Corduroys

Crazy Chinatown Man grew on me, steadily but surely, over a game of chess.  We each consumed a moderate two glasses of wine and neither of us took opiates that night.  He was thoughtful, creative, humble, and actually not that crazy.  He wore corduroys again, sporting a look that I call “Pacific Northwest Sexy”.  I have waited three years for a man to show up in corduroys on a date, and he did it twice in a row.  The fact that it was the same pair of corduroys only made him more endearing. 

“So what if there’s a questionable substance abuse problem and mental health history?”, I thought to myself.  When my last relationship ended I went completely insane, and who doesn’t enjoy mixing alcohol and pills once in awhile?  Dealbreakers are meth and needles, and he used neither in my presence.

Back at my apartment, we sat on my couch talking and holding hands for ten minutes before I remembered that it is nearly impossible for a Seattle man to make the first move, and I decided to help him out. I kissed him, and ten minutes later we were still kissing. I couldn't remember the last time I made out with someone without clothes coming off.  Possibly fifteen years ago?  We both wanted to, but it didn’t happen. The funny thing about dating is I'll sleep with anyone who I don't want to see again, but when I like a man, the stakes are higher.  I was nervous.

We texted back and forth for a few days, and then he turned forty.  Younger men, I appreciate for their high energy level and fearlessness.  In older men, I like their sense of responsibility and life experience.  I didn’t know him well, but he seemed to have both.

“What advice can you give me for finishing out the rest of my 30s?”, I wanted to know.

"Don’t get arrested.  And don’t do too many drugs at once.”

I’m golden on those two accounts, but love?  How do I make the magic happen?  I wish I could figure that out.

On his birthday we spent several hours talking and making out, and then we had sex, completely sober.  I was so confused by the sensations and emotions of sober sex that I actually felt drunk, although I hadn’t touched alcohol that night.  Neither had he, and without me mentioning it, he said “I’m really glad we did this without drinking.”  It was sweet; I melted a little.

I straddled him, kissed him, and a curtain of my curly hair fell down around our faces.  "Sorry," I apologized, "I usually bring a hairband with me in these situations."

I didn't realize how stupidly inappropriate of a comment I made until he laughed and pointed it out.

"These situations?  I mean, I don't want to be sleeping with a virgin, but my mind is racing right now."

"AHHHH, sorry!  That was really dumb of me.  There haven't been THAT many of these situations." 

Oops!  Rookie mistake.  Except I'm not a rookie.