Forget the date! What date? Just kidding ...
Met with The Gentleman on this lovely, warm early spring evening and had a fantastic night ... amazing food, phenomenal drinks, great conversation, wonderful handholding, backrubbing, coat carrying, tender kisses. Okay, okay ... let me slow down and start from the beginning.
I took public transportation to where he lives and he picked me up there. We didn't really have a plan other than to meet, park the car, and then wander through this particular eatery/bar/entertainment district looking for whatever struck us at that moment. We ended up walking fairly far to a bar he'd been to before and raved about. We got a seat at the front window and ordered some really interesting cocktails ... we shared them again and he told me some stories about his family. At one point, during the conversation he reached over, brushed some hair out of my face and told me that I looked beautiful. Melting ... :)
On this point I must make a comment. This guy is wonderful with respect to all the great things that girls want on a date: he held the door, he let me order first, he helped me put my coat on when we got up to leave, and even held my purse when we changed locations from bar to table at the restaurant. He pulled out the chair and even stood up when I excused myself from the table to go to the bathroom ... what?!? Who is this? Where did he come from? Is he really a Gentleman of the Southern variety (in a totally non-racist sense, of course) or have I somehow fallen through the rabbit hole and into a fabulous dream? This is the way every woman should be treated. Period. I try as hard as I can to just savor these moments because I would lay money on the fact that the next guy I go out with, no matter how much I like him, will not pull my chair out for me. And then I'll miss it ... really, The Gentleman makes every other man pale in comparison where chivalry is concerned and that is why he's dangerous.
Moving on ... we left the bar and walked down the old, cobblestone streets. At one point, he reached down and grabbed my hand and held it until we reached our dinner destination. I haven't held hands with a man in ... well ... EVER and this made me smile hugely on the inside. We arrived at the restaurant, were seated, and after deciding, he ordered for both of us. We shared some of the most amazing food I've ever had in my life. He raved about this restaurant throughout our email communications and on our first two dates, and told me he was really excited that he was introducing it to me. We ate, drank some more fantastic cocktails, and savored every bite. We even had a few inter-meal kisses. It was lovely. Perfect.
We walked out and it was fairly late so a decision about where and whether to progress was necessary, the first fork in the date road ... we stopped, still holding hands, he leaned down and kissed me in the street and said that he wasn't tired and wanted to get another drink. Was I up for it? Yes, I said, happy to continue spending time with The Gentleman. We rolled to the closest bar that was still open and somehow landed in a weird Marine infested college environment where we both felt like everyone's Mom and Dad, which we joked about almost simultaneously. It was great. We had a couple beers, watched some rodeo on TV, and closed the joint down.
Headed home, he offered to make me another drink at his place but said that if he did that, he wouldn't be able to drive me back. Thinking quickly that a wake up at this guy's house the next morning and a drive of shame back into my city, in going out clothes, with mussed hair and smeared make-up, wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning, I suggested that we hit another place in my neighborhood instead. He said ok. I immediately second guessed myself (as we always do) wondering whether he would think that my turn down of that invitation was somehow a rejection of him. That thought still lingers ... ridiculous, I know.
We couldn't find parking so ended up back at my place where I made us a couple drinks from the one bottle of alcohol I have and we chatted on my sofa, kissed on my sofa, laid down on the sofa ... again, a fork in the date road. Does he stay or go? Do I invite him? Does he invite himself? Does he take me in his arms and carry me to bed, planning to ravage me? No, on all counts. At about 4 a.m. (stupid, fake daylight savings time change), I told him that if he wanted to/needed to he could stay at my place and SLEEP (and I emphasized the word sleep to the point that he inquired as to whether I was going to forcibly make him sleep or hypnotize him in some way) but he said no and after some more kisses, walked out, down the hallway, out the door. I stumbled to bed, fell asleep immediately, and had a really rough Sunday morning anyway.
Since the date, which was almost one week ago, we've talked via email and text. He is busy both Friday and Saturday so we have tentative plans for Sunday night. I hope I'm able to see him again ... I am really liking him because he is an ADULT. God bless 'em. We'll see ...
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