I was donned in slick Banana Republic slacks, classy Kenneth Cole loafers, a spiffy fitting Banana Republic V-Neck sweater with a scarf wrapped around my neck, and my cool confidence. I meant business tonight.
That night I had a first date. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t great. It was categorically perfect. I could not have imagined that any better (didn’t stop my brain from trying though). That’s the first time ever that reality exceeded my imaginative mind’s expectations. The only thing I would have asked for is more time.
Let’s just say that when you have that feeling, it’s like someone else is steering your ship, and you want to let it. You’re thrilled at the prospect of where it might take you. I indulged this without much trepidation. A fool’s move perhaps, but I’m not scared anymore.
We had a nice phone conversation the evening before. We played a little game where we took turns asking questions, and I think that help set the tone for the night and gave us a good basis for conversation. I think it made her more comfortable with me before we met. She had been so unusually kind up to that point that I was still waiting for the catch. Was she fat? A Transgender maybe? I promised myself, even if any of those were true, that I would have a good time and follow through with my plans. Remember scepticism is healthy, within reason of course.
However, the second I laid eyes on her, all of those concerns were quickly allayed. Suddenly my cool confidence started wavering, and I began getting a little nervous. She was more attractive in person (it’s usually the other way around). She was clad in a breathtaking red dress that brandished her scrumptious voluptuous figure and moderately sized heels colored in gold and of tactful height. Her skin was a delicious caramel color, and she had just the right amount of makeup on, which is to say very little. She gave me an endearing, warm, and pure hug. She smelled heavenly. I opened the door to my car and pulled out the bouquet of flowers that I had gotten her. They were a nice wintery assortment of flowers of varying colors and styles, a representation of my own eclecticness. She was pleasantly surprised, and so thankful.
That’s not all I brought though. It was her birthday, so I was going to have to make her feel even more special. I reached in my trunk for a bag of 3 different wines that I had gotten for her: Ménage à Trois Folie à Deux (California 2012), a special Marques De Riscal Rioja (Spain 2007), and a DR Loosen Bros Riesling (Germany 2012). Refined tastes, all are personal favorites of mine.
I suggested we take the flowers upstairs and put them in water and perhaps have a quick glass of wine before heading out. She agreed without trepidation. She held my arm as we made our way inside her apartment complex. Establishing touch on a date is important, but I had never established it this fast before. But this felt right, not awkward or contrived; it was immediately natural.
My usually keen and attentive senses were dulled by her presence. I could not focus on anything but her such that I don’t remember much about the elevator nor the hallways. As we approached her apartment she warned me not to judge her about the “mess” she had since she didn’t have time to clean. Sounds like something I would say. She opened the door to her quaint bachelorette pad. I distinctly remember entering first. As I entered I noticed her car keys on the floor next to some flats she had lying around. It was clear she just dumped everything on the floor the minute she last opened that door. I picked up her keys, and upon inspecting them, immediately realized they were identical to mine. In fact I pulled mine out to make sure nothing was amiss. “Don’t tell me we have the same car”, I thought.
She lived alone to my surprise. As we put the flowers in some water, I noticed she didn’t have a television set. I was pleasantly surprised and pleased by this. I didn’t mention this to her but I have a disdain for Television and its mind-melting effects. This was yet another thing on the staggering list of things we had in common, a list that only grew mysteriously as the night elapsed.
After we set the flowers down I asked her to pick one of the wines I brought for us to enjoy. She was, in her usual cute indecisive overly-analytical self (yet another trait we shared), stumped, so I gave her a little nudge. We had the Marques de Riscal. We both agreed it was a superbly delicious red. We sat by the window in her living room, which had an absolutely bedazzling view of Long Beach, the ocean, and the mountains. I would just stare all day if I wasn’t graced with the company of such a lovely woman. Marvelous Red Wine, a fine and elegant lady clad in Red, and the most Romantic view I’ve seen out here yet. Ahh the finer things in life.
I had one more surprised in store for her, to her astonishment. I went back to the kitchen a pulled a sealed one-page hand-written letter that I had written especially for her. While she sat and read it, she smiled, paused, stood up, and gave me an endearing warm hug, then continued on to finish the letter. It was a sweet cheesy letter, but genuine and so worth it; her magnanimous reactions to my gestures were greatly appreciated. I put a lot of attention to detail here, and her countenance was visibly fazed by it all. Most girls hate surprises, despite statements to the contrary, which lends more credence to the fact that she is a woman. She took all of it so well. What can I say except that she brought out the inner Romantic in me like never before, and it was extremely rewarding to me.
Our conversation was fun, witty, and full of quips and cheese. We had to make our way to the play though, so we swigged the last few sips of wine and out the door we were. Ten minutes into the night and I already knew this was the best date I ever had.
In the car, conversation was flowing very smoothly. I even felt gutsy enough to sing aloud. She claims she liked my voice. I boldly reached for her hand while we were driving to the theater. I wanted to see if that physical connection was there. It was. I dislike holding hands, but only when it’s the wrong pair of hands you’re holding. This pair of soft comforting small hands I yearned for, and fit so well in mine. Touch is the purest form of communication, and in this form we communicated just right. I loved the way she caressed my hands and my arms as I steered the car to our destination.
The theatre was tucked away in a clandestine part of Downtown Fullerton. It was one of those hidden gems. It was a cool dark evening without much wind. Although she was perfectly capable, I held the doors for her as we entered the theatre.
We arrived just in the nick of time. The lady at the booth told us that she was going to give our tickets away. It’s little things like that that just made the evening so magical. As we made our fashionably late entrance into the theatre, I scanned the waiting area. This was definitely and older and more mature crowd, which I loved. I always fit in better with older people anyway. I eyed the bar across the room. I held her hand as we deftly made our way through the crowd. I ordered us some wine: a Chardonnay for her and a Cabernet for me. They were the only two, but suitable options. Everything just felt so right. I mean I had done all planning, sure, but it was like there was something else planning the little details this evening along with me.
The play was quite enjoyable. It was Eugene O’neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night. It’s a dreadfully depressing play full of witty references to genre classics, poetry, Nietzsche philosophy, and Shakespearean literature. I kept expecting it to end it tragedy. It left me yearning for more though. The acting was decent, and the venue was enjoyable, but it was just nice to just hold and caress her during the show. I felt so close to her as I held her in my arms. I would periodically glance at her as she sat on my right to make sure my senses weren’t deceiving me. She enjoyed it as I ran my fingers through her hair and caressed her face. She made it difficult to concentrate on the play.
During the play’s intermezzo, and throughout the night, she probed me for deep content. She asked deep questions too, about politics, religion, and such. I didn’t hold my tongue in blasting both institutions as outdated and espousing how I feel about them. I told her politicians don’t know jack shit about social engineering or planning for the earth’s carrying capacity. They hide behind irrelevant ideologies rather than use science to solve problems. I also told her religions are akin to children believing in Santa Claus, only they kept believing in it as adults. I cited numerous hypocrisies on how god is all loving and powerful, yet gets jealous, and destroys entire populations when they don’t do what he likes. I guess he didn’t like the products he turned out; he apparently errs to. Isn’t erring to be human? Sounds a lot like the humans he so created. Did god create us in his image, or did we create him in ours? Rhetorical question of course.
I’m not used to people asking such deep questions at all, let alone on a first date. If she’s anything like me, any righteous talk about god, Jesus, sin, bible, blah, is an instant turn off. I’m flattered that she wanted to get to know me at more than just a superficial level. That just makes me want her all the more.
I told her that I’m not trying to fill some hole, void, or emptiness. I told her this was beyond that. She augmented my existence. I loved everything about her just the way she was. She is the only woman that I have ever felt completely proud to have at my side and in my arms. She made me feel more than I was, better. I believe that your partner is a representation of you, and even in past relationships I didn’t feel that way. She confessed to me that she was afraid of getting burned. I’m glad she confessed that vulnerability so that I can understand her a little better.
You know it’s real when you can click with somebody so well without even really trying. We were on the same page on so many levels. Though I can only speak for myself, I think both of us were thrilled by the prospect of having someone on similar mental, physical, and spiritual levels. I had forgotten that such a thing could exist. I’m still all smiles. To any stranger we would seemed like a serious couple that had been dating for a while. No one would guess this was our first date.
As I drove her back home, I asked if I could accompany her to her apartment; the protective male instincts kicked in. I suddenly realized this suggestion meant something else entirely in the dating book. She paused for a while, “Ummm”, until I clumsily blurted “No, it’s not what you think!” I just genuinely wanted to accompany her to her apartment door. She anemically agreed as we arrived at her apartment complex, this time we found ample parking.
“So is this the part where we go back to our lives and never see each other again?”, I said. “Stop it, that’s just sad.”, she replied.
All night I had been thinking about caressing her lips against mine. We had been very affectionate throughout the night, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but we hadn’t reach that level yet. We came close at the theatre but I resisted. I know it would have been a memorable place to do it, and I somewhat regret not going for it then and there, but I knew that furnace burning in us would not be easily extinguished if we opened that hatch, and the crowded theatre wasn’t the place to play with such a vivacious unquenchable inferno!
I thought more about where to first introduce our lips. She’s special like that. I didn’t really want to do it in my car, you know, because I wanted the place to be something I can visit and remember. My car is disposable unfortunately, but so was her apartment. I decided that between the two, my car would probably be around (and accessible) longer than her place, so I reached for the kiss.
She was a fabulous kisser. Neat, tasty, slow, controlled, sensual, and natural, just the right amount of tongue, without a hint of sloppiness or bad breath. I embraced her delicious small lips with mine. We kissed to Melody Gardot’s ‘My One and Only Thrill’. Again, just perfection. In that instant, I had not a single care in my mind, but not in the blissfully ignorant way. It was more like a blissfully aware state where time was revealed as the illusion that it is. I was fully conscious in the now.
After that kiss, she changed her mind about letting me accompany her upstairs. I knew why, and I like that she resisted. The temptation would have been too much to resist. Restraint is an ever admirable trait. To me it means not only a sign of self-respect and maturity, but also a sign of self-confidence, and here’s why: a lot of women make the mistake of giving it up too soon to please their guy; they are afraid of losing him if they don’t. Guys, meanwhile, are afraid that if they don’t go for it then and there they won’t get another chance in the future. Resisting those fears and lust is the sign of someone special, someone I want in my life.
I walked her to her building entrance and she seemed in a hurry to get upstairs. “That’s no way to say goodbye”, I quipped. We exchanged another sweet long soft kiss in front of the unusually exuberant security guard who was really a glorified doorman. I didn’t care who was watching. I didn’t know anything about tomorrow. All I knew about was that moment right there.
Getting home was a challenge. There was a very dense eerie fog across Southern California as I tried to make my way home. What’s more the California Government, in its infinite stupidity decided a Friday night was the perfect time to close off a major interstate highway. I struggled following detour signs as the fog made it a precarious challenge to get home. It did give me plenty of time to absorb all that had happened. I could still smell her distinct flavor on my lips as I rolled into bed that night.