Posts Tagged ‘kisses’

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?

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I arrived first, on time even, which is a rarity for me. I sat by the fireplace reading the NY Times Arts section as I waited. The bartender, a youngish musician type, made me a surprise rum cocktail because they were out of the usual cider I mixed it with.  I heard someone come in and ask where the bar was before he realized that it was right in front of him. I looked up and smiled, greeted him warmly and started to hear voices in my head. Hmmm. He grabbed himself a Hendrick’s and tonic to start and we sat at the bench by the fireplace finishing our first drinks while we waited for a spot at the bar. 

Usually when you meet someone online and they seem familiar, it’s in an abstract sense, not an real sense. I made the date with the Peruvian’s Doppelganger on Saturday night for the next evening. We agreed to meet at the bar of a small bistro in a quaint historic neighborhood halfway between our homes. Online, he is approachable. It’s easy to talk with him. In person he is a little awkward, a little stiff. The Peruvian was so smooth, warm, and attentive. Curious and interested. The Doppelganger seemed distracted and slightly disinterested. I soon learned though, as I watched him interact with his surroundings, that it isn’t for lack of interest but general social anxiety. The Peruvian is so good with people because he has taken years of classes in public speaking and presentation. His presence is DYNAMIC. The room notices when he walks into it. The Doppelganger, not so much.

We finally get some seats at the bar when a nice Hungarian man and his companion get up to leave. I chat the older man up for a moment, because flirting with older foreign men is so fun at times, and we proceed to sit down and drink some more. 4 drinks in, we are still chatting, chemistry is minimal. He is interested, he mentions wanting to go to other establishments with me in the future. He discusses future dates, yet he doesn’t rest a hand on my arm or knee once. Okay. Lukewarm reception. But he is at least leaning towards interest in his comments. We chat up the bartender, the Hungarian man who has decided to sit on the other side of the bar, and with the couple he is speaking with, the woman looking similar to Maggie Gyllenhall; a night of doppelgangers everywhere. Even Facebook is rocking a doppelganger theme. In case you are now wondering, mine is Jeri Ryan.

We order more drinks and we chat and chat. He tells me about his business, he asks about my time in NYC and tells me about when he would visit his younger brother who used to live there. It seems he comes from a semi close family and everyone lives in the same town. Apparently, he and his younger brother also own competing businesses, yet are going into business with each other on inventions. Hmm, my brain is chattering about little keywords. Inventions. IT consulting. NYC. Weird.

I ask how Mr Doppelganger’s time with online dating has been thus far. He tells me that it’s been mostly uneventful, he was pushed into it by a friend. He tells me that his brother had tried Match for a couple months but met someone through Volleyball in December that he has been dating. Hmm, Volleyball, Match. The fire alarms suddenly go off and we are ushered out of the door rudely by some fireman who are yelling at the manager of the bistro and making her cry with they way they are treating her. Doppelganger and I walk into the market next door to pass a few minutes while the firemen double-check the bistro and give everyone clearance to enter the building. Walking through the aisles we point out bizarre foods and strong flavors we like and things we don’t and he mentions someone having issues with Indian food. A name he hadn’t used before. I asked who? On our way to the exit he then said,” oh, sorry, that’s my little brother”. Hmm.

Back outside we notice that the fireman are allowing entrance back into the building. Doppelganger has relaxed a bit more at this time and is friendlier, yet still not comfortable expressing it physically. Ok, socially awkward man. We order and finish our 4th and last cocktail and say goodnight to the manager and bartender on our way out. Amazing how 4 cocktails makes the night air in January feel so much warmer.  I walk him to his car, which is on the way to the train, and he thanks me for the fun time before asking for my number. He bends down and gives me a brief peck on the lips goodnight, but instead of pulling away from it when it was over, I leaned in. I hate pecks. Either commit to the kiss or don’t even go there. So, we kiss for a few minutes. Nice, it didn’t send me running but it also didn’t curl my toes like the Peruvi… HOLY SHIT. We stop kissing and say goodnight and as I walk away, all the earlier hmm’s and chatter form a complete story. The Doppelganger is NOT a doppelganger. He is the Peruvian’s older brother. Oh. shit. This is going to be an interesting one to explain.

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I have a touch of the uck today. A low-grade fever, stomach that is ever so slightly off, and a general feeling of malaise. Not pleased. I have postponed my date with the young Straight Edge Artist for tomorrow evening, we were going to meet at a contemporary art museum in the evening, because I want to lay in bed and feel healthy for my date with Future Lawyer on Friday night. It isn’t a hot date where we hit the town. I suggested a low-key evening in at his place, some Pho, some Netflix and a solid chance of making out. I asked myself whether I would sleep with him, IF I were getting waxed this week. Potentially, yes. However, it’s only been a week that we’ve really known each other. But, I think I have decided that it is okay to be casually sexual with a couple people at once as long as A) safe sex, and B) no one thinks that sex makes you exclusive. My blueberry soda loving childhood fireman, the Musician/Artist/Assoc Prod is back in town this weekend and we have plans next week to check out a great Italian foreign film and grab a cocktail. I kissed him on a street corner. I want to see if there is a potential for more chemistry there, or if it was a just momentary ambush of lips over judgement. So, these are the things I am mulling about in my feverish mind.

I was looking through some of my old writing tonight as I down my Odwalla C Monster. I came across something from 2008 that I had written after awaking one morning from dreams about the man I had loved so intensely in my early 20’s.

Strange dreams

I woke this morning from a dream that haunted my entire day. I am 34…nearly. I have dated women exclusively for a decade. Prior to that I knew I was attracted to women from the time I was 17. However, I hadn’t realized my ho-hum YAWN feelings towards the men I dated or had…what some elders might refer to as …”relations” with meant that I was gay. It never crossed my mind. Until it did. 
Funny that I dream of him. I am gay. To some of you, many of you, you may not understand how a woman can say she is gay but admit relations and a past love for a man. It is simple, you have your preference or leanings and then, if you believe in eastern philosophies at all, well then… it opens the world to confusion. As an eastern follower and someone who believes in reincarnation… how can I say that a soul partner will only come back as a man or a woman or a human for that matter. Now when I say that, a soul partner does not mean a lover per se. We can be blessed in our lives with connections that are unexplainable and wonderous …. we just feel in our bones that these individuals, whether human or animal, have been intertwined with us before. The love I had for that man from a decade ago does still haunt me. I have a photo of him which I shot on one of the first nights we truly saw each other. Perhaps it was even that first night. He said it was the only photo that ever really captured him. When I look at it now it feels as if he looks right into me. Still.
I do not dream. At least, I never remember any of my dreams. A handful in 34 years. That is all. I remember one from when I was 14, one from the weeks after my dog passed several years ago, and this one. This dream was about him. The him that sprung into my life, like an odd flat note in a song. At first it seems out-of-place and just wrong… then you keep listening and your ear realizes that the flat note is the unique piece that makes the song.

3 months… secrecy. No one knew. Okay, 4 or 5 people knew. The rest we hid it from because we worked together and didn’t want the drama. We didn’t like each other when we met. I found him twitchy, pale, arrogant in a way that was pedestrian. He thought I was “just a bird”. See, that is what I mean. What white american midwestern male uses the term “bird” as if he’s a self righteous Brit? We dealt with each other. Humored each other’s diatribes until one day when someone mentioned that I followed eastern philosophies as well, that I was Hindu, and with that, he looked as if he had just discovered something new on a road he always traveled, and he mentioned that he was Buddhist. We raised eyebrows at the other and from then on, we began to listen to each other. One night we had a movie and take out night at his apartment… three of us from work. The one with the crush on me grew tired and decided to sleep on the couch. How polite to leave me with the floor. At this point Mr Twitchy and I were finding common ground but still nowhere close to great pals. He was polite enough to offer space in his bed, with no intentions. Seriously, there were no intentions and it was a California King. A HUGE BED. We slept and in the early morning hours we suddenly awoke at the same time, facing each other, our eyes locked. I felt infinite. I knew then that he and I had a connection older than us. We continued to stare at each other until eventually it became an embrace. 3 months.

3 months and then he met a woman in a bar, she pursued him relentlessly and he dumped me unapologetically in a note on my door, days after my birthday. I remember knowing deep down but laying in bed alone and praying for him to “just please not marry her”. Yes, they married. I think they are still married. I am not sure. I moved from that place the following year and while he is in my thoughts, I have not seen him since I left that town.

I have had a fair share of disillusionment, monotony, indifference and settling in my life when it comes to romantic and/or sexual relationships. A few times I have been left feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me. This man came in and out of my life so swiftly and briefly, yet he imbedded himself deep within me. I think about him often, even now. I know that our relationship was not meant to be one of permanence. It was Woody Allen, The Pogues, Bushmills and stouts. Existential dilemmas, dissatisfaction, late night converging on a mutual cynicism and dissatisfaction with the world. For three months though, we loved each other madly and it was us, secretly tucked away from the rest of the world. 

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