Closet Encounters of the Third Kind

CLOSET ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND


The coffee shop was bare and Ryan was craving a cup when he saw a familiar face.

“Jeez, that's Miranda....!”, blurt Ryan's animated mind.


***

“You know, when we had sex, we were oblivious to the world! We didn't care if anyone caught us!”, exclaimed Ryan.

“Ryan, we didn't have sex, we thrust bottoms at each other in a dark closet! That's not sex!”, opined Miranda.

“Back then, that was sex.”, replied Ryan.

And in many ways, he was right. They were both twenty back then, eleven years ago, both very drunk, and both on the prowl. Today, running into each other, still recognizing the other's face, still laughing about that closet encounter, was amusing if nothing else.

As they sipped on coffee (back then it would've been gin and tonic), they had chat for almost two hours about the pelvic gesticulation that last five minutes.

“I'm surprised I didn't think more about that night down the line. I mean, we were perfect strangers having unprotected sex.”

“I was drinking cognac. I oozed of class.”, he joked.

They both smiled. Ryan vividly remembered that night, as if it were his graduation ceremony. She had been in a tight black dress, and he'd been wearing his sports coat. He remembered each moment because he had elaborately described the encounter to his buddies scores of times.

“Why didn't we become a thing, Ryan?”, asked Miranda.

“Well, I'd already gotten the sex...”, he said, deadpan.

“You prude...!”, she exclaimed, as they both broke into laughter.

Miranda didn't want to mention it, but there was a closet just behind where Ryan was sitting. It wasn't very often there was a closet in a coffee shop, she thought, visible to customers at least. She had never really noticed closets before.

“Anyways, Ryan.. tell me about your---...”, she cut herself mid-sentence. “Nah, I think it's better this way. I think it's better we stay the way we are. Unknown, anonymous, and cool. What do you think?”

“I agree with you, partner. Although I wonder, has time changed you in all these years?”, he asked, curious, and wanting a genuine answer.

Miranda smiled.

“Compared to then? Life's not as fun anymore...”, she replied.

“Same here. Societal dilemmas... jobs, car payments, mortgage..”, he sighed.

“Marriage?”

“No.”

“Likewise. So, what's on your mind, Ryan?”

There wasn't much on his mind, but Ryan was thinking of the closet located right behind him. Miranda looked hot, and he was sure he'd have to play it cool this time. She wasn't drunk, and she wasn't twenty. He might have to take her to dinner first, which, in all actuality, would ruin the relationship these two shared; it had been brief, but it had been cosy. And most of all, it had been youthful.

Miranda sipped her coffee.

“Ryan, do you think we're getting old...?”, she asked, as if having read his mind.

“Why's that?”

“I don't know, I just feel I have to be a certain way, to conform, to subsist..”

There was a grimace on both their faces. Deep in their hearts, that brief fling in the closet felt eons away, a metaphor of their youth, something they had both drawn inspiration from when they felt themselves losing vigor and time. And to each other, they were symbols of vitality and sexual prowess.

“Maybe we are getting old, what do you know. I sure don't want to get old, though”, said Ryan.

“Twenty seems so far away.. I wish I could go back..”

There was silence.

“You know... there's a...”, Ryan began to speak, turning his head towards the closet.

“...closet in this shop?”, she completed him.

Their eyes met, communicating on a level deeper than physical.

***

This time, the closet had a light bulb. It was enough for the two to visually enjoy each other's bodies, to not be passionately blind and prodding for stability when the rush surged. A quick peck on the lips, and soon, tongues exchanged mouths as the two lost souls began searching for their youth within the other's pharynx.

A moment in, and she pulled back.“Let's keep it dignified this time”, she said.

“'What, in a broom closet?”, he riposted, then gently downcast his eyes. “Sure, sure, we're 30”.

Their hands run along each other's bare skin. They had only known each other's names in all these years, but anonymity made them enigmas. They were beyond best friends, or spouses, or casual acquaintances – they were time capsules yearning to be opened.

Unlike the last time, tonight, Ryan was more of a man than boy, and Miranda had already learnt what it meant to be a woman.

She slid her panties down and lift her skirt as Ryan unbuttoned his trousers. The kissing continued.

“This is.. great..”, Ryan just had to say.

Their bodies intertwined. “Make love to me, Ryan... Yes...”, whispered Miranda. Their bodies had become more synchronized and the temperature in the small, cluttered compartment had rised.

And just then, white light engulfed their comfort zone. The closet door had been opened by a young, unsuspecting waitress, who was so horrified by what she saw she let out a loud shriek.

Ryan and Miranda wondered if young adults these days engaged in such scrupulous activities, but within moments, the manager (a fat, mustached, middle-aged un-sexed man) was at their face.

“Do you know what you're doing is against the law?!”, he annoyedly squealed. “You guys better leave, or I'm calling the cops! Get a room!”

“A room is what we don't want”, they both thought to themselves.

Embarrassedly, the not-really-couple left the closet, and rushed out the coffee shop.

***
“That was a drag”, Miranda said.

“What we need is a drink”, said Ryan, pointing at an Irish bar just across the street.

The woman smiled. “You're right, cowboy.”

The music in the bar was loud and the crowd was mostly youthful. A large college gang had taken over the premises, and were encroaching upon the music, the bartenders, the beer pong and the good whiskey.

“That used to be us!”, said Miranda, a little nostalgic, and a little saddened.

“Well, don't let that get in the way of beer”, he said.

The two got standing room by the bar, and ordered a black beer each. The white frothing on the top of their mugs looked enticing – it was all gone within the first swig. “I could order another beer just for the froth”, he said. The college kids were in full swing, they were drunk, and they were still going strong.

“A part of me wants to jump right in with them – and another part tells me I'm smarter than that”, she said.

“So what are you going to do?”, he asked, smiling.

“I think I'm going to join them...”, she declared. Before Ryan could say anything, she was gone, walking over to the beer pong table. He noticed her snug bottom and thought she looked ravishing. Her lace top and tight jeans made her look twenty-five, and if he hadn't known she was thirty, he would've believed it himself. He noticed her say something to the drunken group, and within a second, she had the ping-pong ball in her hand. Two tall, buff boys in football jackets had their eyes on her – jeez, he thought - “That's exactly what I'd have done too.” And so, he walked over as well.

Rusty and out-of-practice, unlike their college going selves, both Miranda and Ryan lost too many games, and had to drink a bit too much. Their livers weren't young like their competitors', and they had been too used to 10 PM bed times and 6 AM alarm clocks. They were routinized, while these lads and gals lived off rum and ice.

Miranda and Ryan took opposite sides, trying to mingle with the young adults as much as possible – maybe the fountain of youth would rub off on them. Any onlooker would tell you that it was impossible to distinguish (physically) between Ryan, Miranda, and the college-going kids. But their plight was mental, it seemed.

And a little bit physical too – Ryan starting feeling more than just tipsy.

One of the football players chuckled. “Looks like daddy-o here can't take a beer.”

Ryan didn't respond, he was almost going to throw up. He looked around for Miranda, and felt a little anxious when he didn't see her anywhere.

“Hey... Miranda?”, he asked, rather disoriented. “Miranda?” He prod for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Ryan reprimanded himself, as his drunken stupor reduced itself in the slight panic Miranda's disappearance had caused him. He was annoyed over not taking her phone number.

Ryan walked over to the bar, still looking for Miranda, who had vanished in thin air. Ryan's vision was a little blurry, his mind a little unstable. He cautiously grabbed a bar stool and seated himself.

“I'll have a water, please!”

He wanted his stupor to die down before he went home, where his girlfriend would not be too pleased with his drunkenness. And then he thought, “Why must I be whipped by my girlfriend?!”. But he didn't feel like drinking anything other than water at that point. “I'm not whipped, I'm just drunk.

Almost as if he spoke his thoughts aloud, the pretty lady sitting next to him remarked - “Somebody waiting at home?”

Ryan was taken aback. “How do you know?”

“Why have the water when you can just go home and sleep?”

Ryan smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you're right.”

“I'm Michelle”, she said, extending her hand. Ryan took it and introduced himself. Michelle was a woman in her thirties, who looked it, dressed in a tight leather jacket and jeans. She had shoulder-level hair, and looked a definite white-collar. She was drinking a gin, or a vodka, and seemed to be feeling quite social, but wasn't mad enough to join the beer pong game. By now, Ryan's intoxication had reduced to a comfortable position.

“I noticed you playing the beer pong. Had fun?”, she asked, almost poking him for his attempt at tomfoolery.

“Sure. Just not that good at it anymore”, he said.

“Who cares? It's a better waste of time than a wine-and-cheese, for sure”, Michelle replied.

Ryan noticed that Michelle was a pretty woman, and he wondered what she was doing alone, a rarity for females in bars. Maybe she was waiting for someone, or had friends sitting elsewhere.

“You here alone?”, he asked. So what if he had a girlfriend waiting at home. He'd just spent all night trying to relive his youth, and he wasn't going to stop just because he lost his previous partner.

“Yeah, I stopped by for a beer. Just broke up with the man. Dumped him, actually”, she said nonchalantly, like it meant nothing. Good news for Ryan, he thought to himself.

“You wanna dance?”, he asked, pouncing on the opportunity.

It was Michelle who led him towards the music.

The night was still young by the generation's standards, and the dance floor was rather packed. Ryan thought of Miranda once or twice, but then, he aligned himself fully to Michelle. She gyrated her body to his, coming sexually close several times. They danced to different tunes, in different moods, and after a point of time, Ryan had agreed to himself that he had to make love to Michelle, since Miranda had gotten away. He had to depict his vigor to himself tonight.

And just then, as a slow song played, Michelle kissed Ryan on the lips, giving him the go-ahead for late night escapades.

He took her hand, and led her off the dance floor.

“Where are we going?”, she asked.

Ryan smiled. “There's something you'll really enjoy...”

Up ahead, about 10 steps further, was a closet. Ryan was aimed directly towards it, Michelle in tow. She realized what Ryan was upto, and she was rather surprised over his brash attitude. “This was the same guy having water in a bar...”, she thought.

Before she could provide any response of her own, Ryan turned around, grabbed her by the shoulders gently, and lay a deep, passionate kiss into her. He was a good kisser, she thought. Yet, she didn't want to make love in a bar closet – because, that wouldn't be called making love.

“Uh, Ryan..”, she said.

Ryan opened the closet door. Michelle would have to hold off her refusal, because what she and Ryan saw in the closet froze them for a few seconds.

The dark alcove of the closet had Miranda and one of the football jocks were intertwined with each other.

“We're busy, guys!”, exclaimed the jock.

Ryan pinched himself. “Miranda...?”

She left the jock's arms. “Ryan...?”

As if it were a gross illusion, Miranda looked at Ryan, and then looked back at the jock. “Ryan.. how come.. how come there's two of you?”, she blurt, quickly buttoning up her jeans.

By now, Ryan's alcoholic effect had drowned itself – it appeared Miranda was the one under heavy influence. Michelle was the curious bystander, a moment prior locking lips with Ryan, and now wondering what she had got herself into. “You two know each other?”, she asked.

“Uh, yeah..”, murmured Ryan.

Miranda looked at the jock - “Who're you?”, she exclaimed. “Oh gosh, I'm so drunk...”

Michelle was enjoying the spectacle. Ryan simply shook his head. Miranda stumbled out the closet, as the jock looked on with a nonplussed expression. “Hey, you wanna get some coffee”, he asked, as she walked away.

Miranda grabbed a hold of Ryan, and looked into his eyes, almost regretfully. “I'm sorry, Ryan, I really thought it was you... I would've never done...”, she drunkenly tried to confess.

“You would've never done what...?” Ryan asked, smiling. The night had been beyond youthful, he had realized.

“Ryan, I mean it... I really thought it was you...!”

Michelle shook her head and chuckled. “Is she your girlfriend?”, she asked, looking at Ryan. “You were taking me to a closet, but your woman got there before you!”, she added, sarcastically.

Ryan felt like a madman between a rock and a hard place. “She's not my girlfriend... We're... closet.. friends”, he stammered, and then turned to Miranda.

“Miranda, just wondering... Eleven years ago, did you think I was someone else as well?”

An awkward silence engulfed the air.