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No. 6: Part 2: Do I Know What I’m Doing?

April 16, 2013

“One of the joys in life is waking up with thoughts that someone, somewhere cares enough to send a warm morning greeting. Good morning and enjoy the day.”

He’s 20 years younger than me.

That’s the message he sent me Monday morning. We met for the first time Friday night. He picked me up at my apartment. I looked at him through the passenger door, put out my hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you.” We were both nervous and admitted so. We went to the only Indian restaurant in town and fumbled our way through conversation. He said I was prettier than my facebook photos. I told him my age. He took a minute to recover. I let him order for me. The food was good.

We talked long after dinner was finished. We left and had coffee. He talked about his religion which I found fascinating. I’ve never known a practicing Muslim man before. My Indonesian friends had educated me about Islam a little. a few years ago but that was from a different perspective. I love to talk about religion or politics or history. “You really want to know about this?” he kept asking.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m very interested.”

He took me home around 10:30pm. I asked him if he wanted to kiss me goodnight. He leaned in and started off with a soft and sweet kiss. His timidity soon escalated to an intensity that had me breathing heavily. We sat in his car making out like long suffering lovers saying goodbye at the airport. He was passionate and present.

“I don’t want to leave,” he said.

It took quite a bit of self-control to say, “I know. But I’m going to say goodnight now.” We had known each other two days.

He’s 20 years younger than me.

I went upstairs. It would have been easy to ask him up but I’ve decided to try out a new concept: taking it slow. This was an actual date, after all. Not a post-party hook-up. I wanted to do it differently this time.

He texted me that night and all day Saturday. Thanking me for spending time with him. Offering messages of good will. He was sweet and attentive. He asked me to a movie that night. I said yes. I invited him to art walk. I was surprised when he agreed. I was taking him to unfamiliar turf. My turf. He accompanied me among the art clique with ease. He was genuinely curious and interested in the variety of art we saw. Abstract, sentimental, post-Jasper Johns and just plain lame. He wanted to know how they were done. He was interested in the various media and techniques. He walked close to me and held my hand. He held my hand. He moved easily in the unfamiliar circles, thanking me for exposing him to the art. He had never seen anything like it before.

We had a couple of hours to kill before the late feature. He suggested we go back to my place. I resisted at first, then agreed. We talked and made out on my crappy little sofa. “I could kiss you for hours,” he said. I told him I wanted to take it slow. I wanted to get to know him better. He agreed. “Let’s go see a movie,” I insisted. It’s been a long time since I’ve been asked out to a movie. Mother fucker was going to take me to a movie.

The movie was awful. Formulaic action flick. He held my hand the whole time. He caressed my hand. He ran his fingers over mine and played with my hand. He seduced me in the movie theater.

He took me home and we said goodnight again in his car. The kissing intensified and once again I pried myself out of the passenger seat and went up the stairs, flustered. He had asked to come up. I said, “not this time.” But I found myself wondering, “My legs are shaved and I have condoms in my dresser. Why the hell is he not in my bed right now?” Easy girl.

He’s 20 years younger than me.

Sunday afternoon he wanted to come over. I was unpacking boxes and washing dishes in my apartment. I had a walking date with Pickle at 5:30pm. That would be my safety net. I had an excuse to kick him out. He came over around 3pm, looking cute in his shorts and t-shirt. His hair obviously fixed for me and smelling of a bit too much cologne.

He watched me unpack and we talked a lot. He talked about India and his family. I asked more questions. He said he liked the way he felt when he was with me. He kissed me. He kissed me a lot. He said he wished he had met me sooner. He said I’m amazing. “You don’t even know me,” I protested.

“I know enough.” he said.

He’s 20 years younger than me.

He’s into horoscopes. He’s a cancer. I’m a cancer. One of the things he texted me before we even met in person was something about two cancers together. Not good. If you buy into that stuff, which I really don’t, cancers are emotional. Passionate. Moody. All in. This guy is all in. He met me. He liked me. He’s all in.

Or……he’s in as far as he needs to be to get into my bed. Which, I’ll admit, probably isn’t going to take much. I am probably going to rock his world the next time I see him.

He’s 20 years younger than me.

Do I know what I’m doing?

This is either going to end soon or end badly or both.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he touches my hand, the way he kisses me so intently. His soft hair.

He’s 20 years younger than me.

What am I doing?

Postscript: I had to add this little bit, if for no other reason so I won’t forget it.

He rode his bike to the park yesterday as I was walking the trail. I walked over to where he was. He asked about my day. I asked about his. We didn’t hug or touch. We just looked at each other for about 15 seconds. I went back to my walk. A couple of minutes later he texted me this: “I could feel the connectivity between us.” Ka-Damn! Am I just a huge sucker or is that not hot and sweet and scary? I read that and said out loud, “Damn, he’s good.” It took my breath away. I had to sit down. I’m doing it again.


From → Rantings

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