We had met once before. I was too shy, too untrusting. This man was not my husband, the only man I had known intimately. I sat on the edge of the truck seat, a tiger on her haunches. Ready to leap out of harm’s way in a second flat.
The man I had selected from a long list of suitors prattled on. Chosen. He was an inch shorter than I had asked for, but still an inch taller than me. That must be some kind of balance karma shit.
He was clever. He was clean shaven. He had a private pilot’s license and had had several affairs before. I did not know his last name. Yet I had seen him naked in photos. He explained how he kept getting entangled in workplace affairs and how it always ended messy. I listened, fascinated. My cheeks burning.
I watched him as he talked. He was confident but sweet. Masculine but approachable. He asked if he could kiss me; I shook my head, too shy for words. I watched him slyly in between hair falling across my face. A protective curtain. I had on yoga pants with slits up the side, he ran his fingers over them as a man choosing a luxury car fondles. My breath caught and goosebumps rose. Surely I am too old for this choosy man. Surely he is too beautiful to want me.
He said the right things, pitched his voice at the correct timbre. He was educated but not too educated. He was masculine but not a muscle head. And his damn confidence. It was discerning. He said he knew which hotel beds were the best for restraints.
After about 30 minutes I oozed out of his truck, my mind made up that this man is someone I could see myself coupling with. His short honk and wave after I was back in my own vehicle sealed the deal. This man was conscientious.
Two weeks later I had my ducks, and more importantly, my confidence in a row. I told him to meet me at the same park again. He thought it was for another chat meet-cute with the slow burn art girl. But I had 3 shots of peach vodka to bring my truth to surface. That hunger that lies just beyond polite reach. I had told him to be there a full 30 minutes after I had already arrived.
When his large truck pulled up next to mine it was very different than the first time. The first time I had faked bravado, trounced from my vehicle to his declaring, “Are you my guy?!” This time I waited a beat. Feeling the earth slow down. Nothing would be the same. Those ducks over there on the grass? They would be changed. That oak? Totally different when I came back. Of the world, not in it. Ever again.
Here is how the vodka made me, a never-drinker, feel: deliciously warm and witty. Brave and hungry. Bold and ponderous.
Maybe he could tell. Can one smell vodka on another? I’m not sure. I chose this liquor because of its clear hue, its less intimidating intimidatingness. It was flavored, after all. Friendly.
I certainly felt centered. Just a bit warm and truthful. I opened his passenger door, made direct eye contact. “Hi,” I said. A wan smile. “You still my guy?”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/nkhqz7/a_40yo_steps_out_for_the_first_time_pt_1