How’s that for a bad grammar title?
After the night of lasagne, massage, and quick-but-promising sex, Alan and I both agreed to see each other again.
I was a little torn on when to meet; the Friday we talked about, a family at my son’s school were having a fundraising party which is apparently a super fun time. But I also wanted to see Alan and it was the only night likely to work for him. I decided to stop by the party for an hour and meet him afterwards.
But then work exploded (the volcano is still spewing) and the last thing I wanted to do was go to a party. As it turned out, Alan’s work schedule shifted and he could no longer meet. I believed him, for what it’s worth. I worked late, went home, and worked from home even later.
We postponed to that Sunday night. I had been with Liam for the weekend but spent hours working. I wasn’t sleeping well; dreaming of deadlines I was going to miss, and waking up in the middle of the night to a mind racing about the decision to cease seeing Tony.
So by Sunday afternoon I was a wreck, and Alan could see it the moment I opened my door. Being fair-skinned, the dark circles are even more obvious than usual. We had originally planned to go out for dinner, but a few days prior he’d asked if we could stay in instead, because he had some “embarrassing and unexpected financial stress” which meant his funds were very limited that week.
It was fine by me. As much as I want a dating relationship where outings are a key part of what we do, I was in no mood to go out. And while vastly different financial situations may be an issue, I will take things one date at a time.
We ordered in from a nearby Italian place. We made out like crazy in my kitchen. He had his hands all over —
I completely forgot the hilarious part of our second date. I was trying to figure out what to wear, wanting to look nice, not too dressed up, yet comfortable. I settled on a simple stretchy green dress but then realized the pattern of my lace bra was visible underneath. I took my dress and bra back off, so as to switch bras.
At that moment the doorbell rang. I figured I would answer the door braless (it’s not too noticeable with me) then go back upstairs and put a bra on. I was rushing down the flights of stairs while trying to put my dress on, and my arm got caught in a slit in the fabric. I was all twisted up and barely made it to my front door dressed.
When I opened the door, Alan’s shirt was unbuttoned like a 1970s porn stars might have been. He got a button caught as he was leaving his house, and as a result he was showing off a nicely furry chest.
We had a good laugh about our respective wardrobe malfunctions – and that new bra never got put on.
Back to my kitchen. Again I received a lot of positive attention. This time however, we didn’t make it upstairs. We actually didn’t have sex at all; I was on my period and while he said he didn’t mind, I wondered. We watched a movie on my couch, eating take out, we talked throughout most of it, he massaged my sore parts, kissed me a lot, and left before 11pm.