"I gotta get this," my date said as her phone buzzed while we were waiting to be seated. The old-time Italian restaurant in San Diego's Gaslamp Quarter was cozy and romantic, perfect for Valentine's, and was packed. I had made a reservation months in advance not even having a date, knowing it would be impossible to find later. Her face glowed from the screen as she thumbed a response.
It was Valentine's Day and it was our third date. I had saved up for two weeks and had popped a blue pill. It was going to happen tonight.
The hostess tugged down on her obligatory knit dress as we walked back to our table. I scanned the room looking at the various couples, using my imagination to fill in the rest of the story.
There was a lesbian couple with hands clasped across the table gazing at each other. I imagined them going at it later.
A woman was complaining to her frowning date. Probably married. Probably his fault. I imagined them having makeup sex.
An older gentleman sat at a table with two young women...
My date slid into the cushioned bench seat along the wall of the restaurant. I sat down on the uncomfortable chair across from her. I opened my menu while she still had her head down in her phone.
Another couple was being seated next to us. The woman squeezed herself between the two tables, sitting diagonally from me. She had on a knee-length red pleated skirt and a white fitted blouse buttoned to the collar. Her thighs barely made it through the gap. She noticed me peering over the top of my menu and smiled. She had the kind of butt that I would turn around to look at if she walked past me.
The waiter moved in to take our drink order. I got my usual for an Italian place, Barolo. My date looked up from her phone for a moment and ordered a White Zinfandel. The woman across from me must have overheard because she stifled a smile. Scratch my idea for a fourth date in Temecula wine country. The waiter hustled away.
A row of mirrors along the wall allowed me to keep scanning the room.
I saw a young couple with both heads down looking at their phones. Millennials, I thought to myself. I pictured him boning her while she played Candy Crush.
There were a number of LBDs, Little Black Dresses. I had heard somewhere that is what women wear when they want to get nailed, though I might have heard that wrong.
Couples who did not make reservations months in advance lined the bar, the guys anxiously scanning for an open table, the women with folded arms and sour looks. More make-up sex.
My date still had her head down in her phone. She was a few years younger than me, certainly no millennial. Something had her full attention.
"Oh! Em! Gee! She is breaking up with him on Valentine's Day!" she exclaimed as she furiously tapped a response.
I was going to have to wait to find out what that was about. Our drink order had arrived so I took a sip and slipped back into my fantasy world.
The man next to us was about my age, short hair, no beard, sharply dressed.
The woman might be a few years younger though sometimes it is hard to tell. She had beautifully coifed short brunette hair. Modest makeup framed bedroom eyes. A matched set of red heart earrings, necklace and bracelet, along with modest high heels completed the picture.
The middle button on her blouse was hanging by a thread and I could see a little through the gap. I always look at that. I know I am not getting much but I still do.
My date wasn't exactly a knockout. She had a flat butt, not the kind I would turn around and look at if she walked past me. Her hair was overprocessed with at least two colors growing out. She wore loose black slacks and a turtleneck sweater that left lots to the imagination. Not much in the way of tits, though big and small they all look sexy to me. A little bit too much makeup hid behind her large frame eyeglasses. Did I mention she had a flat butt?
I was separated and it was difficult to find dates. I can understand a woman not wanting to get involved with a guy that might give his marriage another chance. I was new to online dating and I was three dates into my first connection.
The wife got the house. The guy she had been screwing moved in with her but it was not going to work because I was sure she would see what a loser he was and take me back.
I brought my mind back to the present. I scanned the ring fingers on the couple next to me, nothing. Possibly dating, possibly an escort. I settled on 'Sugar Daddy' and wove a fantasy around that.
The waiter appeared, ready to to take our order. My date had not looked at the menu so I gave my selection while she caught up. They had my favorite dinner special; Bucatini all'Amatriciana. I didn't want a big dinner to weigh me down later, you know, so I made it a half order.
My date wanted to know the difference between Chicken Piccata and Chicken Marsala. Both the waiter and the woman across from me stifled smiles. She ordered the Piccata, hold the capers, substituted vegetables and added a salad with dressing on the side.
High maintenance. I should have known from our second date at the San Diego Zoo. She didn't want to see the reptiles, spiders, or the monkeys with pink butts.
The waiter took off with our order and my date got back to mashing away on her phone.
I needed to tinkle so I angled out of my chair and walked to the back of the restaurant.
Two women waited at the door marked Signore. I stepped into Signori.
The toilet seat was wet with urine. I grabbed a paper towel and gingerly lifted it. Damn if it wasn't one of those ones that didn't stay up. I held it with the paper towel while I did my business, washed up and stepped to the door. When I opened it, the woman that had been sitting across from me pushed her way in, closed the door behind her and locked it. Without saying a word she stepped over to the toilet and hiked up her skirt with one hand and yanked down a red thong with the other.
I turned away. Isn't that what a gentleman is supposed to do? I could still get a glimpse of her in the mirror.
She must not have troubled herself with the seat as I heard the sound of a large stream hitting the seat and occasionally the water. Is that what they call the 'hover' method?
Wow! I thought to myself. Men aren't the only ones who pee on toilet seats! It kept going, the term 'racehorse' popped into my mind.
I turned back around when it sounded like she had finished. She was straightening her skirt.
Again without a word she stepped up to me a wrapped her arms over my shoulders and gave me a big wet sloppy kiss, pulling on the back of my head and forcing her tongue past my lips. I reached around to return the hug but she abruptly stopped.
She stepped to the sink and washed up, fixing her blouse. She reached into her purse, pulled out some red lipstick and touched herself up. When she was done she wrote something on the mirror, stepped to the door and walked out, looking back with a wry smile. The women waiting in line glared. There was one guy waiting whose eyebrows couldn't have gotten any higher. I closed the door, splashed some cold water on my face and straightened myself up as I caught my breath.
She had written a phone number on the mirror. Despite all the red flags waving I keyed it into my phone. I changed an 8 into a 9 on the mirror. Someone was going to get some weird calls tonight.
"That creep!" my date exclaimed as I slid back into my seat. "My girlfriend said he wanted me to join them in a threesome for his Valentine's present!"
"Like that's ever going to happen again!" she added while she furiously tapped on her phone.
I wanted to hear that story.
