Yet here she was standing outside my door with a friend. And both of them were pretty tipsy.

She asked if she and her friend could come inside our apartment to change into their costumes. She couldn’t change at her aunt’s place, she said, because she was sleeping and she didn’t want to wake her up. Would we mind if she used our bathroom instead?

It was a pretty strange request. Sure, weird stuff happens on Halloween, but I barely knew her, and it isn’t every day that someone shows up at your front door and asks to change into their ladybug costume. But I told her it was fine and she was welcome to use our place to get ready.

It didn’t take long before the two women—who’d clearly been drinking—were sitting on my couch, beers in hand, trying to convince my roommate and me to join them for a night on the town. Christine was in the holiday spirit dressed in her ladybug outfit. Her friend, who had a female pirate costume on, was much more quiet and reserved. She barely spoke all night.

It was a Wednesday evening, and my roommate and I hadn’t been planning to go out. We both had to get up pretty early the next morning for work. But Christine was insistent that we join them, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Come on, guys! Let’s go! Just throw something on!” she said.

The costume that I wore for the Halloween a year before—a boy scout’s uniform that belonged to a friend—was still sitting in my closet. So that made it easy. But my roommate had no idea what to put on.

Christine immediately came up with an idea. She pointed to a cardboard box in the kitchen—the kind that 12-packs of Coca-Cola come in—and told him to cut a hole in the middle and put it on top of his head. We weren’t sure what she was suggesting.

“You can go as a cokehead!” she said, bursting into laughter.

With our costume situation sorted out, we headed to South Street, where lots of bars in Philadelphia are located. Half an hour later, the four of us were seated at a table and knocking back beers.

It really didn’t take very long for Christine to make her move. She’d grabbed my hand on the way from the apartment to South Street, so I can’t say I was totally surprised when she leaned in to kiss me soon after we arrived at the bar.

I could tell when we first met that Christine was older than me. I was 25, and although I never asked her age, I’d have guessed she was in her early 30s. It was only recently that I found out her real age and learned she was in her late 30s when we hooked up. There’s a 14-year gap between us, but she looks good for her age. I don’t think I’d heard the word “cougar” yet at that point, but that’s probably what I’d call her.

Aggressive is another word I’d use to describe her. At the bar, she confessed to me that her aunt really hadn’t been sleeping. She hadn’t even gone to her apartment to check, she said. She had remembered me from our five-minute meeting the previous summer, and used the story about her aunt as an excuse to knock on my door. She’d set her sights on me from the beginning.

Christine was pretty intense, and she was pretty outspoken that night, but we didn’t talk politics much. Her aunt had told me that Christine ran for Senate a year earlier and had lost, so I knew a bit about her background. But the most political she got that night was when she said she attended lots of events in Washington that attracted congressmen and senators. “It would be nice to have a good-looking young man to attend those with me,” she added.

We’d probably knocked back five Heinekens when Christine leaned over and whispered in my ear that she wanted to go back to my place. Before we could go, though, she told me to ask her friend if she’d mind if I drove Christine home later that evening. That was odd. I guess Christine didn’t want to come across as a slut in her friend’s eyes for going home with me, so she wanted me to bring it up her friend first.

I did what I was told and asked her friend if she had any objection to me hanging out with Christine a little longer provided I took her home later on in the evening. She didn’t, and a few minutes after that, we were all headed back to my apartment. Christine’s friend got in her car and went home. My roommate went to his bedroom and went to sleep. And Christine and I got cozy on the couch and popped open another beer.

Things got physical on the couch pretty quickly. It wasn’t long before we’d moved from the living room to my bed.

I won’t get into the nitty gritty details of what happened between the sheets that evening. But I will say that it wasn’t half as exciting as I’d been hoping it would be. Christine was a decent kisser, but as soon as soon as her clothes came off and she was naked in my bed, Christine informed me that she was a virgin.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. She didn’t explain at the time that she was a “born-again virgin.” She made it seem like she’d never had sex in her life, which seemed pretty improbable for a woman her age. And she made it clear that she was planning on staying a virgin that night. But there were signs that she wasn’t very experienced sexually. When her underwear came off, I immediately noticed that the waxing trend had completely passed her by.

O’DonnellObviously, that was a big turnoff, and I quickly lost interest. I said goodnight, rolled over, and went to sleep. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. I had to get up at 6:30 to go to work.

Christine wasn’t in the best of shape when my alarm clock went off three hours later. I was hungover and exhausted and we’d both had about the same amount to drink, so I’m guessing she was feeling even worse. I got up and started to get dressed and told Christine she’d need to get up, too. But she clearly didn’t want to budge, and even after I’d reminded her a few times, she was still under the covers. Did she think I was going to leave for work and let her sleep in my bed?

When she finally did get up and dressed and we got in the car, Christine couldn’t remember exactly where her friend lived. We circled around for about 20 minutes before we found it, and I dropped her off in the parking lot next to her car, as she asked me to. We said goodbye and exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. But there wasn’t a whole lot of back and forth. I didn’t even try to give her a kiss goodbye.

I wasn’t planning on contacting Christine after our night together. Things hadn’t gone so great—especially the part that took place in my bedroom—and I didn’t see any reason to try and see her again. But two or three days later, she emailed me to ask me if I wanted to hang out again. I made an excuse. But she didn’t take a hint and emailed or called a few more times over the next couple of weeks before I was forced to make it clear to her that I wasn’t interested.

Things worked out for the best, though. A few weeks later, Christine started dating my roommate. They went out for over a year, and it was a little awkward the first few times Christine came over to visit him at our apartment and we all had to make conversation in the living room. But that passed pretty quickly. And in case you’re wondering, he never had sex with her either, as far as I know.

When I heard several months ago that Christine had decided to run again, I didn’t take it very seriously. And I never expected in a million years that she’d end up winning the primary. But she did, and the morning after the election, I sat in disbelief as I watched the news on TV. For a second, I thought I might be hearing things and I went over to my computer and pulled up CNN.com to check if it was true. It was.