The first date: We went to a production of "Last Summer At Bluefish Cove" staged at a local community theatre. I wore a coral stretch knit halter-top and a matching printed silk charmeuse skirt. She surprised me by wearing a green shirred blouse with a floral, flirty, ruffled hem skirt. We had coffee and desert afterwards; the chocolate mousse tortes helping us get over some of the sadness we both felt about the story.
Her goodnight kiss was dry and cool and sweet. It made me feel delicious…
The second date: A beach volleyball tournament. She whooped and yelled herself hoarse; I admired the women spiking and worked on my gaydar. She wore a white crop-top and cutoffs and her "lucky" Bruins baseball cap with her blonde ponytail pulled through the back; I wore my pink hibiscus sarong wrap over a metallic blue one-piece swimsuit. We ate a picnic on the beach, curried chicken salad, homemade spicy coleslaw, and a couple of bottles of hard lemonade. At sunset, she casually put her arm over my shoulder as we walked on the beach.
A lingering kiss goodnight, my hands resting on her waist. It made me feel like a girl again.
The third date: Dinner at my house. I had confidently made poached in champagne salmon, sliced ripe tomatoes with fresh basil, and hot spinach stuffed mushrooms. I had confidently dressed in my mauve Lauren tank dress that clung perfectly right – suggestive without being aggressive. In every other way, confidence was a stranger. I was nervous as a cat on hot bricks.
She showed up wearing charcoal seersucker slacks, a matching mesh tube top underneath an unbuttoned pale lemon ruffled shirt, and cute sandals on her slender feet. The look of her, the quiet crooked smile of her, made me more than skittish…
We ate; she complimented my cooking. We laughed; she loved my tart humor. We finished the bottle of champagne that I used for the salmon; her eyes got that wonderful glow. I put the Indigo Girls on the stereo; she sat down on my sofa nonchalantly letting her shirt fall open, the little red diamond-points of her nipples under the tube making me shiver deep inside. I sat down beside her; when Amy Ray sang "She exploded into my heart," I got a kiss that exploded mine.
We kissed and kissed; until my lips trembled, until her lips became swollen. We touched; her hands on the nape of my neck, on the back of my knees, teasing, not tickling under my armpits – my hands on her shoulders, on the curve of her ears, a glazing caress across her bare stomach. We kissed and touched with all the time in the world, building the fire one aching moment at a time.
