Doing chores.

Straightening up.

We stood in the parking lot with another car’s lights shining on our legs.  The restaurant lights cast a shadow on his face, but I still saw his smile.  I closed the distance and stood on my toes to touch my lips to his.

Instantly I knew our kisses matched.  A nibble here, a nip there, a chuckle.  I felt his smile against mine.

He made a pleased sound.  “Mm, I think we’re going to have some fun.”  I giggled and kissed him again, let my hands roam up his broad back and to his neck.  He smelled good, too, this big, brawny man.

I flashed back to the night I kissed Bones for the first time and that pleasant surprise at being kissed expertly.  It’s so rare, that perfect kissing match.

I don’t put too much stock in it beyond the pleasure of the moment, but a good kiss is something special.  It feels like catching a glimpse of the first firefly light or seeing a shooting star streak across a dark night sky.  It feels lucky.

The date had been pleasant, but the kiss instilled a sliver of hope I hadn’t felt as we talked over dinner.  He was outgoing, bold, sexy, confident, very successful, a father, and filled with stories to share.  I shared my own stories, but not because he asked.  He never asked.

He texted later to say that he’d checked both chemistry and communication off his list.  I have only checked chemistry; date #2 will help decide the communication box.

Earlier in the day my mother asked me if I was going on a date for my dinner plans.  “Yes,” I said obliquely.

“Ooh!  Who is it?” She tried to sound casually interested, but didn’t even come close.

“He’s just a dude, mom.”

“Oh, ok.”  She sounded hurt, but there’s no other way of describing him.  He is just a dude I met — on a sex site — and I knew very little about him beyond one pleasant late night phone conversation.

My sister called minutes later and also inquired about my evening plans.  “I’ve got a date.”

“Stay home and talk to me,” she said.

“No, I made a commitment!” I laughed.

“You’re such a Golden Retriever, Hy.  You say yes to everyone.”

I didn’t like that she said that and don’t think it’s true.  “No, maybe he will be someone worth knowing,” I said, “and I won’t know unless I go out with him.”  I hung up and drove to the restaurant thinking about what she said.

I’m the first to admit that I might give a man more chances than he deserves, but can you blame me?  What if someone is spectacular on the 3rd date?  The 5th?  I suppose if there’s nothing by #5 it’s a pretty done deal and even sometimes I know by #1.

It’s the repetitive nature of the whole ordeal that gets tiresome.  The date, the kiss, the processing.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  It’s like a tedious chore on the one hand and a meditative practice on the other.  After all, everyone loves to slip into a nicely made bed.

 

Febraury Photofest

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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