|"Twitterpated," as Thumper said|
Once I've spent the night at his place, there are four scenarios to contend with:
1. Neither of us have anywhere to be.
Morning sex. There is only one right answer, and this is it. Extra credit for a coffee machine with a timer so I can grab a cup of joe -- and a look at his butt in morning-after shorts -- on my way out the door.
2. He has somewhere to be, and I don't.
Nothing says, "Great and careful work, partner. We should do this again," like offering to let me stay in his bed after he leaves. Please note, however, that this is a carefully laid bear trap: take him up on the offer, and he's going to assume that you stayed to snoop. Which is even more damaging if that is, in fact, what happened. (Ladies, please, don't do this.)
3. I have somewhere to be, and he doesn't.
Full marks to any guy who throws on a pair of shorts (but only shorts -- see above re: getting a look at his butt) and walks me out. I get the satisfaction of a proper good-bye; he gets to go back to bed; I get to imagine him sprawling out and curling up with a pillow once I'm gone. A happy thought for the whole day.
4. We both have somewhere to be.
I'll need 10 minutes of uninterrupted bathroom time (including at least minimal access to soap, toothpaste, running water and a towel). He gets the same. Then, the crucial moment: will he awkwardly make me leave, then follow me out the door moments later? Will he insist on leaving together, only to split on the street corner with a hasty, "See you around"? Will he walk way too fast and leave me in his dust wondering what the hell I was thinking?
But a guy who doesn't make me rush down the street in last night's heels, suggests coffee or breakfast (You got me out to *shudders* Brooklyn; at least fortify me for the journey home!), then kisses me goodbye? Game on, sir. This was a pop quiz, and you've just aced it. See me after class for extra credit.