Lets see if I can do this right and make you understand what I am trying to say.
I should’ve written this last night when it happened and was all fresh in my head, me brimming with all the emotions, most of which were negative and confused.
I got a sweet message from an amazingly good looking guy a few days ago. He was funny and the banter was just the right kind of flirty and witty. We exchanged phone numbers almost immediately and the conversation only got funnier and sexier.
When the conversation moved from the basic to things more serious – lets just call it, I answered, “Too much to type. How about we speak on the phone.”
“I’m in a meeting.”
Hmmmmm, that’s some meeting but okay.
“Why don’t we speak later,”he said.
Turned out we couldn’t coordinate our schedules, I was going to see a play that evening and he was going to a late dinner.
The banter continued. Even after I came out of the play, I texted him. “You are not one of those who texts in plays, are you?” he said.
“No the play has finished. I am home. However, I do text while watching Bill Maher.”
We talked about Bill Maher and realized we had much in common as far as our thinking goes. That is always promising.
He told me he was at the restaurant waiting for his friends.
“Hope you are enjoying a nice drink at the bar – send me a picture of you,” I just said, not thinking anything much or meaning anything at all.
I knew the restaurant he was at and just thought it would be nice to see a picture of him at that moment.
“I don’t do that.”
“Fine, no problem.”
“I loathe selfies and all the tourists with the selfie sticks in NYC,” he continued.
“I got it, no selfies,” making a mental note and smiling to myself since I take about a dozen selfies a day.
He wasn’t done. There was a tirade on selfies and it went on for some time.
“Listen, I got it. You don’t do selfies. Could you drop it please.”
There was some more texting for a bit, then his friends came. I told him to enjoy dinner and wished him a good night.
“Good afternoon, how are you?” he texted me the next day.
“I’m well, how was dinner?”
“It was great. I ordered the pasta you said you loved.”
“Cool, what are you up to?”
“Am with my niece and we are watching Beauty and the Beast.”
“Enjoy the movie and cute niece, talk to you later.”
“No, lets keep talking.”
“Okay,” and we did for a long time.
Mind you, we are still texting.
He was leaving for Paris on Monday – this is Saturday. “Come to Paris with me.”
“Tempting, maybe next time,” I replied.
That night we talked some more, and when I say talked … we texted.
You getting the picture?
The conversation was more personal, a lot of questions about each other which was nice.
The initial humor and flirtations turned into major intensity. And I don’t mean intensity about me. Certain things I would say, he would call me on and wanted to argue. He also had the habit of repeating things to make a point.
“Don’t take each word I say literally,” I responded. “It is fucking hard to have these deep conversations on text. Call me.”
“Lets talk tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’m gonna go to sleep now. Have a good night. Sweet dreams.”
Two hours later, we are still texting.
Still no flirting and the humor has been thrown down the garbage chute, but the conversation is meaningful. He is a smart man. That is sexy to me.
Yesterday we were both busy during the day. He texted me in the night and said he was watching a movie with his parents who were visiting.
“Did you have a nice day with your parents?”
“Yes it was nice but now they are driving me crazy with their commentary on the movie.”
We talked about parents; the good bad and ugly.
It’s midnight on a Sunday night and I really want to sleep on time.
“You have a safe flight tomorrow. Have a baguette and runny cheese thinking of me.”
“Just once?” he says.
“No, think of me each time you bite into a baguette. How about that?”
“I could do that.”
“Great, talk to you from Paris.”
“No don’t go. Stay with me.”
Sigh. I’m such a pushover.
We texted. I learned he doesn’t speak on the phone till he feels ‘safe.’ Whatever the fuck that means.
Do you know, my dear readers what that means? Enlighten me. Please.
We kept texting. We talked of the book I am writing. He gave me some advice. The advice was good but sometimes his tone was dick-ish.
“Come to Paris with me.”
Can I say again, we haven’t spoken on the phone yet but I should come to Paris with him.
I was too tired and sleepy to say this to him.
It’s 2:30 in the morning and we are still texting.
The few times I told him that I must sleep, he just ignored it and kept texting.
Now I was getting irritated and annoyed.
“Are you ignoring me saying that I want to sleep?”
“Yes I am.”
Things got weird around 2:45 when I typed out something he had said about women earlier.
“It’s 2:45 am. I am a woman. Please let me sleep now.”
Once again, he ignored me and kept up with his train of thought.
“What’s the end goal here? When are you going to let me sleep?”
“Ten more minutes.”
“And you totally ignored and dismissed my cute and funny statement earlier.”
“It was neither cute nor funny.”
Now started a new tirade, “I find it weird that a grown woman is asking for compliments. I don’t just give compliments to get women into bed.”
What the fuck. Who is getting into who’s bed? I missed something here.
I don’t talk on the phone. I don’t give compliments but I do ask strange women to come to Paris with me!
The tirade went on for so long, teetering on mean.
At 3 am, I said, “I am not enjoying this and you are welcome. I stayed on the phone for two hours longer than I wanted to. Good night.”
I turned off my phone but was now too wired to sleep.
This morning I was afraid to turn on my phone.
“Good morning. I am intense. I know that. I love talking to you. Intelligent woman are my Achille’s heal and you are tickling that heal in all the right ways.”
“Good morning,” I text.
“Come to Paris with me.”
Tell me, dear readers – what’s happening here?
There is so much I haven’t told you but this post is already longer than I intended.
Until I text again! I mean,
Until I date again!