A week later we spoke on the phone and decided to meet at a Chinese restaurant. Okay, I found his name in the phonebook and phone stalked him. But he did ask me out. So, it wasn't official stalking. Anyway, it was in the bitter days of winter and I stood in the restaurant lobby waiting for him to show up. In comes this short, bald guy about forty-years-old. Oh Lordy. Did I mention I was barely twenty-one? I didn't? Well I was, and it shocked me to see what I'd gotten myself into. But the writer in me--the lonely curious girl who needed experience, woke up and said hello when he spoke my name. My hands shook the whole way through that meal. He was acting suave, and saying witty things, and I couldn't get the damn beef and broccoli to spear on my fork. Getting it in my mouth was a whole other issue.
You'd think the date would be over after that disastrous meal, but he suggested we go to the movies. We saw Romeo is Bleeding, one of the most violent, disturbing movies ever. For two hours I was in hell, but still suspended in that curious insatiable need to experience MAN. Somewhere in between blood and sex and the sound of gun shots, he slipped his hand into mine. I let it stay there.
Later we sat in his car and he asked me if I'd ever been kissed. I told him the truth, that I hadn't. He asked me why. "Because I've always been afraid of men. That they would hurt me. It's always been easier to be alone and play guitar and draw." Do you want me to kiss you? "Yes." The windows were etched with frost, and blueish street lights illuminated the transparent patterns; it blocked the real world outside. Our breath froze in the air as our lips approached. His kiss was warm and soft. I told myself to be calm and follow his lead. I fell in love with him then, because we kissed well together, because he was so forgiving.
But really he was a big jerk who cheated on me and I spent a year walking nature trials to get over the sweet taste of his kisses. Damn men.