"There's a much nicer ambience at my place," is the sentence that begins the second part of our first amazing evening together. We've been sitting at the bar for over three hours, and the place has been getting more and more crowded, but thankfully never to the point where we can't hear ourselves speak. We didn't really expect to be here this long-when I suggested we meet for a drink or two at about seven at a quiet tavern near your office, who would have thought it would turn into a spontaneously agreed-upon dinner at a Japanese restaurant around the corner, followed by a half mile walk for overpriced but dead-on apple martinis at stop number three, a dimly lit hipster dive with a reddish glow in the air and Tom Waits tunes meandering from the speakers overhead. It's almost eleven-thirty now, and what was supposed to be a modest Friday night date before you headed home to rise early for a trip tomorrow has become something much more. And when you suggest walking back to your apartment, I suddenly feel very sure I'll be rushing to jump on the very last Metro of the night in the wee hours.
Of course, you can never predict instant physical attraction, and from our cautious initial flirtations after our first drink sprung something much more tangible. I had almost no choice in the matter, obviously, since you looked so stunning when you appeared, dressed in a tight black skirt and a white sweater which is all neckline. The scrunchie tying up your hair adds a wholesome, first-day-of-college feeling to your look which is belied by your amazingly sexy body. The first time you really laughed tonight, you leaned over a bit to touch my arm, and I responded in kind, and from that point on we seemed to get closer and closer to each other at the first bar, culminating in a little soft hand-holding after dessert. We held hands on the walk to this trendy place and our knees have been in constant contact with each other ever since as we talked about our jobs, our families, the state of the modern comic book, and whatever happened to the whole Atkins thing. So very nice.
"What do they charge for martinis at your place?" I ask you, smiling, looking down at your fingers enclosed in mine on the bar.
"Very little," you say. "But bigger tips are expected."
We leave the bar and walk out into the perfect summer night, Friday party-goers passing us left and right, breathlessly in search of what we've already found, which is the ideal companion to usher in the late hours. It's only three blocks to your apartment, and we laugh and hold hands tightly, your footsteps right beside mine. The smell of your perfume has a much greater effect on me than the few drinks I had tonight. I can't wait to kiss you, and wonder where exactly it will happen.
Standing behind you as you produce your keys to open your door, I lean over to smell your hair without you noticing. I look at the nape of your neck longingly, knowing that it's going to be getting some very intimate attention before too long. The anticipation is priceless. Knowing that the night began with us knowing so little about each other, and then, in seemingly the blink of an eye, knowing that the night will end with my lips on yours....who needs more reason to be alive.
Your living room is dark and you choose to keep it that way, turning the light on only in the kitchen to let its illumination flow towards us, but fall well short. You kick off your heels right away and I leave my shoes behind as you take my hand and lead me over to the sofa.
"Sit down," you tell me. "Want anything? Glass of wine?"
"No, I'm perfect," I tell you, and sit on the cozy sofa, turning my body toward you in expectation. You sit down beside me close enough so that I know we're not here to make idle conversation. All our talk, great as it was, was for being out in public and unable to do what we truly wanted after only a couple of hours: kiss. You smile as I lift your right hand in my left and I place my lips tenderly to it.
"Such a gentleman," you say softly. "Want some music?"
"Absolutely," I say, and you bend over to the nearby knickknack table to lift a remote control, making sure to leave your hand at my disposal. You press Play and the quiet strains of Nina Simone float into the air. You set the remote control down again and lean right back into place on the sofa, your body turned entirely toward me. You bring your legs up and fold them before you, leaning your head in your free hand. I kiss the other one again and set it down gently on your lap, keeping one finger curled around one of yours.
"Well, I'm glad you like me," you say. "I almost had my doubts there for a little while."
"Really?" I say, turning your hand over to expose the palm, which I begin to stroke with infinite lightness using just my index finger. "What gave you doubts? Was it the way I've been gazing into your eyes all night? And moving closer and closer?"
"I was going by another criteria," you say, looking down at your palm as it's treated to a tiny, affectionate massage. "I know you liked my personality, but there are other aspects of me I was expecting you to respond to."
"Mmmm, other aspects, yes," I reply. "I noticed everything a man can notice, believe me."
"Did you now?" you inquire sweetly, and place a finger beneath my chin the way you did back at the bar when we broached, ever so briefly, the subject of sex and what men love about it so much. "You know, I've been watching your eyes and never once did you frisk me with them. That's pretty commendable."
