “What?”
“A pretend date,” she clarified, her expression serious. “A practice date. I’ll coach you through everything.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, but I nodded anyway, still dumbfounded.
Skye set clear boundaries. It was a practice date and nothing more. I would take the lead, but she would cut in to tell me what to do, what to say, and how to treat my date at the appropriate moment. The date was to be a classic ‘dinner and a movie,’ mainly because if we just went bowling, hit an amusement park, or went for a walk in the park, it would feel too much like hanging out as friends.
Pretend date or not, I was agonizingly anxious. I shouldn’t have been. This was Skye, not a girl I was actually trying to date. But I was nervous all the same.
I showed up at her apartment at the established time and nearly stumbled onto her when she opened the door. She wore skinny jeans and a cute jacket, open to reveal a spaghetti strap top that showed off her tight midriff. She must have had a push-up bra, as her cleavage was… Well, it was hard to ignore. I just stood there gawking, and Skye gave me a coy smile with her nicely glossed lips.
“Wow, you do look hot,” I blundered.
Skye glanced away, rolling her eyes. “Jeezus, Mike. That’s not what you’re supposed to say when your date answers the door.”
“Oh… Uh… You look very nice,” I corrected. “Shall we go?”
Skye nodded. “Better. Sort of.”
I showed her to my car, and Skye explained I should open the door for her. If my date didn’t like that, she would say so, or would later open the door for herself when it was time to get out. On the drive, she gave me some small-talk and chit-chat ideas, and when we arrived at the restaurant, she emphasized that even if I didn’t open the car door, I should still open the door to the restaurant.
Once seated at the table, Skye suggested talking about things on the menu, or pointing out the drinks and items on the dessert menu as a casual cue that my date should feel comfortable ordering those as well.
She did, in fact, order a strawberry margarita, along with dinner and dessert. On the topic of desserts, she suggested I ask my date if she wanted to split a dessert. Splitting a dessert can be fun and romantic. We did so, splitting a ‘death-by-chocolate’ treat, and I made sure Skye got the last few bites.
“Are we splitting the bill since this is just practice?” I asked when the waiter brought the bill.
Skye sighed. “That is not what you ask your date when the bill comes.”
“But this is just…” I trailed off, seeing her scowl.
As we drove to the nearby theater, Skye complemented me on doing ‘basically okay’ on the dinner part of the date. Once we got our tickets, she pointed out the concession stand.
“Since we just ate, your date will most likely skip concessions, but you should still ask her if she wants something, especially if there wasn’t dessert.”
I asked her, and thankfully, she opted out.
The movie was a feel-good drama, and Skye whispered to me it wasn’t her sort of movie either, but that I needed to pretend to enjoy the movie with my date. When I asked what I should do if my date wasn’t enjoying the movie, she smiled and whispered back, “Then you’ll have something to commiserate about in the car.”
The movie was as dull and boring as I had feared, but I refrained from whispering comments about how terrible it was. About halfway through, during some romantic scene, Skye whispered another piece of advice. “Gently touch or brush your date’s hand during scenes like this. If she wants to hold hands, you’ll know.”
Timidly, I brought my fingertips into contact with her hand on the armrest between us. Skye immediately jerked her hand away.
I blinked, utterly stunned.
“If she does that, it means ‘no,’” Skye whispered to me. “And it probably means the date isn’t going well. Now, let’s do it again.”
She put her hand back into position. Hesitantly, I brushed my fingers against the tops of her fingers. She turned her hand over and our fingers interlaced, closing tight. I held my breath, my heart beating faster.
“Perfect,” she whispered. “Except your hand feels sweaty. Clammy, sweaty palms are not sexy.”
Despite her words, she held my hand for a little while. Then she let go and whispered to me again. “Here’s another tip. When you get seated, don’t pull down the armrest. If your date does, then fine. But otherwise, leave it up.”
Skye pushed the armrest up and leaned over slightly, resting her shoulder on mine.
“If she does this, it’s a very good sign,” Skye whispered. “You can hold her hand, or stretch your arm over her shoulder. But for the love of God, don’t do the fake ‘yawn and stretch’ just to get your arm around her if she isn’t showing interest. But you can put your arm around her if she’s leaning into you.”
I smiled at her, then casually slid my arm around her shoulders. She snuggled a little closer, and we watched the remainder of the movie like that. I hated the movie, but I enjoyed the company. A lot.
We returned to my car after the movie and Skye coached me on the after-show small-talk during the drive back to her apartment.
“If the date went well, and if you’re lucky, your date might ask you to come up,” she said when I pulled into a parking place. “But don’t ask her if you can come up, as it might sound like you’re pressuring her. You can ask if she wants you to walk her to the door, or to the apartment building. Do that now.”
I nodded and asked, and Skye said ‘sure.’ I walked her to the apartment breezeway.
“Goodnight,” she said to me with a smile. “It was fun.”
I smiled and said goodnight, then turned away. But Skye grabbed my hand.
“Just a sec,” she said. “This is the hardest part of any first date. Showing her you want to kiss without making it awkward.” She looked me up and down, then smiled. “When she says ‘goodnight,’ gently hold her hands and step closer, then tell her ‘goodnight.’ If she moves her head closer to yours, she wants a kiss. If not, back off.”
I swallowed nervously, but nodded. Following her instructions, I held her hands, stepping closer, and told her ‘goodnight.’ She moved her face to mine, and I leaned closer to her, my heart pounding in my chest.
Was she wanting me to kiss her? Was this really happening? What should I do? Should I just kiss her cheek, or did she really want me to kiss her on the lips?
Skye put her hand up, right in my face, and took a step back. “You get the idea!” she laughed. “We aren’t actually going to kiss. But if this had been an actual date, I think you might have scored. You did a pretty good job.”
I stepped back and nodded, suppressing a sudden pang of disappointment. “Uh, yeah… Thanks.”
“I’m going to set you up on another date,” she said. “Don’t blow it this time.”
I drew a deep breath. “All right. I think I got it. You can count on me.”
“You’d better,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m fast running out of friends who are single!”
Continued in Part 2 — Kissing 101!
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