Thank God!!! Had such a great date with Freckles last night, I'm still reeling. Right from the get go, I've gotta get the fears out: this will end up terrible just like all the others. There is something wrong with him that he has thus far been very skilled at hiding. He has severe emotional retardation and cannot commit to anything and is just using online dating to assuage his feelings of loneliness because he too, is the only one of his friends who isn't married or coupled. He will not call/email/text/contact me again and this will just be yet another heartbreak to get over.
That's enough of the fears, right? I'm going to spend the rest of the post describing why I hope and pray and beg and plead that all of that garbage I just spilled onto the page is wrong, wrong, wrong. Please. Let it be wrong. Please.
So, we talked Monday. Then Tuesday came and went. Wednesday, the worst day ever, came and went. Thursday came, and ... went. No word from Freckles. I settled into the idea that he was disappearing just like the others and sort of didn't care by Friday morning. I was more concerned last week with my desperate desire to get the hell out of my evil job, dealing with a car that was broken and needed to be sold, and an apartment that flooded and had mysteriously come down with several large patches of mold. Not a good week for Ms. eDater.
Fast forward to Friday afternoon. I'd been away from email all day and checked it for the first time around 3:45. A message from Freckles sent at 10:45 a.m. from his Blackberry Wireless Device. He made two suggestions: one, to go see some live jazz outdoors or, two to come over to his place and cook. Um ... over to his place and cook, eh? Ok, for everyone who doesn't know this (and everyone should know this), this is man code for: come over so I can impress you with food, feed you wine, and then jump you on my couch.
Obviously, I chose the jazz.
KIDDING!! I chose the cooking. I was very curious to see his place and observe his self-professed cooking prowess up close to see whether he was BSing me about that or not. The main point on which we initially bonded via email and then on the first date was our mutual love for kitchen adventures and experimentation. So, I rolled over there around 6:45. He let me in and my first impression was the following: there was an overwhelming poop smell and a large cat sitting right in the middle of the entryway. Very bad, right? Wrong. Turns out that that large cat became a fan of mine by the end of the evening (always good to have a date's pets/family/friends take a shine to you) and the poop smell was actually cooked, then pureed cauliflower ... velvety, creamy, wonderfully tasty cauliflower. Served with this cauliflower was a filet of fresh grilled salmon encrusted with fennel seed, fresh rosemary, and orange zest, topped with asparagus sauteed in fresh garlic and olive oil.
MY. GOD. So good. And his place was really, really nice. And clean (found out he has someone come in to do it regularly ... this is impressive to me because he cares enough to spend the money and have it done right: CHECK PLUS). He owns a one bedroom on the second floor of a small building ... the walls were painted lovely, non-white, yet neutral colors. He had framed art and a large photo of the swimming portion of his first IronMan triathlon. There were books, decorations, family photos, nice furniture ... and another cat. He had music playing the whole time, softly in the background. We chatted over dinner and maybe it was because he was in his element, but the conversation was really popping. About a half hour after we finished dinner he asked if I wanted dessert. I said sure and he brought out a bowl of cherries and some chocolate truffles he'd bought at this gourmet chocolate shop around the corner from his place. I began to realize that a lot of planning had gone into this whole evening and I smiled to myself. Later, when he was in the bathroom I saw that he had printed a recipe for the salmon. So far, good signs all, don't you think?
After dessert and more chatting, I asked the time. It wasn't that late but I needed to do something to break the conversation. I really wanted this guy to make a move and thought maybe giving him the idea that I was about to leave would kick him into gear. I was right. Or, it worked. He gave me the time and then reached his hand over and started stroking my knee, saying he was really glad I came over. Ah, the signal. I said I was too, and thanked him for the food. Told him it was really good. I then looked away, out the window ... I sensed that he was nervous and I guess wanted to give him some time to maybe get himself together to make his move. I looked back at him and he said again that he was glad I came over and I said again that I was glad he invited me and then for a couple seconds we just looked at each other. Oh, fuck this! I leaned in and kissed him. He kissed me right back and we began an hour and a half long, teenage, sweaty, hot, wonderful, playful, yet R rated make out session. R Rated=no pants off dance off. My feet did not stay on the floor, but my legs did stay together.
Similar to Backpack, I concluded after Date Two that I needed to kiss this one to decide whether I was really into him. I did. And I am. At one point, I told him that I needed to leave or I didn't think I would and he just smiled and said ok. I got up and straightened myself, he went to the bathroom to deal with contact issues. We were both having eye problems, in fact. Mine kept weeping, to the point where I felt that I needed to bring it to his attention and offer some explanation so he wouldn't think I was crying. His eyes were hot pink from his lenses. So, he dealt with that while I got my shoes on and my bag together, then picked up some random dishes and took them to the kitchen.
He walked me out to his front stoop and we had a nice, long kiss goodbye. We pulled away from each other and he was holding both of my hands in his and just looking at me with that cute crinkly smile in his eyes. Sort of goofy. I'm sure I looked equally as goofy. We said goodbye and I told him that we needed to see each other again soon. I regretted that immediately because this is the iffy point in beginning of a new possible relationship where you can either seem cool and collected or completely psycho. Obviously, I try to not seem psycho and give space. He said he wanted to see me again, too and said we'd talk soon.
I walked home, smile permanently plastered to my face. All the way, I was thinking that I'd text him when I got there, telling him I got home ok, and thanking him again for a lovely evening. I got in my door, put my bag down, took a seat and began composing. In the middle of my message, another pops up. From him. Saying he hoped I had gotten home ok, that he'd had a great evening, and that we'd talk soon. I wrote back in kind and went to sleep still smiling.
Bottom line: I'm proud that I left. I'm glad I left. I'm glad we kissed (and told him so ... he said he was glad, too). I'm impressed by him ... the food, the apartment, the cats, the conversation, the make out ... he's a good kisser, not too aggressive. It was all wonderful and all day today all I can think of are all the things I want to do with this person. All the fun cooking we could do together, the places we could try out ... I want to lay in the grass with him, in the sun, and just watch the sky ... or make out again on his couch all night. That'd be good, too. I hope, I hope, I hope I hope I hope I HOPE HOPE HOPE HOPE ... that this is different. Please, let this be different.
Last fear: whenever I post here that I'm really, really into someone, something goes wrong and the next post is all about how they turned ... If I might prevail upon my lovely readers at this moment: please send good vibes of HOPE HOPE HOPE that when I post about Date Fifty Two, it's good news.
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