first date

You see, I usually had a pretty strict rule about not dating clients, mostly cause it was bad for business.  However, I was also completely addicted to excitement.  It was as if I felt, that if I were to pass up any opportunity, no matter how unconventional, I was afraid that I would regret having missed it.  Granted, it doesn't take much to fall in lust with a stripper, and I am a sucker for a guy with a sense of humor and tattoos. So when Garps friend asked me out on his behalf, (and he wasn’t taking no for an answer), it seemed to me, that if he could make me laugh, I would give it a shot.   Garp overhearing this conversation, which at this point was starting to resemble that which is usually takes place in a used car lot, suddenly said, “oh, I’ll make you laugh” and that was what convinced me to say yes. I was hooked, filled with giddy school girl energy, whose outfit, coincidentally, was also packed in my duffle bag of tricks. Upon my departure, I gave him my personal number and made my way to my chiropractor appointment.  I was driving up Graham Hill Road, when his friend called to make sure the number was legitimate.  I answered.  It was.  

Garp called me later that evening, and we made a date to go out for dinner.  We went to that pasta place over on Seabright.  The owner was this crazy Italian guy, who looks like Einstein.  I wore a pink, flowing, silky skirt. I wanted to present a more romantic appearance to try and override the “Pretty Woman” image in my mind.  We shared a bottle of wine.  I have no idea what we talked about.  After dinner we went to a little dive bar, JJ’s and had a beer.  He asked me what I thought about people’s behavior when they were drunk.  He said that acting under the influence was not a reflection of who they really were, and that most people drank to cover up some kinda inner asshole.  He clearly did not believe that idea drinking was vehicle for unveiling ones true self.  I thought that was an interesting topic for a first date, but really didn’t have an opinion on the issue.  

He asked if he could take me home to his house.  I was thinking, if he took me home, the chances of him calling me again were about as good as, never.  He said “i’ll call you again”.  I trusted him from the moment I saw him.  We went back to his house and crept into his room.  It was small with white walls.  Inside was a small desk and  in the corner, below a small window was mattress on the floor.  The bed was nicely made with light blue sheets and a navy comforter.  His skin smelt of sweet vanilla.  The room was dark and we crawled into his bed like an old married couple.  He held me.  Like two pillows filled with soft down nestled, against one another, we fit.  His skin was smooth and soft. His short hair gently prickled my nose. His heart was loud.  Pounding like a drum.  He kissed me soft and slow.  The confidence in his hands was surprising. Sheets tucked up to our heads; breathing close in the dark.  The world was in slow motion.  I was so present.  I could inhale and feel his essence flow right inside me filling my lungs.  With my exhale, he inhaled himself right back in again, with the essence of me still lingering on his recycled breath.  Could this be happening?  Peas and carrots?  Two seemingly misfit kids fitting together. He felt like my missing puzzle piece.  It hurts to remember it.  Waking up.  He popped a couple of what he called his “crazy pills”, and went to the kitchen to make coffee.