Vacation

For spring break, S and I went to New Orleans for 4 days. I spent 3 nights with him in DC, 3 in New Orleans and another in DC before I left. For a relationship that's otherwise made up of scattered weekends and a steady flow of AIM and text messaging, a 24/7 of each other had the potential to be difficult. I fully expected at some point to have a full on yelling/crying fight.

But I was very excited, I researched hotels and restaurants and bars, I had visions of walking around the French Quarter, spending afternoons in little cafes and boutiques, drinking Sazeracs in very posh bars all evening, slipping into the white sheets of our king size hotel bed....

Like most over-anticipated events, the reality didn't really live up to that. Bourbon Street was filled with middle aged middle american tourists with fanny packs milling in and out of dark dingy bars with plastic cups of daquaris and glassy dead eyes. A chubby girl in a bra and thong stood outside a club with a sign for big ass beers . I felt like such a prude. Much of the rest of the area was made up of souvenir shops and more bars. As we walked all over I started to despair. What was I thinking, what were we going to do in a place like this? It's not a town that caters to the young urban professional, which he is and I tend to behave as. Walking all over wasn't even as much fun as I'd hoped, and there are suprisingly few cafes in the quarter. I think I might have confused New Orleans with Paris.

But we had a great time. A few great restaurants and a hotel room were really all we needed. I had anticipated having a hotel room with S with as much excitment as the trip itself- sex in a hotel room always sounded so glamorous. I'd brought all my favorite lingerie- black lacey thong and bra with thigh high stockings, bra and panty sets, my sheer pink baby doll... S has an exceptional appreciation for these things, so they didn't go to waste but most of the time I found myself naked or in sweats curled up with him, no make up and hair a mess. I'd thought that taking us to this vibrant, excitingly unfamilliar city would stir up that sexy, uninhibited feeling that inspires impulsiveness in people on vacation, but instead we seemed to just indulge in the familiarity of one another.

Although I was very glad I brought my super short blue plaid mini skirt, cropped white oxford, over the knee socks and 4 inch heels. I've been thinking about that for months, and finally had a chance to see if it looked as hot as I imagined. S said, "This? Is worth the trip." "You know, I have all this in my apartment..."

By the time we checked out we were more than ready to leave. Getting back seemed to take a lot longer, and curling up in S's bed had the same comfortable familliarity of my own bed.