I was a nervous wreck the night of my date with Bryan. Not much of a social-mixer, I didn't relish the idea of attempting polite conversation with groupies at his show. I sat helplessly trying to curl my uncooperative hair and battling the growing urge to cancel.   A number of elements combined creating the perfect anxiety storm.

Apprehension before (and during) first dates is nothing new to me. If you recall the arm incident you know what I mean.  Adding to my abnormally elevated level of first date jitters, was Bryan and his mysterious aura.  Brand new to the musical type of man, I'd no idea what one talked to them about.  Should I tell him he's an amazing artist?  Or should I play it cool and aloof as if his music was of no interest?  Will he want to sleep with me? What do Emos eat?

Also tonight I was operating solo and without the support of my friends getting ready was taking its toll on my self-esteem.  As if that wasn't bad enough, my hair sensed Harriett's absence and rebelled against me, smelling my fear.

And finally, this was not shaping up to be your typical first date (with opened doors, bottles of wine, and doorstep kisses).  When I'd accepted Bryan's invitation, I wrongly assumed my friends would come along.  Now I was in the dreaded situation of appearing to be "that girl."  "You know the one.  She has no real friends, just shows up at odd events and random bars, trying her best to blend into the crowd.  Or worse, what if I look like a groupie!

The longer I stared into the mirror allowing my mind to catastrophize and applying more make-up to my face, the worse I felt (and looked).  I had to put an end to the vicious cycle before I ended up suicidal and looking like a trannie.  I stepped away from the bronzer and called Harriett. 

She didn't answer, and I was immediately annoyed. 
I called Lulu.  She did not answer either, so I yelled into her voicemail. "Hellooooo, I hope you're satisfied, Lulu.  I'm freaking out!  I look awful!  I have nothing to wear! I'm not going and it's your fault for abandoning me in my time of need.  So don't complain about my unchanged sex-number. Call me back!"  Feeling better having vented my energy onto my innocent friend, I wiped away a layer of make-up and grabbed my keys.

Once enroute I programmed the address into my navigation system, grateful for one less thing to worry about and turned on my radio.   The car filled with the sound of Led Zeppelin's 'Hey,' reminding me instinctively of Jaime Knox.

No! I forcefully changed the station in hopes of finding something less emotional.  I settled on silence over Lady Gaga.   

Lulu called and I hastily reached for my phone, "Thank God!  I think I'm having a panic attack.  Should I even go?"  I was approaching my destination, which as it turned out was a house located not far from my apartment.  "Uhhh, Lulu, I think I'm at a house party." 

"A house party?" Lulu asked, unsuccessfully trying to muffle delighted giggles.  "Hey, Annie, think of it as an adventure.  This will be great for you.  Go out there and mingle!  Just be cool, honey bunny."

I hung up. Does no one understand? 

The house was a shabby two-story duplex, overflowing with very loud, very young people, parked cars, and empty beer cans.  I hunched down in my seat taking it all in and doing deep-breathing exercises. Rounding up, I'm closing in on thirty! I lit a much needed Marlboro and rolled down my window.  The melodic sound of Bryan's band hummed softly, emanating from the house, pulling me toward him. 

And with a renewed sense of determination I exited the safe confines of my car and marched toward the open front door.  Abort plan! Turn around! You're too old! my fear screamed, drowning out Bryan's playing as I hurried across the lawn.  Zip it! I told myself.

I entered the house, defying my fear's desire. 
A girl (looking more like Britney Spears than Britney ever again will) bounced toward me, her youthful eyes reddened (judging on smell) by marijuana. 

"They're awesome, huh?" she said, stoned and referring to Brine.  My Brine. 

"Uh, yeah they sure are," I said, searching the packed room in vain for Bryan's relatively familiar face. What am I doing here?  I look like a house mom!  Where's the band set up?" I asked young Brit.

"Huh?" she responded.

"The band.  Where are they?" I screamed over the music. 

She pointed her response.   I thanked her over my shoulder already rushing to get to Bryan. 

I would like to say that once I found him I was relieved, but that was not the case.  My Bryan (the manly lion-like Bryan) was replaced by a different Bryan all together. (Brine perhaps?)  His once handsome face was covered in a mask of make-up.  His look was completed by feathery, mascara-coated eyelashes which adorned his large doe eyes.  His arms, neck and ears gleamed with sparkling man-jewelry. And his body appeared smaller and more effeminate in the tight black leather jumpsuit en-cloaking his skin.

I stood stalk still unsuccessfully trying to blend the two Bryans in my mind.  The cognitive dissonance between the two felt unable to fuse.  I wondered anxiously if I'd fantasized the entire attraction. 

Surely not. I dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. 
Before I decided whether to stay or leave, he spotted me.  Even as I cringed inside, repelled by his new appearance, I found my eyes drawn to his gaze.  And somehow the two Bryans merged.

I smiled. 

He cocked his head and drank it in, bending at the knees as he sang. His talent seemed disproportionate to his dingy surroundings. I found myself pulled into his music, a renewed attraction despite my initial hesitations.

Rooted to my spot, I stared on dumbly as he made his way off the make-shift stage, through the adoring crowd, heading in my direction.  Caught up in the excitement and aroused by his intense level of attention, I submitted fully to the night and the role of Brine's number one fan. 

Honestly I didn't stand a fighting chance to do anything but, and any lingering doubts about our compatibility were unconsciously pushed to the recesses of my brain. 

He led me to what I assumed to be a special spot, reserved only for special people. And there I stayed, closing my eyes to enjoy his music. I imagined the magical lyrics crooned by the old Bryan.  The Bryan that didn't wear eyeliner and rouge.

My fantasy was interrupted by bright white lights filling the darkened room. A booming voice crackled through a bullhorn, piercing the smoke filled air and silencing the music. 

"Dallas Police, parties over," yelled a slight, frightened looking officer who looked below legal drinking age himself.   

Children scattered. My immediate reaction was relief, followed shortly by nervous excitement at the idea of leaving the over-crowded, under-aged party and spending time alone with Bryan. 

As if reading my mind he shot me a smile and together we made our exit.  Once outside he slipped his large hand into mine as naturally as if it was where it belonged.  Cocking one eyebrow suggestively, he asked. "Whatcha want to do now, gorgeous?"

"You, you, you!" I thought.  "We could grab a drink," I said.

"A drink at your house?"

Silence on my part.

"Your car?" he asked, holding out his open hand.
I handed him my keys, turned on by his confidence.  Already I was beginning to piece together exactly who Bryan was.  I believed him assertive and creative, passionate and manly, emotional and strong.  And obviously into me, I thought taking in his sexy profile, partly hidden in the dark. 

"I'm not drunk," I told him. "I can drive myself, if you need to follow in your car."

"I don't have a car." 

"No car?"  I asked, obviously surprised.  "You live in Dallas.  You need a car."

"I have a bike."

"Oh, like a motorcycle? Cool."

"No, it's a Schwinn." 

With that we climbed into my car, he in the driver's seat and me sitting shotgun--smoking cigarettes, and thinking of what to say next. 

The truth is I fully intended to sleep with him that night.  I imagined we'd make it as far as my driveway, before he ravaged me with a great and savage need.  I hoped he was as good a kisser as his fat lips suggested. I anticipated what his talented hands would feel like pressed against my bosom, stroking my nipple. Recalling how his fingers stroked his guitar, I felt a pulsing urgency between my legs.

But once we arrived at my house, Bryan didn't appear the least bit interested in sex.  In fact, he discovered my stash of Oreos and I worried he might never leave the kitchen.  He seemed entirely content to sit atop my sink and ramble (however charmingly) about his life as an artist and whether he might ever sign with a label.  He was wrapping up a semi-alarming story about his three cats (Ruby, Popsicle, and Ham), a ball of yarn and a subsequential youtube hit when I reached my limit.  I wanted him and I wanted him now, before he destroyed my fantasy with his words.   

I sat, seductively parting my long exposed legs, while straddling a bar stool in my appropriately short miniskirt. I leaned forward to amplify my already visible cleavage.   I licked my lips and willed him to kiss me, to touch me, to take me to the bed. 
Proactively I scooped up the package of remaining Oreos and re-filled his glass of milk, walking purposefully toward my bedroom. 

He followed as I knew he would.  It was now or never. I dropped the cookies and strode toward him. I pressed my eager body against his, sighing with need.  I lifted his t-shirt to find rock hard abs and knocking him to the wall I slipped his soft shirt over his head. Never breaking his heated gaze I lifted my lips and waited. 

So close I felt his breath. I waited as slowly, deliberately he responded reaching up with his capable thumb and tugging at my wet bottom lip.  And still he waited dragging out the moment of contact, prolonging the inevitable, increasing my desire. The pressure built between us until I could not stand another second.

And then he kissed me.  His mouth parted, lips gently sucking, slowly nibbling my own.  I swept my face to his neck and used my tongue to trace figures around the sensitive skin near his ears.  Teasing him, wanting him to feel and match the urgency racing through my body. 

"Annie, I can't do this," he said, stopping, pulling away and reaching for his t-shirt to cover his exposed chest. 

His words failed to compute and for a moment I babbled incoherently, lost in want and shame. 

"What?"

"I don't want meaningless sex," he said, taking me in his arms, more confident having clothed himself.

Although my cheeks flamed red with embarrassment I decided I liked this new side to Bryan. Mentally I added old-fashioned romantic to the growing list of qualities I admired in this man. Decidedly, I wanted to learn more. 

Awkwardly I apologized, telling him I understood and agreed.  Followed by an indignant, "Who said I was planning on sleeping with you, anyway?"

We each brushed our teeth (he borrowing my spare) removed our make-up (he borrowing my Clinique cleanser) and climbed into my suddenly small queen-sized bed.   Silence that threatened to build between us was broken when Bryan chuckled deeply, obviously tickled by some source unbeknownst to me. 

"What's this?" he asked, lifting my grape-jelly purple, twisty vibrator from beneath my covers, the amusement clearly visible on his now handsome, make-up less face. 

Oh my God. Instantly I recognized my sugar spoon (recommended by Lulu as, "the only vibrator aloud on her clitty-kitty").

"What are you, some sort of sex junkie?" he teased, while switching my incriminating sugar spoon on and swirling it in wide embarrassing circles. 

I pulled the covers over my head and wished to die. 

"Annie," he said, "Annie, look at me."

I peaked from beneath the safety of the sheets, exposing only my eyes, not wanting him to see my flaming cheeks.

"Come here, you."  He turned off the vibrating sounds and made an obvious effort to conceal his laughter.

I allowed my stiff body to be pulled against his and felt slightly comforted by the embrace.   

"You know," he said, playful now that the awkwardness passed, "I may not vibrate, but I can provide emotion."

I awoke at nine a.m. to the sound of Bryan snoring.   I lay in bed allowing events from last night to re-enter my consciousness and within seconds found myself fully awake. 

I snuck quietly from my room doing my best to ignore the studded man-jewelry lying upon my antique bedside table.   I made coffee, picked up an assortment of bagels from the local deli, went for a short run, checked my emails, took a shower, attempted to study for an upcoming Investigative Journalism final, fixed my hair and make-up, left irritated messages with Harriet and then Lulu, and paced for hours back and forth across my living room floor willing him to wake up.

Rude! I thought, irritation visible on my freshly made-up face. Doesn't he have someplace he needs to be? Things he needs to do today? How can he still be asleep?

At three-twenty p.m. my bedroom door opened. A sleepy looking Bryan emerged looking more boyishly handsome than ever, his brunette locks jutting out at odd angles around his face. Wiping the sleep from his just-awake bedroom eyes he stretched his arms wide, displaying his perfectly formed chest. 

"Good morning," he said, not attempting irony.   

"Good morning," I said back, well aware of the waning afternoon hours.  "I have bagels and can start you some fresh coffee," I smiled, happier now that he was awake and apparently ready to begin his day.

"Annie, come here," he said, causing me to stop and my smile to grow, despite my irritation. 
I walked to him and stopped, our body's inches apart, unable to take another rejection but attracted much to my dismay. 

He scooped me up like a child. His strength took me by surprise as he cradled me and easily made his way, our way, to the couch. He deposited me onto fluffy chenille pillows, dropping his body next to mine and covering us with my silky faux fox throw. 

It was here we stayed swapping stories, sharing dreams, and watching bad television for the remainder of the day, into the evening, throughout the night, and into the early morning hours.   

The next morning I awoke (stuffed in the crevice of my couch) with a start.  Bryan was curled up next to me, hogging my faux throw, snoring loudly, and smelling as though he'd not showered in days (which he had not). 

I kicked him. 

He groaned and rolled to his side. 

I kicked harder this time, forcing him awake. 

"Good morning, beautiful," he sighed, rolling toward me with foul morning breath, pulling me out of the couch crevice and into his arms.  "Isn't this the life?"

"Errr," I began, "yes, it's nice."

"I could do this all day long," he agreed, happily closing his eyes as if ready for a nap. 

"Bryan, don't you have stuff you need to do?" I asked trying to sound cool. As if I wanted him to say, "No, Annie, my only goal in life is to lay here beside you on this couch." 

"Not a thing," he replied in a tone suggesting he expected a delighted response. 

And maybe I should've been pleased.  Perhaps there was something terribly wrong with me that I couldn't simply sit and lay about my house doing well, nothing.  But it felt stifling and at the idea of enduring a repeat of the previously worthless day, I lied.   

"I have to go to class."  The truth is my classes were cancelled in preparation for finals, but what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. I cast Bryan what I hoped was a regretful look and shrugged. 

"I can wait here for you.  Then we'll take up where we left off," he offered hopefully.

"Umm, I have classes all day.  Like, five of them so you might not want to wait," I said, inwardly aghast.  Is he serious?

"I can drop you off at your house if you want."

He laughed, "Well, that's the thing.  I'm kind of between houses right now."

"Between houses?" I asked, hoping I was jumping to the wrong conclusion and beginning to feel suffocated in his arms. 

"Yeah, my roommates got us evicted from our last apartment so until I find something new, I'm between houses," he confirmed my fear.  "But you can drop me off at the studio," he added, catching the look of panic growing in my eyes. 

"Okay," I sighed, once again able to breathe knowing we'd soon be abandoning our camp on the couch.  I stretched my legs and rose, eager to get the day underway.

"Just give me another thirty minutes of sleep," he called as I brushed my teeth.  "I hate waking up before noon!"

It took a forty-five minute, piping hot shower to calm my nerves.  But somehow soothed by thick clouds of steam I composed myself.  I rationalized that, Bryan is a rock star (well almost) and this was the life of a musician.  That didn't mean he's unmotivated necessarily, right? 

With that thought I swept number two on my "husband want list" out of my mind without a second glance.

Helloooo, lovers! Can't get enough Fag Hag? Push my star :)

Also, I am taking part in the Brigade Watty Awards, and I'll be in love with you forever for voting for Fag Hag in the contest. It is chapter 83 and here is the link:

http://my.w.tt/UiNb/io0KGX0lkv

Thank you so very much!!