What is it they say about pizza being like sex? Even when it's bad, it's still pretty good. Well. That's true. The Gentleman and I met for pizza (not good) and ended the night at my house (very good). I am enamored with this one ... I really enjoy his sophistication. I love the fact that he plays with my hair during our conversations. I love even more the fact that whenever we walk, he reaches down and grabs my hand to hold it. I love the most that he calls me beautiful. Swoon ...
We met for pizza at a place that he said he really wanted to try. I knew that he would, after eating it, think it was just mediocre but I obviously didn't want to burst the anticipation bubble. So, we dined, talked, and decided to move on to a little bar in my neighborhood that I'd told him about numerous times and that he'd never been to. During the dinner conversation he told me that he finds it extremely attractive that I experiment with food. I think I actually blushed. Anyway ... as I was saying, we moved on, had a few rounds and continued talking. We were sitting in a booth across from each other and he reached under the table at one point, grabbed my leg, and started to massage my calf. Now normally, this would potentially bother me. Touching, in public, weird. But this gesture sent shivers up and down my spine. I knew then and there where we were going ... and I was happy, happy, happy to go there.
We decided to visit another bar just a block away and walked there, holding hands. Smile. We sat in the back, cozy on a large leather booth and drank a couple more, talked. He was distracted a bit by the basketball games showing on the many, many TVs around us but not as much as I anticipated he would be. This was a pleasant surprise and I wasn't even really bothered when his attention turned away from me because I was so tired, I felt almost delirious. At one point, he noticed and asked if I needed some coffee. I said no and finished my drink. He finished his and we walked out, holding hands again, and he offered to walk me home. Very sweet. Once we got there he asked whether it would be ok for him to come and use the bathroom. Sure ... I know what that means ...
So, he came in, used my facility and emerged. With strangely minty breath ... I think he may have used my toothpaste to freshen his garlicky, beery, ginny, pizza breath but can't be sure. We kissed a little. Then a lot. Then ... well, gotta go dark here.
The next morning (wink, wink), I made coffee for us and he hung around for about an hour chatting on the couch about nothing really, stroking my hair telling me that I looked very beautiful in the morning. A lie, to be sure, but I appreciated the effort one hundred percent. We said our goodbyes at my door, he walked down the hallway and was gone. For the moment. Whenever someone leaves, no matter who they are or what we've done with our time together, I always feel a little sad. Not necessarily because I'm nervous that I won't see them again or because I want to spend the entire day together basking in afterglow. Really, honestly, it's because I no longer desire to live my life alone. I want to have someone around, even if they are silent. I enjoy having the presence of another warm body in my space, relating to me.
When he left, I felt the absence of him immediately and it hurt. It always hurts a little bit. And every time, I remind myself to enjoy every second of every moment of every date with these people because at some point, it'll be over. And I'll feel like I did that morning. Alone.
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Man, I don't know reading this now with knowing what I know happens later, I think he's a little misleading. I mean who acts that way and says that stuff if he still has an ex in his mind somewhere. Seems like you like to be swept of your feet, but maybe the feet sweepers are a little bit suspect. too confident. too smooth. Its like he was working hard to get you to like him, perhaps for his own ego, and then he flip flops? At least contact person's disguises are a little more upfront.
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