So, I didn’t drink the beer, but I kissed the Quebecer. He looks like a more intellectual, better traveled, far more sardonic and jaded Josh Lucas. I never thought much about Josh Lucas, or facial hair, until it was sitting before me speaking french. Parisian French don’t do a lot for me, but after years of working with some French Canadian Circus folks and having a thick ancestry in Quebec, I have a soft spot for cute Québécois!
I had a meeting with my personal advisor around 3 but due to some conflicts with her earlier clients, it was pushed til 3:30. Frenchie and I met in front of a local coffee shop because my throat was feeling a bit scratchy and I was dying for some hot tea and honey. The cafe was busy though, a line nearly out the door, so we decided to walk 20 minutes to another cafe in a nearby neighborhood. We sat and chatted for a bit. He was cute. Cuter in person than on-line. That academia meets no longer hipster but still hipper than most thing. A more New York version of Josh Lucas, except with the ability to speak hot french. Holy hot french by the way. Damn, I could listen to that all night long. After drinking tea for about a half hour we decided to go have some cocktails. A few in, some talk of hockey and futbol, a revelation that I had slept with his favorite wine seller, whom he didn’t think was gay, and I realized that I really wanted to kiss him. I couldn’t quite read him yet though. He admitted to trying boys once, to make sure, a brave thing to admit to me, but he assumed, rightly so, that I wouldn’t judge. In fact, I found it quite sexy that he could be secure enough to explore himself and his sexuality so fully. Not many men are capable of that. A couple of drinks in each and we were a little tipsy. We decided to head over for some Syrian/middle eastern food.
Less than a block from the bar, I pulled on his arm and drew him closer because I just needed to know. Good kisses. Definitely. We made it to the restaurant, ordered a couple of drinks at the bar while we waited for our table and chatted some more. I allowed him to order for me at the table and we talked more than flirted, although the flirt was there. Eventually he told me how attractive he considered me, a compliment always, nice to hear when it comes genuinely in a moment that isn’t expected. His hand touched my knee a few times, and the smiles came easily. While slightly jaded and cynical, he also carries a genuine openness that many don’t possess. He is far more attractive in person than he appears on-line. I don’t think photos are able to do him justice, as part of his appeal is his personality and physical energy, which is difficult to capture in a photo.
We finished our meal of assorted appetizers; baked eggplants, lamb, fava beans and stuffed grape leaves. We commented on the patrons, the staff, the server, and the music. Occasionally we caught glances at each other that lasted a little longer than necessary or accompanied a smirk that wasn’t necessary. The flirt was definitely on.
It was getting late and both of our dogs needed walking, plus, it’s always good to leave wanting more. As we left, we walked past the train station and I decided to get on, he was surprised, but I thought that it was better to leave while we were ahead. I also had a mildly scratchy throat and in the case that I was coming down with something, anything more than street kisses, might pass on a cold to this poor guy, if that is what I am coming down with. We kissed for a few minutes next to the station entrance and I was pleased that it was even better than the first time I kissed him. We looked at each other for a moment and sighed. One last quick kiss and I ran down the stairs. I was tempted to text him, to run back up and kiss him again, but I refrained. It’s nice to want sometimes.
I sat on the train and smirked on my ride home. When I reached my station, I received a text from him. He thanked me for a great date and voiced his wishes that I had been able to stay and make out with him for a little longer. I responded that sometimes it’s nice to leave wanting more. He wants me to come to his place and make him dinner. I suspect I shall, sooner than later. I also suspect that I will have some extended hot make out sessions with french spoken in my ear as I feed him one of the best home cooked meals he has had in a while, although, his mom is from Montreal and makes an amazing coq co vin. I may have a challenge on my hands, how can I out cook his mom?