I pick her up and try not to make the greeting awkward. When we get into my car, I call it my batmobile and she laughs, so we find a few things to talk about and it is smooth.
My reservation at the Four Seasons gets us a table right away, we browse the menu and talk about the food. I do not order for her, I am not that kind of guy. Then we talk about music and movies, express ourselves through other people’s work. I do not know whether we are this similar, or just both trying to make ourselves look good.
I definitely do not stare at her chest, but still there is sexual tension. She is so close, so warm, smells so nice. My balls hurt, but she will never know. Women must never know about this male affliction.
After we have eaten, we drink some wine before we order dessert. We talk about families. There are no stories of horror, maybe she does not have any, or maybe she just knows now is not the time. So, I keep my stories to myself and tell her about Fort Arthur family trips and Bertie the Clown. The dessert is light and sweet and reminds her of something or other.
After we are done, I pick up the bill, not awkward at all, confident and manly, and we get into my batmobile again.
I walk her to the porch. It is a little unnatural when we say goodbyes, waiting for the same thing. Will it happen? Finally, I decide to take initiative, lean over, and kiss her. Just one short kiss which says we are at a different level of intimacy, not sexual yet. She does not protest, she smiles a beautiful, beautiful smile, and says goodnight. I smile as well and walk away, my knees soft, my heart pounding.
As I drive home, my mood changes. I am angry at myself for all the stupid things I said and did. I want to kill myself or other people. It must have something to do with hormones, it will pass. I will call her.