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Monday, February 6, 2012

"The One That Ran Away"

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater

You never really know what you’re going to get when you meet people online.  It’s been my experience that more often than not, great on paper doesn’t often translate to great in real life.  By the same token, those least likely to grab your attention can sometimes surprise the ever-loving shit out of you.

The One That Got Ran Away was just that girl.  I thought she was somewhat interesting when I saw her profile.  She was well traveled, had lived everywhere and spoke several languages.  Her photos were seriously nerdy, but anyone who knows me knows that as far as I’m concerned: Nerdy is the new Sexy.  She didn’t fully grab my attention right away but I thought she could be interesting to talk to.  The One That Got Ran Away was ok on paper.

She must’ve noticed that I had visited her profile because not a day had passed and she sent me an e-mail.  It was rather cute; she was humble and a bit shy but obviously confident enough to say right off the bat that she didn’t know what she was doing or how to go about online dating.  And because I can relate to that so very well, I e-mailed her back right away.

So we messaged back and forth a few times and I got to see all of the great qualities that she failed to recognize in herself and flaunt on her profile for the world to see.  She was utterly brilliant, witty, sarcastic, confident and flirty.  Also, she had a thing for chicks who ride motorcycles.  (I really don’t thank my father often enough for teaching me to ride.  Those extra sexy points really DO come in handy once in a while.)

So after a few e-mails back and forth, I gave her my number and told her to text me anytime.  She was attentive and responsive; she was clever and she always brought her flirty A-Game to the party.  (I tend to crush hard on flirty girls.)  After about a week, I was really beginning to like this girl. 

The One That Got Ran Away is one of the few that asked for a “voice verification”.  She wanted to speak on the phone to make sure that I wasn’t “some dude posing as a pretty lesbian”.  Well … shucks … alright … but only because you said I was pretty.  (Shameless Cat.)  As previously mentioned in an older post, I hate talking on the phone.  HATE. IT.  I would rather text, e-mail or see you in person for good conversation but please don’t make me sit on the phone and talk to you (unless, of course, that phone call involves some heavy breathing on both of our ends … *ehem* … But I digress).  So when The One That Got Ran Away called, I was praying that five minutes of conversation would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.  Five minutes on the phone turned into two hours of really interesting conversation!  I actually didn’t want to hang up with her.  Not so much as an awkward pause or a joke that fell flat; she was a delight to speak with on the phone.  So we scheduled our first date.

Date number one was in the middle of the week straight after work.  Leading up to our date, I was a giant potato sack of jitters!  I was so terribly wracked with nerves that I spent several work hours chatting with Nugget and begging her to talk me down off the ledge.  Ordinarily, I’m a very confident girl.  Sure, I get more excited about some dates than others, but this one was starting to feel like it could be of the “oh shit, this might actually be something” variety.  Miss-Adventures was a Nervous. Fucking. Wreck.

When the work day concluded, I drove over on my bike to pick up my date.  Through the visor of my helmet, I saw her standing and waiting … and she was one-hundred times more attractive than her photos suggested.  Her profile photos were like some sort of nerdy false advertising!  My heart started to pound quicker and louder with every step she took towards me.  I hopped off my bike, took of my helmet, did my best sexy hair toss (it works! don’t judge me for using shameless tricks!) and as I approached to greet her with a friendly hug, I realized … she’s so tall ...  thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump … Ohmygod, she’s nearly as tall as me!  thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump … big blue eyes … thump-thump …long, thick sandy blonde hair … thump-thump … a seriously mischievous smile … thump-thump … and a very warm and lingering hug … beeeeeeep! 


I pulled myself together, grabbed my date’s helmet and helped her to put it on.  It’s actually one of my favorite things about riding with pretty girls – they ALWAYS need help with their helmets and it gives me the perfect excuse to get up close, personal and stare them directly in their gorgeous faces without looking like an over-zealous perverted creep.  A minor act of intimacy with major sexual subtext … Thank you, State of California for requiring motorcycle safety gear!

Every new motorcycle passenger has some trepidation about where to place their hands and how to hold onto their driver.  Where do I hold onto you?  Can I grip your shoulders?  No?  Can I lightly place my hands on your waist?  No?  I actually have to wrap my arms around you?  Yes.  Yes you do.  I don’t bite (unless requested, of course); please don’t be afraid.  And no, I won’t just naturally assume that you want to jump my bones if you bear hug me.

So my date climbed onto the back of my bike and as I started to pull away from the curb, I felt her squeeze her thighs together as tightly as she possible could.  This is how she planned to ride tonight? 

No.  Just … No. 

First, no matter how strong her thighs were (and they were strong, god bless her!), that method is NOT going to keep her safe if we found ourselves in a precarious situation.  And second, I am FAR TOO DISTRACTED with a stream of filthy and inappropriate thoughts about those thighs to continue driving safely.  So at the next stop light, I grabbed her hands, wrapped them around my waist and told her to hold on and relax.  (Driving a motorcycle totally ups my sexy game, clearly.)

Over a couple of cocktails, we talked travel, politics, film, our upbringings and family.  She flirted with and teased me mercilessly, and she quizzed me on my political knowledge in the Middle East (luckily, I knew just barely enough to get by and pass her test!).  As we talked, and flirted, and laughed, it suddenly occurred to me: SHIT! She’s a short skirt/long jacket.  Oh. My. God.

After our drinks, we walked through the neighborhood looking for a great spot for dinner and as we walked and talked, I slipped my arm in hers and she squeezed her arm in close which let me know that my arm was welcome where it was.  So sweet.  So simple.  So romantic.

We had dinner at a lovely restaurant nearby and we talked and laughed and flirted some more.  We were having dinner when my date and I realized that we had both been staring longingly at the cigarette ads in the convenience store window across the street.  We had both very recently quit smoking and we talked about what a tough time we had been having with our cigarette addiction.  So what did we do as soon as we finished dinner?  Yep, we walked across the street and bought a pack of my favorite cigarettes.  Despite her distaste for my favorites (“like having your throat raped”, as she described them), we sat and smoked my American Spirit Blues together, inhaling not just the smoke but the deeply satisfying moment we were sharing.

Afterward, we rode our way up to one of the finest views our city has to offer.  On a clear night, on top of a hill, you can look down on the lights, water, bridges, buildings and over-all romance of this spectacular city.  We walked, we stood appreciating the beauty, shared a few more cigarettes and talked some more.  As the wind kicked up furiously, we started to freeze.  So we discussed where to take the evening next and then I realized at that moment, we were standing AWFULLY close.  And as she focused her intense gaze into my eyes, my mind totally blanked.  So I told her that I couldn’t possibly think of any place to go because I was so distracted by her stare.  And as she began to turn her face away from mine to let me concentrate, I lightly touched her cheek, turned her face back towards mine and went in all the way for a very sexy kiss.  No lean this time.  No room for refusal or rejection.  She was getting kissed come hell or high water!  Fortunately for me, this kiss was one-hundred percent reciprocated and in the freezing wind, on top of a hill and in front of at least a dozen tourists, we made out for over an hour.  So. Fucking. Sexy.

When the wind and cold became unbearable, I drove my date home.  She lived on the far side of town and I savored every minute of our drive with her arms wrapped around me and her thighs pressed tightly into my hips (thankyougod!).  When we arrived at her place, she invited me into the community game room of her apartment complex for a friendly game of foosball.  And she slaughtered me!  It was a crushing and humiliating defeat for someone as competitive as Miss-Adventures.  But, being the graceful sportswoman that I am, I rewarded her victory with another half hour of steamy kisses right there in the game room.

I drove myself home that night in a state of delirious eroticism.  And as I crawled into bed after one o’clock in the morning, I began to replay every minute of our night over and over again on a continuous loop.  One o’clock turned to two o’clock.  Two o’clock turned to three o’clock and there it was again: my old friend, “Girl Crush Insomnia”.  I didn’t get a single wink of sleep that night.

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