first date.

So, I went on a date with this man. We'll call him Marc.

Marc was quite the gentleman. He did all the gentlemanly things. Opened the car door. (For once I actually let someone pick me up at my house... must be delirious. I never do that shit.)

We went to a taco joint. It was delicious. Delicious tacos. Great banter. A walk down the street in the cold.

There was something about him. Something about his face. His demeanor. His genuineness. It bored through me like a drill. A drill that I fucking adored. And I'm not sure what it was but it was comfortable. We were comfortable.

We went back to my place. (And not in the fun, fuck 'em and leave 'em sort of way... it was unspoken but the dirty biznass was not going to happen that night.) We cuddled on the couch and then he told me that he knew I wanted to kiss him. My first thought was "um, who do you think you are? telling me that I want to kiss you?! I want no such thing." Okay, no, my first thought was, "wait, how does he know? I don't even know. Having I been doing shit like staring at his mouth longingly?" And then, I had my knee jerk reaction... something about annoyance at the presumption and feminism, blah blah. And then I stopped myself. That old me, the me that reacted poorly to any invasion of my autonomy and independence, was silenced. Yes, I would like to kiss him. Fuck it. I'm going for it.

And I did. And it was wonderful. There was a couple of minutes of the slightly awkward but butterflies are still fluttering in your stomach make out session but then the connection fell into place. His lips were delicious. Sensual. Luscious. I grabbed his face. I wanted more. I wanted more to not stop. He told me I was beautiful. And that was the beginning. The beginning of the week when I gave my heart away.