The way we met was totally mundane, so I feel extremely lucky about how things turned out. This was back in the days when Craigslist was the only online dating service around, and even then, really only if you lived in the Bay Area, which I did. I was twenty-five, working restlessly at my dead-end job, when one of the ads on Craigslist caught my eye. I can't remember what the exact alchemy was, but she used a word like 'scrappy' or 'flippant'; it was as simple as that. Just a little flicker of difference that caught my eye. I wrote her back, and a day later, got a response. We didn't do much back-and-forth; we set a date for that Tuesday, meeting up at a local bar. She lived in Berkeley, but was willing to commute to see me.
She'd described herself only as 'short, with kind of wild hair', but I recognized her when she walked in the door to the bar. Her hair was a gorgeous mess of curls, she had a bold smile, and was wearing a simple outfit of jeans and a t-shirt-but a really nicely tight t-shirt. Something about the way she was looking around, combined with that brief self-description, made me sure she was the right person. I slipped off my bar stool and approached her. "Alice," I said, "Really nice to meet you." She gave me a grin, and looked up quickly up and down, and said, "Wow, no red flags right off the bat, that's cool." That set a nice tone for the evening.
She was fun, she was relaxed but energetic, she drank moderately, and had lots of attention for me. She looked damn, damn good in her tight jeans and shirt. She had cool hobbies-rock-climbing before that was super-cool, helping out on a friend's goat-farm. Crunchy but reasonable Bay Area activities. The conversation was easy, and we were building chemistry quickly. Little touches to the arms as we talked, her thigh drifting to press up against mine at the bar. Around us, a hubbub and buzz of conversation, but we got more tightly focused on each other. After drink two, my hand was on her denim-clad thigh, admiring the musculature beneath, and she suggested, "How about we get out of here and walk around a bit?"
After leaving the bar, I put my arm around her waist and she responded by leaning into me a bit. At a stoplight, we turned towards each other, and kissed for the first time. It started eager, and continued electric: we missed that walk signal. Her hands went to my chest, I put one on the back of her head while we kissed. A passerby hooted at us "Young love!" and we broke apart, smiling, but not really abashed at all.
"Wow," I said, and she nodded, "Okay, yeah. That was good." I put my arm around her again, my hand hovering half-way between small-of-the-back and upper-ass, and we headed down into the Mission. We'd gotten a late start to the date, the fog was rolling in but the air was warm, and the streets were pretty uncrowded. We went down a muralled side alley, and stopped to kiss again; it didn't go any slower or more reasonable than before, our mouths were locked hungrily instantly, she raised one leg and hooked it around back of mine to draw me in closer, making me laugh into the kiss.
I pressed her back against the wall and she made a beautiful soft noise low in her throat. My hand went under her t-shirt-anyone could come down this side street at any time, but I had no hesitation. Her stomach was soft but there was a firmness under it that was exciting; my hand moved across warm skin to the swell of her breasts. She bit my lip as my hand curled around her breast, and her bra felt gossamer-thin under my fingers. Her breasts were full, a wonderful weight on my palm. My other hand went back to the nape of her neck; there'd been a good reaction there before, and I traced my fingers lightly on the little hairs there, contrasting that with my insistent hand exploring her breasts, shirt half-pushed up now.
A burst of music came from the end of the alley, where it led out onto Mission Street, but that wasn't enough to break us apart. Only when a car pulled into the small street, putting us in actual danger, did her leg come down, "Oh shit," she said, and we half-ran out ahead of the car, laughing. "A bit more careful, maybe," she said, and I agreed, "But only a bit".
We were near Dolores Park, and I took her hand, and pulled her along, "Come on," I said, and we went into the twilight-lit park, with its huge, darkened palm trees looking ahead of us. No one else was in the park, the fog-bound night made it seem like we were the only wanderers abroad in the city. I pushed her against one of the palm trees, kissed her neck, her hand tangling in my hair, "Jack," she said, and I started to say, "yes?" but she continued, "I just remembered your name," and laughed, her rich, sweet, girlish laugh.
