Chelsea Handler - My Horizontal Life - A Collection of One-Night Stands

I looked at Carter with a whole new level of respect and couldn't wait for us to start seeing each other more seriously. These feelings I had for him, coupled with the fact that I had just seen the episode of Oprah where she had a doctor on who explained that the more sex an individual had, the healthier they'd be, led me to my next decision. In my ever constant desire to maintain a healthy lifestyle, I decided it was time to make my move.

I got up and announced, "Well, everyone, I'm beat. I'm going up to my room. Carter, would you like to join me for a nightcap?"

"Of course," he said and stood up.

We stopped at the concierge's desk on our way to the elevator bank. "Would you mind sending up some ice to room 1202 please?" I asked.

"Sure thing, right away," he told me. Just as we were about to step inside the elevator I ran back and whispered to the concierge, "Do you have any condoms?"

"Absolutely, Miss Handler," he said with a very professional smile. "I'll have them sent right up."

"Well, that was easy," I told Carter as I caught back up with him inside the elevator.

We weren't alone in the elevator so we didn't start kissing until we got into my hotel room. It wasn't immediate, though, because first Carter headed straight to the minibar and took out every bottle of alcohol.

There was a couch that ran the length of the window and was connected to the wall. We sat on it together while he poured me a warm vodka and soda and a gin and tonic for himself. Then he went to the fridge and took out a sixteen-dollar bottle of Vos water and chugged it.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I'm just so parched."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have to pay for any of this?" he asked.

"No, don't worry about it. Have some Pringles too if you want."

"That's okay," he smiled.

We made out for a little bit, which was pretty blase. We didn't have the chemistry I was hoping we would, and I was sensing Carter wasn't able to relax. He kept getting up and sitting back down. He was a really nice guy and charming, but his body language was all over the place. Then we heard a knock at my door. He tipped the bellhop and grabbed the ice bucket along with a sunglasses case.

"What is this?" he asked as he opened it and saw three condoms splayed inside like magazines at a doctor's office.

"Did you order condoms?" he asked me.

"No, are those really condoms?" I asked. "That is so funny. Talk about good hotel service."

Carter was emptying ice into our glasses while I turned on the satellite radio. I went to the bathroom to freshen up and take a last look at my gut. I wasn't happy with it, but I had noticed that Carter's body wasn't in tip-top condition either and he was carrying a little extra meat around the middle. He had the physique of a football player who had stopped playing years earlier.

I brushed my teeth and came out. Carter was sitting on the window sofa when I approached. He made a movement with his mouth that I immediately recognized from my friend Nathan's drug-induced repertoire. It indicated one of two things: either he had a hair in his mouth or he was on cocaine. It was not at all attractive and I needed to investigate further.

"Are you partying right now?" I asked.

He hesitated and then said, "I just did a tiny little line. Is that okay?"

"I don't know. Is this going to affect your performance?" I asked, referring to his penis.

"No, no, not at all," he replied.

Carter took this as his cue to prove to me that he was indeed ready for some action and threw me on the bed. He got on top of me and started to put his hand up my shirt when I moved it down the back of my pants instead. I wanted my torso quarantined until I could get into the perfect horizontal position with my hands over my head to ensure a leaner look.

"Your butt is so cute," he said as he squeezed it a little too hard.

"You think that's good, wait until you get a load of these!" I said as I threw off my shirt and undid my bra.

"Wow," he said.

"Don't look, feel!" I told him, as I forced his head between the girls.

Then he moved his head down my stomach. I stretched out farther and farther and he set off for downtown.

I quickly pulled him back up. I don't like oral sex between strangers and had to redirect focus. I undid his pants, and he tried again with his head to travel in a southerly direction.

"No," I said. "Let's have sex."

I yanked Carter's pants off and he reached for one of the condoms that he had placed on the nightstand. We were rolling around a little until he put one on and headed in the direction of my vagina.

A moment went by while I waited for him to get started. Instead, he just laid on top of me in silence. Was this Carter's idea of sex?

"What's up?" I asked.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "I don't think I can get it going."

"What?" I asked.

"I did a little more than one line… but I can do other things," he said.

I wondered if by other things he meant finding me someone with a working penis.

"I feel like shit," he said.

"Ugh," I said and put my hand over my forehead. "Don't you work for the government?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Well, what do you guys do, just sit around and blow lines together? Is that what's taking place in our nation's capital?"

"No, no, not at all."

"This is ridiculous," I said and rolled over to cover myself with the comforter.

"Can I come to L.A. and make it up to you? This doesn't usually happen," Carter explained.

Come to L.A? I thought.

I was so irritated by the whole situation. I hadn't even wanted to go out in the first place tonight, and now look what happened. I consumed way more than my allotted fifteen-hundred-caloric intake, all in the name of sex, and now I wasn't getting any.

"I'm going to sleep," I told him.

"I'm leaving my number for you. I'd like to see you again if you're not too turned off."

"Great," I said with the same enthusiasm I reserve for Steven Seagal movies.

I woke up the next morning and found Carter's cell number scribbled on a hotel pad. I packed my things in order for our airport pickup at nine A.M. At eight, I went down to the restaurant and ordered an egg white omelet with a side of Tabasco. I needed to get serious about the couple of extra pounds I had packed on. I sat at a table by myself, reading Dear Abby. When in doubt, advice about lending out a hairbrush will always put things in perspective.

The thought occurred to me that the one-night stand was not nearly as much fun as it used to be. I felt disgusted with myself for being so disappointed in a complete stranger not being able to perform. I felt like a man must feel after using and abusing women for ages. Then I reminded myself that I had only physically hit one man, and he had seemed to enjoy it. I felt better, but was still low. What am I doing, I thought.

If I continued on this path, the only men I was going to meet were guys like me, and I definitely don't want to end up with someone like me. The idea of marriage and monogamy were concepts that didn't make me shiver like they once used to. I wanted someone like Shoniqua had, to call when I was traveling or to come back to after happy hour ended.

The thought of giving up alcohol crossed my mind too, but I was soon reminded of the promise to Ketel One, Grey Goose, and other top-shelf vodkas I had made in my early twenties. Never turn your back on someone who has asked nothing in return.

These were feelings I had felt coming on in the past couple of years that I repeatedly pushed to my subconscious for fear of my very first panic attack.

I felt like maybe it was time to grow up, and I was not happy about it.

Shoniqua, of course, came down at ten minutes past nine because she had never been on time in her life. I was already in our idling car when the driver opened the door for her. She hopped in. "What's up, ho?! How was it?"