Dear Readers: I have gotten some (deserved) criticism of my lesbian stories for a lack of emotional content and a focus on story structure over content. While I am proud of my other stories, I decided to do something different. This is a simple story of emotional discovery and I hope it appeals to people who might have wanted something different from me. It builds slow, but the pay off is worth it. Enjoy!
The door to the restaurant had a vague mirror-like quality and I stopped to look at my reflection before walking in. My stomach was flipping over itself and I was nervous to even attempt to gauge how I looked. It had been a very long time since I had been on a first date (or any date, really) and I had never been on a blind date before. I was so nervous that I leaned one hand on the side of the wall to keep myself steady as I inspected myself.
Unfortunately, I saw exactly what I expected to see. A mess. I'd walked twenty blocks from my apartment ("it's a nice night!" I said to myself, "and I am early, might as well walk." Moron) and my hair hadn't stood up well. I kept my black hair long and had straightened it before I left, but it was a getting frizzy from the humid air. My eye shadow, which had looked smoky when I put it on at the apartment, looked a little raccoonish now around my large, green eyes. I have exceptionally pale skin and so, in my apartment, I'd tried to redden my cheeks a bit. Now I found in the natural light that I'd put it on too thickly, looking a bit whorish. Somehow, the bright color made my aquiline nose look even bigger than usual. At least my teeth were white.
Below my neck, the situation was even worse. I had debated a long time about what, exactly, I should wear. I'd tried on several dresses, ranging from conservative to slutty. But I finally decided that none of them worked. I'd put on a suit I often wore to work because I liked the way it made my ass look. But now, looking at myself in the reflection, I found I looked far too professional for an evening dinner date. The suit was form fitting with a short coat and tight pants, but it still looked like I was preparing to meet clients. My small feet were clad in flats that didn't exactly scream "I am ready to date." Worse, for some reason I'd buttoned my shirt all the way up to my throat.
I quickly pulled out some tissues and dialed back the makeup on my face, giving it more even look around my eyes and cheeks. I also used a corner of a tissue to straighten up my deep red lip stick. I didn't want to whip a brush out in the middle of the street or anything, so I just patted my hair down as best I could. Finally, I self-consciously unbuttoned the top two buttons blouse, exposing the tops of my 34-C breasts. I looked into the half-reflection of the door again and saw, once again, what I expected to see: a desperate 5'3, 138lbs, 34-year old woman who hadn't been on a date in six months and hadn't been fucked in nearly a year. But hey, at least my make-up looked better.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The restaurant was dimly lit and with what appeared to be bare bulbs hanging down on wires from the 15 foot ceilings. I looked around the room and saw that the dining area was very deep and narrow. I looked in the back of the room and saw a wave-shaped bar against the back wall, it was also dimly lit, though it had a somewhat green color. There were tables against both side walls, so that one person would sit on a chair facing the wall and another person in a booth seat across from them. There was a narrow hallway down the middle between the backs of all the chairs. The door entered on the right, front side of this dining room and the hostess' stand was directly in front. I looked to my left as I walked in and saw one booth against the large window pane in front of the restaurant. The hostess smiled at me.
"Good evening, welcome to Apple, do you have a reservation?" she asked sweetly. This was, by far, the trendiest restaurant I'd been in since I'd entered my thirties. I looked around the room and saw a large crowd of hip people talking quietly. How had Kim and Eric thought this place would fit me? If I was going on a date with someone who would like this place, how could he fit me?
"I uh...I am meeting someone here. My friends said you'd be aware..." I said. God, was there anything more mortifying than that? 'Hello, I am a grown woman going on a blind date; I was told this restaurant had a separate "desperation" section with a separate ventilation system...'
"Oh, you're one of Kim's friends," the hostess said and I blushed, "How is she doing?"
"Fine," I said awkwardly. Glad to be the center of attention here.
"She used to bartend her like two years ago, I hadn't heard from her for a while before she called to set up this reservation," she explained. I had forgotten that my close friend Kim had taken up bartending for a couple of months after she quit teaching and before she became an accountant.
"Oh yeah..." I said. Not certain what I was supposed to ad.
"So are you Ash or Riley?" She asked.
"Oh, uh..." I said, I hadn't expected that. I hadn't known my date's name. I was just told to show up at a time and what to say to the hostess. But it was surprising that we both happened to have androgynous names. I suppose either Ash or Riley could be a man's name, or a woman's name, "I am Ash."
"Well you are the first one here, let me show you to your seat," the hostess said. She grabbed two menus and a wine list. She quickly moved from behind the stand and beckoned for me to follow. She led me right to the booth in the window. She pointed to the seat where my back would be to the door and I sat down.
"Thank you," I said nervously.
"When you date arrived I will show them to the table," she said then she turned and left. I slunk down in the booth and looked at my watch. It was already 5 minutes after 9. I thought I was going to be late. Maybe "Riley" was blowing me off and I could go home and watch television in my pajamas like a normal, happy Friday night.
How had I let Kim and Eric talk me into this? Kim and I had gone to college together, freshman roommates in fact. She was pretty much the only person from college I kept in touch with. She was still my best friend in the city, maybe in the world. And Eric was her husband, they'd met junior year. I hadn't liked him much at first, but he'd grown on me. All of that was to say that they'd both known me for around 15 years. They knew I'd been more relieved than anything when I'd decided to give up on dating six months ago. Kim, and I suppose Eric, had heard all of my horror stories about deadbeat boyfriends and awful dates.
Yet here I was, sitting in a booth waiting for some guy named "Riley" from Eric's office to show up. I had resisted this date for three solid weeks. I remember the first time it came up, Kim and I were sitting on the couch at her place, Eric wasn't yet home from the office.
"So, what are you doing this weekend?" She'd asked and I'd snorted.
"Working, were you under the impression I get weekends?" I asked. I worked around 70 hours a week, usually ten hours a day, every day.
"It is supposed to be nice out this week, you should take a day off, relax," Kim had said. She kept her eyes on the television, but I saw her look at me out of the corner of her field of vision, gauging me.
"I don't have the time," I said. Now it was Kim's turn to snort.
"You've been at that office since you graduated from business school and you've never taken a day off. You must have a solid month of personal leave and a month of sick leave all saved up," she said. Actually, it was a lot more than that. But I liked to be busy and liked to work. Besides, what did she care if I didn't take my sick days?
"Yeah well, there is a lot to do this week. They really can't be without me this weekend," I said in a voice that indicated I didn't want to talk about this.
"So said every office drone ever!" Kim shot back. I turned and looked at her now and she turned too.
"What?" I asked.
