[I am intensely busy at work right now and can't seem to think of anything other than my to-do list. But I do have some posts that I didn't publish with the goal of telling the dating story in order. I may not end up doing that, but I do like what I wrote here.]
November 1, 2010
"Oh," I thought when I opened the door to my evening's escort and made a brief but fervent wish that he'd heed my email instructions and kiss me goodnight. Intimidated and attracted, I decided I'd just avoid looking at him all that much at first and allowed him in to greet my prancing puppy while I slipped black flats over my gray tights.
He said something about the length of the dress I'd told him I was planning to wear. The belted black piece of fabric hovered around mid-thigh and I'd gone through a quick yet intense debate over changing into something a bit more demure. I firmly told myself it was fine and if there was ever an evening to wear the garment that had been hanging in my closet, lonely and unworn, it was this Wednesday with this man who offered conversation funny and flirtatious, thoughtful and tempting.
In fact, as I glanced toward the door while waiting for him to arrive, I felt an abnormal but fluttery anticipation rather than my typical dread of dating. I'd wondered if he'd stand me up, but decided that was fine as I'd asked him to pick me up at home. I'd just change into pajamas and work. But the doorbell rang and I tugged the door open, feeling an immediate sense of infatuation - when I find a person so completely compelling that every detail whispers perfection that I helpless against admiring.
Examples? Certainly -
- When I fumbled the opening (Something like, "Would you like a drink or shall we go?" Thinking frantically that then I'd have to look at him and get nervous and awkward and panicked, decided we must leave now. "Actually, let's just go - Chienne will jump on you and it's already dark and we should just go. Now."), I glanced up to see his lips curve in amusement before he acquiesced.
- He opened my door and waited to close it until I arranged myself in the seat and pulled my skirt down - one gallant action I find has an easy charm about it.
- Before entering the car, he draped his suit jacket over the back of the driver's seat. And I melted a little and had to take a breath to gather my thoughts.
- He arranged himself behind the wheel and fumbled a little with the key, giving me a blessed moment to smile and relax before I set about admiring how tall he was, the elegance of his hands, the sound of his voice, the subtle scent of his car. (Seriously - swamped with infatuatation.)
- He commented on my hemline which made me blush and smile and argue that it was, in fact, likely too short though I appreciated that he didn't think so.
"I'm nervous," I felt compelled to confess once we were seated at one of my favorite restaurants - an out of the way place divided into several small areas with only a few tables apiece. We'd argued amiably over politics on the drive - his fault by virtue of asking if I voted - and while I loved the way he thought, I didn't always share his perspective. But once we were out of the darkness and into the restaurant, facing each other across a small table, I kind of wanted to hide behind my menu and wondered if he'd lend me his so that I could build a small fort between us.
"Why?" he asked and I shrugged and tugged at my dress under the table, tucking my feet farther under my chair. He looked away for a moment to think before asking me a question. Grateful for the distraction and easing into conversation, I leveled out and relaxed a bit, pushing the sleeves of my cashmere cardigan up my arms and playing with the oversized, handmade ring on my left hand.
We drank wine and talked of topics serious and silly. I smiled and decided that while he was completely handsome, I was no longer desperate to find someone to love me and resolved to simply enjoy his company. As I settled, I followed habit and drifted into sweet and friendly because that's what I know how to do.
"I didn't tell you, but you look very nice," he offered and I believe I blinked at him, startled out of friendliness and back into infatuation. I hope I smiled and thanked him. I'm nearly certain I tugged at the hem of my skirt under the table.
"Would you like a bite?" he inquired after our meals were set before us and I indicated that I would. When I reached for his fork, he shook his head and leaned a bit further forward. "Don't be shy," he urged and after I made a face at him, I took a deep breath and leaned forward, taking the bite he shared.
My only other moment of bravery came after I returned from the powder room and recalled that I wanted to see his socks. (Email conversations can be randomly revealing.) I nudged his foot from under the table and smiled as I assessed the fabric around his ankles. And pulled my skirt back down to cover my knees.
We talked through dinner and I beamed at him when he agreed to share a dessert. I wasn't really ready to see the evening end though the older couple who'd had another table in our little room had come after we arrived and left before we did. We both had early mornings and I knew I should let him get home, but I found myself eagerly offering to show him around when he asked a question about my house.
"An after-dinner cocktail?" he asked and the hair I'd tried so carefully to curl bounced when I nodded. Newly confident when he accepted, I told him a story on the drive home, resting my arm against his on the armrest and taking comfort from the warm pressure, quiet interest and amused acceptance of something that should have been embarrassing and awkward.
"I'm glad I told you," I offered, handing him the bottle of wine when I couldn't quite open it. I poured two glasses and handed him one before walking from kitchen to loveseat and curling in the corner so I could pretend to watch the news. He sat next to me and we sipped wine for a moment and talked of things I now can't recall.
At one point, he turned toward me and I swallowed the concern that he was uncomfortable on my small furniture when his left knee found its way under my right thigh.
"I'm invading your bubble," he noted with a grin and I smiled back at him, flattered and flustered. We continued to talk as the news ended and Leno began. By the time he told me he didn't like Jimmy Fallon, he'd scooped up my legs and draped them across his lap and was slowly rubbing his hand over my soft gray tights. I have a particular fondness for men's hands and he women's legs so it seemed to be working out quite well.
"You have nice calves," he offered between a slow and easy volley of questions and answers. I think I thanked him - perhaps told him I was fond of taking walks - but my clear memory is watching the tip of his long fingers trace over the curve.
"I wanted to feel pretty," I murmured at one point, feeling warm and safe and happy while we discussed my choice of outfit.
"You are pretty," he responded and I looked in his eyes and reached for his opposite hand so I could play with his fingers while feeling the warmth spread inside me.
In what must have been hours but felt like mere moments, we slowly stopped talking as we shifted closer. I wet my lips and swallowed against the tingling tightness in my throat and squirmed with arousal as he urged my skirt higher and continued to touch me. Glancing tickles behind my knees and long, firm strokes from ankle to hip. Our foreheads touched as heads bowed and I found it somehow reassuring even as I wished I was forward enough to shift and kiss him.
It was so good though - the warmth easing into heat and drifting toward need - and I closed my eyes to focus on it, think through it, worry over whether or not to ask him upstairs, but would lose focus and flutter my eyelashes open to watch his hands - the contrast of masculine strength and elegance against feminine curves and softness.
"I like Carson Daly even less than Jimmy Fallon," he told me and I nodded, thinking I really, really liked what was happening, easily ignoring Carson Daly while sharing space with a man I found impossibly fascinating.
The backs of his fingers brushed my breast where I'd cuddled his hand against my chest. His right hand drifted up, bit by bit, until the tips of his fingers brushed between my legs when I parted them. My breath caught when he put my hand on his leg and I remember thinking - perhaps saying - that I was being shamefully selfish, but was too overwhelmed to focus on what I might do for him.
I can't recall the catalyst, bathed in a glow of arousal and anticipation, but he leaned forward at one point, tucking my right leg behind him and leaning his head toward mine. I bent my knees and pulled him closer and we kissed - a slow, gentle exploration of lips and exchange of breath - and despite my desperate desire to memorize every moment, I seem to have stopped being able to think.
He left around 1:30AM, far past my bedtime, after one last embrace in my foyer. I'd more or less made him promise I could see him again, knowing our schedules were difficult and a little terrified he'd change his mind about wanting to rub my legs and share kisses and conversation in the future.
I suppose I remain a bit concerned - I very much want to do that again - but I'm completely pleased with the memory. I fell asleep, body still tingling, and was late to my meeting the next day. Throughout a day of reviews, I leaned against the wall and curled in my chair drowsily and thought that a man - a smart, interesting, gorgeous, sexy man - had his hands on me. And my lips would curve as I slowly blinked and wished the hem of the dress I'd worn to work was just a touch shorter than my knees so I could tug at it.